#to make others think that that’s where his metal tails come from

[coco0milkshake]

redraw of Nine

doodle dump:

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi!! could I request Argenti, Boothill and Jing Yuan when someone tries to flirt with their s/o? I absolutely adore your writing btw!! Hope you're doing good!!

Boothill

Has a bullet with their name written on it and it was in times like theses where he wishes his shit hadn’t been tampered with, just so he could curse the bastard out for merely brushing shoulders either you.

Words such as:

Mother fudger

Heck

And Gosh darn it

Weren’t exactly going to scare the person flirting with you off with their tail between their legs but threatening to shot them would. However after the person had scampered off, Boothill would be subjected to you scolding him about threatening people for simply flirting with you, when there were other ways to do so without the inclusion of unnecessary violence.

Boothill can’t help it! He hates it when people flirt with his darling and he isn’t one for sharing you either, he’d much rather hog all of your time and attention for himself! You were his partner! Not everyone else’s!

‘Boothill.’ You said warningly.

‘What?’ He said as he tugged you into his side, keeping his arm at your waist possessively. ‘He was getting a little too cosy and I had to remind that fudging idiot to keep his hands to himself.’ He adds with a smirk, stealing a kiss from your lips.

His jealously stems from his own hatred towards his metal body, you could find someone else who could feel you in your entirety beyond from their face and head, unlike him.

‘I get that and I thank you for running them off, but you know you don’t have to worry about me looking at anyone else.’ You reassured him as you held his face in your hands and watched as his smile falters and his featured relaxed into your touch. ‘You’re all I want, you’re all i’ll ever need regardless of your inability to physically feel.’ You then pressed your forehead against his, feeling him push himself further against you in a selfish need to feel you. ‘You’re my handsome, handsome cowboy.’ You whispered.

‘I am your handsome, handsome cowboy.’ He muttered under his breath.

Argenti

He’s not jealous in the slightest.

He’s the most trusting in the strength of your relationship and you to even allow for an ounce of doubt to permeate his thoughts.

If anything he’d agree with everything the person was saying about you while adding onto it, making the person feel as though their attempts at flirting with you were useless, especially when the cherry haired knight beside you was casually waxing poetry on your ethereal beauty.

‘Indeed they are a beauty to behold indeed.’ He’d say as he knelt before you and held your hands in his all the while making sure his eyes remained glued on you as he spoke. ‘I’d kneel before their alter for the rest of eternity if it meant achieving the impossible and catching their gaze, they truly are my reason for breathing, the reason I see beauty whenever I travel, as they are the true beauty I have been seeking for my whole life.’ He finishes by kissing the back of your hands softly, his thumbs caressing the skin there as though they were porcelain.

The person who was flirting with you left not long after because how could they compare with that?!

All they said was that you were cute and Argenti took that and made you come across as though you were a deity lost to time, finally having been found after so long.

They knew they couldn’t win and left for easier people to pull their mediocre pick up lines on.

Argenti is your Gomez, you are his Morticia. There was no one getting between you two because the love you had was stronger than most.

Jealousy doesn’t exist when you actually trust someone whom you claim is half of your own soul.

Jing yuan

He finds the face they make upon realising who’s s/o they’ve been flirting with particularly funny to be even remotely jealous.

Not to say that he doesn’t get jealous, he does but it’s not nearly as evident. He’s self assured in his relationship with you that he didn’t even think of the person flirting with you as a threat even in the slightest.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt your riveting conversation but I’d like my partner back now.’ He’d say as he stood behind the person flirting with you.

‘Look buddy I found them,’ the person looked behind them, and upon realising who was behind them, the words of annoyance were quickly discarded as they could only stare at a smiling Jing Yuan, ‘first…’

Jing yuan raised his brows as the Cheshire smile on his lips only grew at the evident regret across their face. ‘Hmmm? Cat got your tongue? You seem a bit pale, maybe you should go sit down and rest.’ He suggested and watched in amusement as the person didn’t fight back, but instead wordlessly followed his instruction and walked away for you both to go somewhere else.

‘You’re having too much fun with this.’ You’d tell Jing Yuan as he placed a hand on the small of your back and guided you out of the establishment.

‘What can I say, their expressions may be the same every time but that doesn’t stop them from being more humorous than the last.’ He replies with a chuckle as he presses a tender kiss to your forehead. ‘However I cannot blame them for finding you as appealing as I do if they’re so desperate as to flirt for your attention.’ He adds and you huff and crossed your arms. ‘As if you were any different.’

Jing yuan raised his brows, silently telling you to continue.

‘When you wanted my attention, you would sit next to me and rest your head on my shoulder before falling asleep.’ You added and Jing yuan chuckles. ‘I didn’t-‘

‘All. The. Time.’ You cut him off, emphasising each word that left your mouth. ‘Yangqing told me that you only did that to me, no one else got that special treatment from the all mighty general.’ You smirked at Jing Yuan who muttered a soft ‘Yangqing.’ under his breath as you held onto his side. ‘It doesn’t matter now because I thought it was extremely cute.’ You reassured him with a kiss to the cheek as you both walked home, tucked closely against one another, the events that happened prior having completely been forgotten as you reminisced the past.

[luveline]

losers | remus lupin

“Please.”

“Please?” he says back, mirroring your soft tone. “You think you need to say please?” His pinky bumps under the waistband of your trousers. There isn’t much give. He traces the lining to your zipper, fiddling with the small piece of metal as your eyes darken. “I should be the one saying it.” His voice keeps dropping, an utterance in the shell of your ear, his words for you and you alone. “I’m at your mercy, dove. Don’t say please with me. Okay?” 

you find remus’ number on an abandoned motorbike. things snowball from there. [10k words]

fem!reader, fluff, first date, smut mdni, implied inexperienced!reader, almost rockstar!remus, mentioned that remus takes painkillers, muggle!au, early 2000’s au

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ There’s a motorbike outside of the cafe.

It’s huge. Too heavy for you to move. Technically, you hadn’t found it at all, it was left there in the dead of night a few days ago and hasn’t budged since. It’s illegally parked, a fact that your manager won't stop muttering about while she’s elbow deep in latte foam and coffee cakes. 

“I’m getting the bastard thing towed,” she grumbles that morning. “Let the police deal with it.”

That seems rather harsh to you. It isn’t necessarily in the way, and it looks well loved. Perhaps whoever left it can’t remember where they left it, having stumbled home on inebriated footing after one too many at the pub across the street. You think about how much it must cost to get your stuff back after it’s been towed, and though you aren’t sure of the specifics, you know it can’t be cheap. So, when your manager falls into conversation with a regular and your break begins, you creep outside to do some investigating. 

It’s a hulking thing made of more black than silver. There are stickers across the left side of the body, weathered and peeling, though one is newer than the others and immediately draws your eye. 

A phone number. 

If lost, please call. 

You take your phone out of your pocket, a flip phone with one dangling charm in the shape of a star. You click each faded button slowly. You're scared to talk to someone you don’t know, but relieved to maybe save the day. 

It goes for ages. 

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you say, dropping your voice into its sweetest tones, though nerves make you too soft, and you worry you’re hard to hear. “Hey, um, sorry to bother you. I work at The Mill, it’s a– a cafe in the city centre… Are you missing a bike, by any chance? A motorbike?”

“Oh, thank you. Yeah, it’s my friend’s. He can be… forgetful.” The voice that speaks is both smooth and gritty, impossibly, like whoever it is that’s talking smoked half a pack of cigarettes before he answered the phone. He clears his throat. “I hope it hasn’t been an imposition for you.”

“Actually, uh, my manager wants to have it towed. Like, now. I can try to fend her off but honestly she’s like, that physics law, um, unstoppable force? Uh,” —you’re stuttering, making it worse, because his voice is surprisingly handsome and you’re an idiot through and through— “yeah, so could you come and get it?”

“Yes! Yeah, absolutely, we’re on our way. Thank you.”

“Sure. Of course.”

You hear something not meant for you, the tail end of, “Sirius, get up. You better call Marl and—”

Phone back in your pocket, you take a quick glance around the street before reaching out to run your finger over the cracked leather of the motorbike seat. You’ve never ridden one before. You’ve never wanted to. The level of fearlessness one needs for it isn’t one you possess. 

You’re the opposite of fearless. 

The sun hides behind a wave of clouds. Your skin chills near immediately, your prim slacks and apron a worthless defence against the cold. It’s an average day here, grey and quiet. Occasionally a couple will pass you, hand in hand as they traverse the worn pavement. You smile at an elderly man and his dog as they shuffle across the street and into the cafe. Your smile fades as you tune into the fierce tones of your manager, demanding to know where you’ve gone. If your absence is what distracts her from calling the police, so be it. 

You’re considering getting your phone back out to play Snake when a passing car slows beside you. You straighten up and out, feeling your spine click in more places than it should as the passenger door opens and an insanely attractive man throws himself out of it. 

“My angel!” he cries, heading straight for you. 

You take a panicked step backward. The man dives for his motorbike. You flinch, mystified by his enthusiasm and his opposite appearance. Short sleeves reveal arms full of dark tattoos, with one side marred by a brutally long scar from his elbow to the back of a ring-laden hand. You tear your eyes from him as a second door closes across the street, and feel all the air rush from your chest as a second man approaches. 

He’s very pretty. It might be redundant to say it to yourself, presented as you are with an undeniable truth, but you think it anyway. Sandy brown hair, pale skin, and in enough layers to make up for his friends lack thereof, the second man ignores any dramatics and meets you head on. 

“Hi,” he says, holding out his hand, “you’re the one who called?”

Closer now, you can see the scars on his face. They stretch over the ridge of his nose and into his eyebrow. A smaller one tugs as he talks against his top lip. 

You take his hand and shake it limply. “Yeah, that was me.”

If he’s concerned with your nervousness he doesn’t show it. His smile doesn’t move. “He wants to say thank you. He will, once he gets over himself.”

“Thank you!” the dark-haired man calls. “She’s my everything. I’ve been sick with worry.”

“Have you?” the man in front of you asks, his voice steady, almost intimidating in its impassiveness. 

“Yes, Moons, I have been… not that you’d know.”

“Some of us have real problems,” Moons snips, though he quickly looks at you like he’s embarrassed. “Sorry. He brings out the worst in me.”

“You must be good friends.” 

You don’t know why you say it. He only smiles. 

“We must be.”

The first man stands up from checking over his motorbike and beams at you. You suspect it’s an expression that works in his favour more often than not. “What can I give you, doll?” 

“No, nothing. Please. I’ll just be glad to hear the end of it.”

"Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, really." 

Your manager calls your name, clear as day despite the thick pane of glass and brick walls separating you. 

"That's you?" Moons asks. 

"That's me. Sorry." 

"No, don't be. Thanks so much for calling." 

You nod hurriedly, throwing them both a 'nice to meet you, I'm sorry for leaving so fast' kind of smile and head back inside. 

You take a sneaky look back when you're behind the counter again. They’ve turned their backs to you, Moons' friend ruffling his hair roughly. After a minute or two, Moons gets back in his car, and the motorbike pulls away like it was never there to begin with. 

What sort of name is Moons? you ask yourself. It's a question that stays with you for a few days. You find yourself hoping you'll see him again, or that his friend's motorbike will turn up outside of the cafe for a few long days and give you an excuse to call him. His number stays unsaved in your recent calls menu for a while. Eventually, you forget about him altogether; the motorbike, the call, the gentle wave of his hair. 

You're hard-pressed to forget his voice, though. There'd been something familiar about it. 

"Nice highscore." 

You jump hard and wince as the metallic taste of blood hits your taste buds. To make it worse, you slam your phone up into the counter it was hiding under in shock. It makes a fatal crunching sound. 

You shove it into your pocket and look up. Standing there, in all his handsome weariness, is Moons, sans friend. He's wearing nice clothes, clean and clearly ironed. You're immediately aware of your ratty uniform and your unkempt hair. 

"Shit," you say, which is so fucking embarrassing, honestly, you could fall through the floor and stay there, "Sorry. What can I get you?" 

His eyebrows inch up his forehead. "What's the easiest thing to make?" 

That's not a question you get often. "Uh, regular black coffee, or tea, or, the uh– the hot chocolate's not that hard. But you should order whatever you like, of course." 

Moons smiles at you. You're starting to understand the nickname (assuming it is a nickname). He has this odd but enticing presence about him, like that awestruck feeling of looking up at night and seeing all the teeny tiny stars and the moonlight that comes down with them, bright and somewhat daunting. 

"Sure you don't mind?" 

"I'm paid not to mind." 

"Can I get the biggest cup of tea you can make? Milk and two sugars, please." 

"Absolutely." You sidestep to the register and click a bunch of the wrong buttons. You're unprofessionally flustered. "Uh, three sixty five?" 

He passes you a five pound note. Your tip cup is for the more generous type, and he has no trouble dropping his palmful of change into it. He barely looks. You're expecting him to take a seat but he stays standing, one arm pressed to the counter, the other held up. He scratches behind his ear absentmindedly, as though he has nowhere else to be. 

"Are you in a hurry?" you ask, confused. 

He stays quiet for enough time to shit you up. You're tipping milk over your hand and hoping he hasn't seen it when he says, "No rush. I'm here to see you." 

You look over your shoulder at him. You can't help it. "To see me." 

"Yeah." 

You spin back to his tea. The counter is covered in spills and sugar, cup tops and wooden stirrers. You take them all in with wide eyes. Nobody ever comes to see you. Not your friends, not family (unless they want something). Especially not boys you met once for two minutes. 

"Is there something wrong?" you ask. 

You clip the lid onto his big tea and wrap it in napkins so it doesn't burn his hands. 

"Nothing's wrong," he says kindly. "I wanted to apologise. Your boss was upset with you. It was Sirius' fault. We owe you for it." 

"You really don't have to say sorry. She wasn’t that mad. No harm, no foul." 

You put his cup of tea down in front of him and try to smile like girls do in the movies. Soft doe eyes, not too bright, not too awkward. You give up after a second and feel it twist into something regrettable. 

His long silence makes you squirm.

"A thank you, then.”

He offers you an envelope. You take it. 

The paper is crisp and thick. Your fingers are clumsy, and it takes you too many seconds to fold the envelope's lip and pull out the card stock inside. 

You look up in shock. "I can't–" 

He's not there. You look to the door, catching what might've been his hand as he walks out of view. 

He's left you two concert tickets. You don't go to concerts. You might have, when you were younger, and had friends to follow. As it stands he's given you two seated tickets for a show in the Pointer Arena not far from where you work, for a band you've never heard of. The price on each is a solid £20, which is way too much repayment for ringing a number from a sticker. Worse, you're not sure you have somebody who can use the second one. 

You hope he'll come back for clarification alone, and a little to see him, but he doesn't, and soon the date on the ticket matches the date on your calendar and you're standing outside of the venue with no clue how to hold yourself. 

You stand in line for a while. It's a very long line made up of mostly younger women. You listen for the calling of a reseller and spot a group of young girls trying to haggle with them, reluctantly leaving your place in line. 

"Hi," you say quietly to the one furthest from the epicentre. "I'm sorry if this is weird. I have an extra ticket tonight, and I was wondering if you'd like it? I know it's seated, but maybe you could use it to get in and then, uh, not sit? Or just sit." You could writhe around on the ground in shame. You hold out the spare ticket. "If you want it." 

"Are you kidding?" 

"No, seriously." 

She takes the ticket and you walk away before she can try and give it back to you. Whether she uses it or not, it's no longer your problem to deal with. The lady who'd been standing behind you lets you back in line, for which you're extremely grateful, and you shiver your way to the front with nerves churning your stomach. 

You've imagined being turned away twenty times by the time they usher you through the doors. The air is buzzing with excitement, enough of it to ramp up your nerves, and you smile weakly at the people who pass you on the way up to the seating area you've been designated. The Pointer Arena is a smaller venue with much more standing than seating capacity available. The seats are at the sides and back of the second floor, looking down at the pit with a safety barrier in front. 

You slide into your seat and peer down at the crowd as it fills up one ant of a person at a time. You can't distinguish one person from another after a while. It’s a moving sea of dark clothes. 

It takes a long time for the opening act to come on. You're not having much fun. You'd tried to use the computer in the cafe to research the bands playing tonight but the dial up hadn't been working and your manager hates when you take long breaks, so you aren't sure you'll even enjoy yourself. You're not sure why you came here — is it sad, to come here alone? It looks sad, you think, pathetic, but it doesn't feel sad. You're not very good at talking, anyways. It's so difficult. Or maybe you just make it that way. 

This is why you regret coming. Any time spent by yourself is time to think. You hate thinking, but it's all you seem to be able to do. Think and think and think. Your mind runs in the same circles. Things you've done, things you wish you did, things you want to do so badly it makes you feel sick. You can't stand it. 

The crowd begins to rise in volume. Cheers echo against the atrium ceiling, and you push yourself to the edge of your seat to see what's making them all so excited. 

The opening band. They're too far away to see clearly. First on stage is a man with brown skin and a head of black curls, a guitar swinging from his neck, the body barely held as he waves to the masses. Next comes a paler man with hair tied up in a bun who sits down behind the drum kit and doesn't move much after that. A girl practically sprints to centre stage, scooping up a waiting guitar (or bass?) and strumming down the body appreciatively. She has purple hair, bright and choppy, particularly abrasive against the alabaster white of her skin. 

And last on stage… last on stage is Moons. 

You move forward suddenly, smacking your face against the plexiglass barrier and biting your cheek for the second time in a week. Used to your mistreatment, the poorly healed skin wastes no time splitting, and the metallic taste of blood makes you cringe. 

That's Moons. There are two huge screens either side of the stage that magnify him. First his hand on the microphone, a scar coiling up from his wrist to his thumb purple against his skin. Then his face. You wouldn't forget what he looks like so soon, not when you've half obsessed over him for days with could-be's because he'd wanted to see you and you have a bad habit of inventing future's with people you don't know, but even if you did it wouldn't matter. You've never met anyone else with three scars as he has across his face, taking centre stage. 

You hadn't realised the tickets were to see his band. It makes sense, now, why your seat is in such a quiet area, and why the people sitting close by aren't firecracker happy at the sight of them. They must've received their tickets in the same way, gifts or thank yous for small favours. 

Your mouth dries as they begin to play. It's not what you're expecting. Of course, you haven't really had time to expect anything, and yet you're shocked when they start to play a slow song. He doesn't really look like a rockstar, but a heartthrob? You can see it easily. The long lengths of his lashes, and the dark honey of his eyes. His smile, so small but somehow piercing. 

His voice is careful. He doesn't sing anything impressive —there's no belting or high notes— but you still find yourself wringing your hands together, entranced by his confidence. He dances around the melodies and fills up every space he can find between the beat of the drums and the searing guitar riffs that follow. 

They only play five songs. By the time they've finished you're feeling sick to your stomach, and you can't get your heart to calm down. You hadn't known a word of the lyrics, but you'd felt them. 

They're good. 

Like, too good to be openers for long. 

The crowd echoes your sentiment. They clap and scream and wolf whistle. The noise vibrates in the depth of your stomach. The cheering doubles when the headlining band’s techies emerge. The lights go down. Equipment begins to roll out. 

You scrounge through your purse for a lip balm and think about heading downstairs to the concession stands for an overpriced bottle of water to wash away the unfortunate tang of blood. It aches to pay, but if you don't soon you might get nauseous, and that would be a real disaster, throwing up here of all places. 

You hear his voice before you see him. He's laughing, talking to somebody about the set. 

"It was great!" compliments a feminine voice. "I don't know what you were so worried about, Remus, you're really great. And if you weren't, Marl would've saved the day anyways with her gorgeous showmanship." 

"Thanks, baby," says a second voice. Marl. 

"Thanks, Mary," Moons says. 

What had Mary called him? Remus? Odd, not quite as strange as Moons. 

You try not to tense as footsteps approach. 

"Can I sit?" he asks. 

You look up too fast. He's a little damp, the hair closest to his face curled with it, but he smells good as he sits down. He must've washed up. 

"I– I've been calling you Moons in my head," you admit, not sure what to say. 

He's intimidating. You don't imagine he knows it. He sits in the chair without any fanfare, setting his forearm on the rest between your two seats and turning his face to you completely, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, almost like he doesn't want to smile but can't help himself. His eyes are the slightest bit lidded, emphasising the brilliance (and unfairness) of his lashes, so thick and dark you wonder if he's wearing makeup. 

"You can call me whatever you want to, but my name's Remus. I should've told you that before. I was… distracted." 

He isn't being coy, you realise. He easily could be if he wanted to, but he was genuinely lost for words for a second.

"I didn't really tell you mine," you say, hoping to ease his gentle confusion. 

He says your name like it's easy. Like he enjoys the sound of it. "Y/N. Do you like music?" 

Is that a trick question? His eyes trace up to your eyebrows as they pinch together, but he doesn't amend his question. Not a trick, then. 

"I like music,” you say.

"I realise it's brave to ask someone to come and see you on stage. And that I look like a tosser sometimes with the stage lights and makeup." 

"No," you say quickly, "you don't. You looked just fine. You looked good. I bet it's hard getting on stage like that, and in front of this many people. And singing. You have a really nice voice." 

His eyes soften. "Thank you. Do you wanna go get a drink with me? There's a bar. It's quiet." 

Your elbow brushes against his long sleeve. "Yeah." You're not breathless enough to embarrass yourself, but it's a close call. 

Remus leads you up and out of the seats. The venue is large in that it has just as many hallways and back rooms as it has places to watch the show. Remus’ warm hand catches your elbow, a friendly touch that guides you around the barrier and through a dimly lit hallway that takes you to the bar. 

The bar overlooks the stage, but the sound of the band and the crowd is dampened severely, making for a sorely needed respite. VIP's mill around the room on plush leather sofas and cushy bar stools sipping from sweating glass bottles. Remus' hand moves up to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as a familiar face waves you over. 

"Hey, it's you!" 

You smile at Remus' motorbike friend. You're a hundred percent sure his name is Sirius, but you won't say it aloud in case you're wrong. Beside him sits the other man you'd seen on stage with them, the guitarist with brown skin and a head full of thick hair. You look between the three of them in secret shock, wondering if handsome attracts handsome or if it's just dumb luck that they ended up together. 

"James, this is the babe that found Stacia," Sirius says.

James wrinkles his nose. "Hi," he says, in a voice that sounds deeply apologetic, years of it like the rings of a tree. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Um, and you?" 

"I'm good! Thanks, I'm good, it's nice of you to come see us. Did you like the show?" 

"Yeah, I did. I had no idea you guys were musicians." 

He splits his attention between you and his jacket. He pulls a glasses case out of his pocket, clicks it open, and straightens out a pair of wire frames. 

"Couldn't tell from our baby boy's general demeanour?" he asks. "Hey, that's better, I can see you now." 

"Sirius is the youngest," Remus says. 

"And the handsomest." 

"No, Marl's clearly the handsome one," James says lightly. 

Sirius takes the rebuttal in good jest and brandishes his drink toward you like a toast. "Want a beer?" 

"I'm getting her one," Remus says, "come on, give me a minute here." 

Everybody laughs. You laugh too, turning your face into your shoulder to smother the sound. 

"Well, come and sit with us, make yourself comfortable," James says, moving his jacket off of the chair in front of you.

Remus makes a small, apprehensive sound. "Drinks first." He looks to you for confirmation. "Yeah. We'll be back." 

You follow him to the bar. Your shoes, a pair of dirty converse you wish you'd swapped for heels or something sophisticated, squeal against the hardwood floor. How were you supposed to know you'd see him again tonight? In what world does stuff like this happen to scruffy waitresses? You're starting to think he might be somebody. 

Not that it matters if he is or isn't. 

But if he is… This is embarrassing, right? Not knowing who he is. 

There must be a couple thousand people here tonight. Then again, his band were the opening act, so it doesn't necessarily mean they're all famous or anything. 

"Hey," Remus says softly, stopping your thoughts cold. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine. Sorry. I've never been in here before, anywhere that's like it,” you say. 

"Venues are all different but the bars don't change," he says. "What do you like?" 

"I'm not a big drinker." 

"That's okay. I just wanted an excuse to be alone with you." He doesn't even give you time to recover. "Truth is, I wanted to ask you out. But between shows I couldn't find time, and next week I'm in San Marino." 

What you mean to say is, you wanted to ask me out? But instead, you choke, "You're going to Italy?" 

Remus pushes a seat out for you, helping you up with a solid hand, and, while your fingers are still warm from his touch, he says, "San Marino isn't Italy. I didn't know that 'til a few months ago. But pretty much." 

"What's in San Marino?" 

"A wedding." He climbs into the seat next to you, smiling.

The tan colour of his long-sleeves contrasts his pale hands. Your eyes flash to his ring finger. Not his wedding. 

Remus isn’t easy to talk to. It's not wholly his fault. He doesn't force conversation, leaving you awkwardly searching for something to say. You're not the best conversationalist either. He clearly doesn't mind it. 

You're in the midst of a clumsy retelling of a shitty customer service moment when he tips his head to the left just a touch. 

"Maybe we can go on an actual date when I'm home,” he says.

He says it like he's talking about the weather. You'd be worried he was messing with you, but then he smiles again, flicking his index finger against your wrist mildly. "You don't have to answer me now. Finish telling your story."

"It was pretty much finished. And– and I'd like to. Go on a real date. I've never been out of the country, so you'll have to forgive me if I want to know everything about San Marino." 

He looks at your lips. Says, "Good," and doesn't give any indication that he's noticed how nervous you are. That is, until he covers your trembling hand with his and presses it flat to the bar. 

"You're really pretty," he murmurs. He takes a moment, and he smiles. "Come with me? If I don't give Sirius some attention soon he'll start showing off."

— 

James is starting to wonder if he should invite you to San Marino. He's not that stupid; it would be a huge pain if you were standing in the middle of all his wedding photos and you and Remus don't work out. But, while he's certainly and majorly jumping the gun, he has a suspicion he’ll be seeing you again. 

James has never seen Remus like this before. 

His friend is usually quiet, quipping every now and then perhaps at Sirius' insufferable antagonism but otherwise brooding. He hasn't seen him smile this much, ever. 

James is under no illusions — he knows Remus loves him very much. He knows Remus is happy, and not always healthy but managing. He knows Remus is pleased with their lives and ecstatic to have their music take off. But he also knows Remus won't let himself have a good thing, not really. Maybe that's why he's asked you out now, when in a week they'll be in San Marino, and a week after that they'll be in Cardiff to officially start the new tour. 

He knows Remus, sweetheart, kind hearted, miraculous Remus, tends to let people down. He's a stickler for asking people out and cancelling the day before. It's how it always goes. James will ask how the date went and Remus will shake his head and say, "it didn’t work out." 

He knows Remus doesn't mean to hurt anybody. He just… can't get close. 

But he's trying, with you. A glass of cordial in one hand, the other behind your chair, Remus tells you one of his more embarrassing stories about how he'd taken a bad fall and ended up in A&E with half of an eyebrow. He doesn't mention the painkillers that made him woozy. 

You've relaxed considerably since sitting down. James would be happy to report that you're having a good time. You have your own drink in hand, and your eyes are bright, with a receding space between your face and Remus' as the story goes on. It's like watching two magnets fight to hold themselves apart.

Matter of time, James thinks to himself smugly. 

—

Honesty is important. You admit to yourself that you and Remus aren't exactly a perfect match. Both quiet, both not quite social butterflies, your conversations had occasionally been stilted and slow, but you've only met twice. Things don't have to be perfect, and more than that — there's a spark there. A twinge of a possibility. He'd liked what little he knew about you enough to ask to see you again, and you'd like what little you knew about him in turn to say yes. 

It doesn't have to be perfect, you insist to yourself, a bundle of nerves. Nothing does. 

He looks pretty perfect. Base of his palm pressed to the brick wall of the cafe, hand angled down as his fingers grasp the neck of a bouquet whose flowers have been shedding petals onto the damp pavement below. He holds his other hand against his chest, clicking buttons on his phone. 

You approach from the left and watch him play a game of Snake. 

"You play Snake?" you ask.

"Doesn't everybody?" he asks back, his smile softening what might otherwise feel like a chastisement. He doesn't look up from his phone.

"Woah, how long have you been out here?" you ask, eyeing his weirdly long snake.

Remus guides the snake into a wall on purpose. It dies, his high score flashes across the screen, and he aims an apologetic look your way. "Sorry, that was rude." He doesn't try to hide that he's looking over your face. "Thanks for coming." 

He leans in and kisses your cheek. Delighted warmth curls in your stomach, worse when he passes you the bouquet of flowers. They've mostly survived his poor treatment, and there's a lot of them. He's left the price tag on and you're not sure if he's noticed. You pretend not to see it. 

"Thank you…” You look away from the flowers, all whites and reds and baby’s breath, to ogle him as subtly as you can manage. “Wow, you've caught the sun. Was it lovely in San Marino?" 

"I'll tell you all about it over dinner,” he says. “I thought we'd walk, it's not far." He holds out his hand. You wipe your palm against your side before you take it, worried you'll have clammy hands. He must guess, because he says, "Don't be nervous." 

"I am," you say hopelessly. "I've never been on a date before." 

"This is your first date?" 

You feel a hot flush coming on. "I– yeah. That's embarrassing, I shouldn't have told you that." 

"No, it's a good thing. Now I know it has to be extra special." 

"It doesn't," you say. 

"I was hoping it would be." He pulls you down the pavement and further into the city centre toward the main high street. "San Marino. It was beautiful, and I took a couple of photos but I didn't have room on my phone. Well, I could've deleted Snake–" 

"Why would you?" you joke, grinning. 

He laughs, and squeezes your hand slightly. "Exactly. I have priorities. It's a long flight, and looking over the photos can only take up so much time. No, but it really was… it was beautiful. I'd never given much thought to a destination wedding. They make sense, right? It's the best day of your life, why would you have it here?" 

He tilts his chin toward the grey sky. You look up with him, feeling the cold wind kiss the sides of your face and pull through your hair. 

"Come on, Remus, it's not that bad. If it's sun you're after, you could just wait for British summer time. You know, the whole three days of it." 

He laughs — you've made him laugh twice already. This is going okay. Laughing while looking at one another, a bouquet in one hand and his hand in the other, you feel that curl of delight begin to bloom. It fills your insides up, has you smiling until your eyelashes brush in the corners. 

"It was James' wedding. Do you remember which one that was?" 

He asks so kindly. You don't doubt for a second that he wouldn't care if you forgot. It's refreshing, even if it's something you'd expect. 

"I remember. I didn't realise he was getting married." 

"Don't ever say that in front of him, he'll put himself on the cross." He swings your hand as you turn a corner. The Italian restaurant you'd agreed on winks from a distance. 

"He's devoted," you guess. 

"He's insane. He was worse when we were younger. His girlfriend– his wife," he amends, "Lily, she's really something else. Warm and funny, but she's been keeping him on his toes for years. She has family in San Marino, hence the wedding." 

You listen to him talk eagerly. His voice is as handsome as his face, and the more he says the less stilted he becomes. There had been a strained quality to it before (strained, or restrained? something he wasn't saying) that's all but disappeared. 

"It was like a movie. White linen, sand, crying." 

"Did you cry?" you ask, expecting a puffed up chest. 

"So much. Too much, maybe. I was half of the best man." 

"Half?" 

"We had to share, me and Sirius. They've always been…" Remus slows his steps. "Am I being boring? I'm talking too much about me." 

"We have time. I want to hear it. I'd like to hear it," you say. 

James and Sirius are brothers. Remus sees your surprised look and doesn't condemn you for it. Sirius is unofficially adopted. The Potter's fostered him from ages thirteen until he aged out, and though they tried to adopt him, Sirius was reluctant. Remus doesn't get into the reasons beyond that, and you don't ask. You suspect he's only telling you about it to drive home how much the Potter's love Sirius. How much James does. 

Remus had been Sirius' friend from their very first year of comprehensive school. Sirius moved in with the Potter's, and, adoring as they were, they let him have friends over whenever he liked. James, Sirius, and Remus spent the next decade together like that, hiding in Sirius' room. Best friends, entirely inseparable, and all fiercely protective of each other. 

"They've always been like brothers." 

"But not…" 

He understands what you're worried to say. "I think it would've been weird… I had a candle burning for James. For a long time." 

Your jaw drops a little. "And you just had to watch him have the most romantic wedding ever," you whisper sympathetically. You're joking: it's clear the candle isn't burning now. 

"Told you I cried," he says. "No, but you've seen him. He's a supermodel. It's awful." 

"Remus, I think you might be underestimating how handsome you are," you say. You bite your lip and look at his chin rather than his eyes. 

He's generous. He gives your wrist a tug and chuckles warmly. "I'm glad you think so. Tonight might have been awkward, otherwise." 

You duck together inside of the restaurant, hands falling apart as Remus gives his last name for the reservation. Lupin. Your face has a mind of its own. 

"Charming, isn't it?" 

"It is," you say emphatically, denying his sarcasm. "I've never heard anything like that. Lupine, like a fox?" 

"Wolf."

A server shows you to your table and hands you two leather covered menus. Leather, not plastic, a sign that tonight is going to be classy. You've dressed for the occasion in a smart blouse and slacks, too terrified of wearing a dress. Remus seems to have done the same as you, reaching for smart but dodging the mark in a button down and a casual jacket. When he takes off his coat, he looks perfect. He fits right in. 

"Could we get a glass?" he asks the server. "For the flowers? If it's not too much trouble." 

"No trouble at all." 

You run your hand across the silken tablecloth and the space between you both feels somehow smaller than when you'd been holding hands. Outside, you could let your gaze drift to the pavement, the fenced in trees, the couples that passed you by. Here, you're forced to watch one another. 

It's not so bad. It's agonising. 

"This is weird," you say. You flinch when you hear yourself. "Sorry, not that you're weird! I'm weird. I've never ever done this." 

"No, I know," he says, almost murmuring, "it's okay." 

"I just blurted out what I was thinking–" 

"I know." He sits back in his chair. His head tilts down, his eyelashes kissing the skin above his brows as he fixes you with a look. It has the intended effect, tension easing from your rigid spine and tight shoulders. "This is weird. But it's still early. It could get weirder." 

You like that he says it as if it's a good thing. 

You order the same thing he does, and you don't turn down his offer to get a bottle of wine, though it feels too grown up. You keep forgetting you're an adult, and that your life isn't on hold. Things can happen to you at any time. 

"I want to address the elephant in the room," he says. 

Not promising. "Okay." 

"Are we having dessert?" Remus leans forward on both forearms. Hair falls in his eyes. He's dressed nicely and he's handsome but there's something homespun about him, something golden. You can't help looking at him and thinking impossibly forward thoughts, cheesy waffle from the films. He's familiar. "Nobody ever wants to get dessert with me. It's actually a real issue for me." 

"I'll get dessert with you." A smoother you with more confidence, who wore the dress and asked him to go to the Thai restaurant instead, would've said something more suave. We're having whatever you want, handsome.

Remus flips the menu to the very last page and reads the desserts aloud. For himself, it seems, half-muttered and apprehensive. "Chocolate cake from places like this will either be the nicest thing we've ever eaten or burnt in the microwave. And it's childish that I want chocolate cake. I should be spoon feeding you creme brulee. Or whipped cream and strawberries." 

He tips his head back and rubs his eyes. It's a charade of feigned self loathing that makes you laugh. 

"I'm a child," he laments, thumb and index finger pressed into his eyes. He checks to see if you're watching before doubling down. 

"I like cake," you say, and you'd lie if you thought it was what he wanted to hear. Handsome, kind, and funny. Not to mention talented. He needs smart for the sweep. 

Remus falls out of his dramatics. You mourn the loss, beggy a good look on him, but forget all about it when he slides his chair around the table to share the menu with you, your heads inclined as you read it together again. He smells woody. You hope he likes the jasmine of your perfume. 

"It all sounds really nice," you confide, afraid to disturb the comfortable hush. "I haven't had gelato since I was a kid. Oh, did they have real gelato in San Marino?"

“They had a lot of stuff in San Marino… I want to hear about you.”

“What do you want to hear?”

The questions start and don’t stop. Where did you grow up? That’s the easy part. What did you study in school? Were you in sports? The art club? And what do you do now, when you aren’t working in the cafe? The more he asks, the easier it is to answer. He doesn’t slow when the waiter brings a glass for your bouquet, simply stands and places them inside with exceedingly gentle hands, smiling at you from between the stems. You eat slowly when the food arrives — you're busy talking. 

It feels fucking amazing. To have someone want to know anything about you. And unless he’s an actor of the highest regard, he’s obviously enjoying your conversations, though they wilt and wane and wind around one another. You lose track of time and thread as the night goes on, distracted by the near unnoticeable asymmetry of his smile, and the way he laughs when you laugh, like an echo. 

You get cake like he wanted. Triple fudge cake with buttercream thick but melting from the heat. It looks straight from the pages of a magazine, glossy and dusted with sugar powder, but he doesn’t seem to like it. He takes a couple of bites and leaves it alone. You don’t want to look greedy, so you do the same. 

The date is suddenly over. 

“Could I walk you home?” he asks, when you’ve both put your coats back on, and the damp roots of your flowers are leaving an imprint on your chest. 

You nod rather than answer. 

Things are good, not perfect. That’s what you keep thinking. There’s something he isn’t saying. Or, horrifyingly, something he doesn’t like about you. Still, the sky is velvet black and the air is crisp. Stars like needlepoints dot the air. Street lights work to hide them, casting a warm yellow glow over the pavements and your meandering shoes. 

A brisk wind whips past you. You shiver and press your lips together hard, hands quick to rigidity. Remus looks at you sideways, and breaks the quiet. “Are you cold?”

“A little.” No point in lying when he can see you trembling. 

“Do you want my coat?”

“No, no, it’s alright–“ You cut off as he steps in front of you, his hand vying for yours. 

He tucks the flowers under his arm and sandwiches your fingers between his. He has short fingernails, and another scar down one pinky finger. How’d you get that one? you want to ask. How’d you get any of them?

His breath clouds the air. “I should’ve thought about the cold.”

“This is better,” you say. Than a warm taxi home. His thumbs brushing down the backs of your hands. 

You walk to your flat building and hesitate at the foyer door. The potential for a kiss goodnight has flayed your thoughts. The image of his hands climbing your arms, holding you still, plays like a flickering film. You have no idea if he’s going to do it. 

“How will you get home?” you ask quietly. 

“I parked by the cafe, it isn’t far.”

“Oh…” The lights from your building paint him the faintest shade of pink. Your breath fogs out in front of you, as does his, and the warmth of walking will soon fade. “I–“

“Here,” he says, handing you the flowers again. 

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“Fits the recipient.”

It takes a second for you to get it. Oh, you think. You can hardly feel the cold now. Your heart hurts, and you’re begging him to want to take a step toward you. The silence goes for too long. 

“I– I’d love to see you again,” you say. Love comes out funny. Maybe because you can feel his rejection coming. 

“I won’t be here next week. Not for a long time. We’re touring properly, now.” He scratches the side of his face.

“Right. Right, of course you are. Um, good luck with that. And thank you for tonight, for dinner.” You wave your flowers weakly. 

He looks at you. He takes a half step toward you. You can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. 

“You really are pretty,” he says finally. “Goodnight.”

He smiles quick and turns quicker. You watch him walk a few steps but ultimately can’t face it, pushing into the foyer of your building with a hardset frown. Your hands shake, minute abstractions of the sharp rejection panging in your chest. Your ears roar and then go quiet. What did I do wrong? you think, shocked and upset and trying to rationalise. He doesn’t have to kiss you. He asked you out on a maybe, and now whatever question he had is answered. 

The door creaks open. You spin on your heel, too wrapped up to think about hiding your expression. Remus stands in the doorway of the porch, his arm pressed to the glass panel, the other held out to you. 

"Come here," he says quietly. It isn't a question, but he's asking. 

You step into his reach, letting him pull you by the waist against his chest. He leans down until his nose glances against ýours, and he starts to say something. You push your chin up in your eagerness and he doesn't try again. He kisses you, once, contrite, and he pulls back and his hand clasps your arm tight as he ducks in for another. His lips are fast to lose the cold of the weather, but his tongue is a hot shock at the seam of your own. 

You go weak in his arms. The flowers between you crunch and smother themselves. You can’t think about it. Your hands are numb. He takes over every one of your senses until you’re more kiss than thought, reciprocating his slow, deep searching. You run out of breath. 

He eases you backward, cupping the side of your head in his big palm. 

“I want to see you again,” he says hoarsely. “But I– I don’t know when I’ll be back.” His hand adjusts against your cheek, like he’s worried you’re slipping out of his hold. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I can wait,” you say. 

“I couldn’t ask you to.”

You rub your buzzing lips together, each heaven of your chest marked by the crinkling sound of cellophane. 

“Do you want to come upstairs?” you ask.

He strokes the edge of your mouth with his thumb. “Are you sure?”

You kiss him. You don’t know if this will work, any of it, the broad stroke or this one night, but you want him. 

—

Remus doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows how to fuck somebody, that isn’t the problem. He doesn’t know what he’s doing with you. The same thing that made him walk away had pulled him right back in, had him skipping steps on the staircase up to your flat, drinking in the back of your head and roll of your shoulders as you’d made apologies for the mess inside.

He doesn’t feel like himself when he’s with you. He thinks of it like this — what he is, his pain, his wants, that’s all set in stone. Any change is an erosion, and little by little over the years he’s managed to whittle himself down into the smallest, cleanest version of himself. Then suddenly the band’s making money, people are listening to his voice on the radio in countries all over the world, and he can’t hide anymore. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to, after all. What else inspires a performer into the spotlight? The music, he thinks desperately, knowing it’s half a lie. 

Isn’t it why he’d asked you to the show? Come and watch me sing. See me at my most impressive. My most curated. 

And now he’s following you into your bedroom after one date, about to strip it all away. 

“You didn’t have too much wine, did you?” he asks. You hadn’t really finished your first glass, but it won’t hurt to make sure. 

You peel your jacket off and drop it over the back of a wide armchair. “I don’t think so. Did you?”

“No.” His head has never been this clear. 

He thinks about what you said. This is your first date, and he’s not clueless enough to assume that never going on a date means never having sex, but he wants to be careful with you anyway. He wants this to last beyond a dinner date. 

Which means he has to get out of his head. 

Beyond all of his own mess, he really does think you're pretty. More than pretty. You’re beautiful, and your voice… 

He wants to see what other sounds you make. 

Remus gets his hands on you. Soft touches, his hands coasting from your elbows to your warming hands. He squeezes your fingers, leaning in for a quick kiss. He rests his nose against the skin beneath your eye. “Tell me if it’s too much?” he asks, a murmur of hot air. 

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go slowly.”

“Okay.” Your voice is barely audible. 

He pulls away to make sure you’re alright, and is surprised to see a glassy sheen in your eyes. He holds your face in both hands and works your lips open against his, guiding you backwards into the plush of your poorly made bed. He’s all sweet touches and eager kisses, cautious not to hurt you, or let too much of his weight press against your soft torso. His kisses follow to the corner of your mouth, the tip of his nose tender against your cheek. “You’re so quiet,” he says. He isn’t complaining, but he wants to hear your voice. 

“I’m a bit preoccupied.”

He laughs into your skin, kissing down to your jaw. “You’re right,” he says, revelling in the goosebumps that rise under his hands. 

Your shaking inhales cleave a pit in his stomach. He mouths at the side of your neck, half-kisses, tiny warning nips before he thumbs open the first button of your shirt. He meanders, dropping a path crescent moon kisses into your front until the fabric of your bra gets in the way. The soft hill of your breast staggers to a halt beneath him. He can tell that you’re holding deliberately still. 

Kisses. You need more kisses, an absolution from any lingering nervousness. Your hands thread into his hair gently, your fingers raking wavy strands behind his ears as you give in. You melt into your sheets, your legs parting from the pressure of his hips. 

Your hands fall from his hair to needle between your two bodies and undo the rest of your buttons. The fabric falls aside, your chest and tummy his to catalogue. He drops his hand against your stomach, smoothing a line down to your slacks. His lips ache against yours as he asks, “Can I?”

“Please.”

“Please?” he says back, mirroring your soft tone. “You think you need to say please?” His pinky bumps under the waistband of your trousers. There isn’t much give. He traces the lining to your zipper, fiddling with the small piece of metal as your eyes darken. “I should be the one saying it.” His voice keeps dropping, an utterance in the shell of your ear, his words for you and you alone. “I’m at your mercy, dove. Don’t say please with me. Okay?” 

He smiles at your daunted expression. “Can I take these off?” he asks you, his fingertip running under the edge of your underwear. “Please?” he teases.

Your skin is a furnace, hot hot hot everywhere he touches as you nod your permission and Remus undresses you, one piece of clothing at a time. Your trousers, your shirt. Your bra, your underwear. His fingers slip in his ardency as he tears out of his own button down. 

Your thumb traces a scar. 

He looks up from your chest, startled, but you aren’t giving him anything he doesn’t want. There’s no pity in your gaze, no curiosity, no sadness. Just lust, your trembling hands pulling his slacks down the lengths of his thighs. 

He pulls the condom from his wallet in his pocket and lets it fall to the floor. 

Remus hooks his hands under your arms and urges you back against the headboard, a pillow behind your head, your thighs tipping open as his hand runs down between them. He grabs at them greedily, handfuls of fat that have his mouth dry as a bone. 

“Has anyone ever done this to you before?” he asks. He needs to know.

You squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head. 

Fuck. “Hey, look at me,” he says, waiting for your eyes to meet before continuing. “I just want to make you feel good. If I don’t, you let me know.”

He waits for you to answer aloud. “I will,” you say, your hand behind his back and urging him forward. “Please.”

“What did I say?” he jokes gently, letting his weight bear down on you again. 

He closes his eyes, his lips in what feels like a new home at the juncture of your neck. His hands skirt dangerously close to your heat. 

He’s gentle. He rubs a sweeping line against your cunt with the front of his fingers, heart hammering fast as a mouse’s when he finds the little button of your clit. You shiver and shudder and squirm as he toys with you, your fingers steadfast against the plane of his back while he opens you up. His lips part in tandem, not nearly as kind as his hands. His teeth scratch against your throat. 

Your soft moans move through him as he hickeys over your pulse, chasing each capering thud of blood. He winds you up. You’re snug around his fingers, fluttering, and he knows he’s probed something sweet when your breath catches and you whine. 

“Was that alright?” he asks. 

You nod, heavy headed, and lick your lips as he tears open the condom and eases it onto his cock, one measured roll at a time. 

“Can you– I want you to–” You turn your face from him, the line of your jaw kissed by the lamplight outside, and the rest hidden. 

He drags you down to lay flat on your back and holds himself over you, nudging his nose against yours until you lift your head. Face to face, he gives himself time to adore the shape and colour of your eyes, the side of his hand brushing along your cheek. “Do you think you’re ready?” he asks sincerely. The slickness between your legs is obvious, but he doesn’t want to blindside you. “It will feel…”

You nod, saving him the explanation. It will feel weird. Good, but foreign. “Will you kiss me again?” you ask feebly.

He can’t stop himself. He kisses your lips sore, his hand behind the crook of your knee pushing your leg up toward your stomach as he slides into the space he’s made there. He breaks the kiss to listen to your breathing as he pushes forward.

Remus hadn’t been lying — he wants it to feel good. He takes it slow, his thrusting almost languid as you get to grips with the feeling. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, struggling to smother the moan that escapes him as he feels you clench around him. You gasp, your arms tightening around his waist, destroying any semblance of space between your sweat-damp bodies as you hold him tight. He murmurs praises in your ear, his forearms tucked beneath your shoulder blades, hands gripping your shoulders a touch too hard. He can’t remember the last time he was this close to somebody, can’t remember ever feeling so maddeningly lost, like he’s one good push from hurtling over the edge. 

He kisses your cheek, calling you all the things he’d been too scared to say before. “Lovely girl,” he pants, “how’s that feel?” And, when you answer, “Yeah, you’re taking it so well, dove. Think you can take a little more?”

All that nervousness and desperation shrinks down to dust, and the smiling girl he’d been with at dinner comes to the forefront. There’s no mistaking it. You giggle something awful and turn your face into his, kissing him between sounds, dizzying him with the tender scratch of your nails down his back as he starts to move. 

“There she is,” he says lightly, almost smirking. “Feel good?”

“Feels– oh,” —you shiver violently, filled all the way up— “feels good.” 

Remus let’s his forehead fall to your chin, his eyes closed in pleasure, his cock to the hilt. Every move he makes evokes a near sinful sound from you, mewling, silvery whimpers and pleased little laughs when he angles his hips right. He’s a mess, desperate to cum from the second you touched him and running on stolen time as he presses you deep into your mattress. One of your hands flies backward into the pillows and scrunches up into a ball, the look on your face too tempting to ignore. 

The first time you fuck someone — it’s never timed right. Remus knows he hasn’t quite figured you out, but he knows enough to get you where he wants you. He slides his hand between your bodies and your soft cunt to draw circles into your clit, entranced by your twitching lashes as the pleasure builds. You chase him with your hips, and he grabs your hand at the last second to stop you from covering your mouth, holding it above your head as you come apart. 

He cooes at you. The sound you make — the breathless little cry that leaves you, your hips jutting up to meet him. He’s at your mercy, just like he said. 

Remus fucks into the extra tightness, drawing your climax out for as long as he can. You’re smiling as you shove his arm away, a playful chastisement that wanes when you see the look on his face. “Are you close?” you ask, brushing a curled strand of hair from his eyes. 

Close? Remus is fucked. 

“You can go faster,” you say, “rougher, whatever you want.”

“Shit,” he hisses, leaning back. 

His rutting hips slap the backs of your thighs. He squeezes your waist, his eyes fixed on your cunt as it pulls him in. One last wavering, “Oh, fuck,” from you is all it takes for Remus to lose it. White hot pleasure tightens his whole body, his abdomen aflame. You scramble to gather him back into your arms. You kiss him, swallowing his resulting string of moans. 

He has to catch his breath afterward. You comb the hair back from his face, your eyes droopy with pleasure.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, voice stringy.

“Of course not.” You’re quickly losing your confidence. Remus hates it, but he understands. This vulnerability can only stretch so far. 

“Let me clean you up,” he says.

“You look like you’re gonna fall over if you stand.”

He strokes your face with the back of his ring finger, his nail ghosting along the highest point of your cheek. “Funny,” he says dryly. 

He gets confused in your bathroom, and you won’t let him towel you off, but when he lies down beside you with his boxers back in place you don’t push him away. You drop your face into his chest and curl up. 

He drags the quilt over your naked back. 

Was that okay? he wants to ask. “Sore?” he worries instead. 

“Don’t think so.”

He chews his cheek. “You’re alright?”

You stir, looking up at him through your lashes. He thinks you’re the kind of pretty people might not always see. You’re clearly beautiful, but there’s something else to it. The way you move, maybe. The way your eyes smile before your lips can catch up. 

“I’m fine. I’m good… Can I…”

He hums. “What?”

“Could I kiss you again?” 

You speak so quietly, he hears the vibration in your throat more than the sound of your voice. It’s endearingly timid. He feels his attraction for you flare violently. 

He wants to ask you to come with him to Cardiff. He knows he can’t. It’s yards too soon, but for a second he entertains the thought. 

“Wait for me to come home,” he says. He’s still asking for more than he should. “I want to see you again. You can kiss me as much as you want, if you say you’ll wait.”

You nod immediately. Not a flicker of reluctance to be seen. 

You lift your chin and kiss him. He tries to make it the kind of kiss worth waiting for.  

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging cos it helps more than you might think <3

[panboiiibish]

Thinking about monsters right now. More specifically shark mer and his little scuba diver human. Again as they are just too cute not to write about.

It's been hours into your slow ride back to the land and hes shifted you two back into a comfortable position. At least for him. As your sat knelt down with your thighs pinned by his heavy head using you as a pillow while his barrel like arms wrap around your lower half.

The crew not wanting to jostle the hanging cage too much desided that maybe being dipped back into the water would hopefully shoo off the shark mer. So they lowered the two of you back into the cool sea just enough so your lap and half of his face was submerged. It seemed to make him pleased as a content sigh left his parted lips but other then that he made no sign of leaving.

You where now stuck with the world's most dangerous weighted blanket slowly being tugged through the sea. It wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't seem to enjoy scaring the life out of you. With little too firm grips to your soft sides. Testing the thin skin with his much too sharp claws or nuzzling his face into your plush belly. While his parted lips allowed those perky white razor sharp teeth to skim over your flesh just barely mising nicking your flesh.

The teasing always enticed a sharp whimper or jolt out of you and in turn he made almost happy sounding thrills and purrs. How could he not!? Having such a silly little thing in his arms making the most silly of chirps made his tail wigge.

It was only when a pretty daring sailor desided "fuck it" and napped one of their long handled nets. He took off the net part and used the handle to start poking at the cage making the metal against metal clang loudly.

"Shoo! Get yah wild thing!" He starts yelling. The other sailors started getting onto him for getting so loud. They where trying to keep the diver alive not get her caught up in a wild mers rampage. Though they didnt do much to stop him other then yelling and watching. In all honesty they all where scared shitless, it was one thing being near sharks but shark mers and a great white one at that ment trouble. And they where not payed enough to deal with that.

This was when your fear spiked past what the mer had started. The loud noises and jostling of the cage made your breath shutter and body tremble. This also seemed to rise an reaction out of the mer, seeing his cute little human becoming so stressed from something he didn't do made the hairs on his neck raise and his head lifted from your lap.

his head lifted up over your hunched form, your hands clenched to your chest as an attempt to keep them from shaking too much. But when the shooting and clanging abruptly stopped curiosity pulled you to peek up at the mers face. His face almost made your heart stop. Eyes narrowed into a deep glare and his lips pulled back in the largest snarl you've ever seen on a human like face.

It just reminded you how much he wasn't human along with his sharp teeth showing, the many rows just peeking out as he started up a low rumbling growl at the cocky sailor. Just daring him fo attempt that again and find out what he can truly do.

The sailor backed off, with a wounded pride and loud hazing from the others. Somehow seeing the mer calm back down and lean back to hovering his race right at eye height of yours with those softened eyes seemed to calm back down your gasping breaths and tremoring hands. He let you relax back into a calm cold sweat before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. The heat of his breath finally calmed you into hesitantly wrapping your arms around his torso.

A sweet little calm after that sudden storm made the perfect distraction before a sudden yelp escaped your lips. It came from a sharp pain enveloping your shoulder before the mer pulled back with a shit eating grin that showed his now blood tipped teeth.

Maybe it was the fear or enticing scent coming from your small frame. Whatever it was he just needed a taste, just to know if he would have to worry about getting sudden hungers for his sweet little human. Thankfully your blood didn't taste any better then others. But that adorable little sound that came from you really made his gills flare before leaning back down to rest his head on your lap.

You couldn't even check the wound as he immediately went to fiddling with your fingers. Bending them and rubbing his pads against the blunt of your nails making it impossible to pull them away and touch at the dull stinging coming from your shoulder.

At least it didn't hurt too bad, maybe only stinging so much from the dried sea salt stuck to your skin. But it did remind you that you where dealing with a wild animal here. No matter how intelligent he showed to be. He was still a creature of ths sea and not to be played with as if some kind of house pet.

Its Pan! I'm so happy that this little idea exploded so much. XD Really makes me happy seeing my ideas being liked and my ideas being explored a bit. Though Iv never really been good at long fics without ideas and prompts from others. Xp If yall have any questions about Shark boi and his little diver go ahead and ask! I'm open for any questions and am happy to answer >w< Anyways have a nice night!

[waitingonher]

LOVER'S ROCK [h.o.o. characters in love]

percy jackson

memorizes your fast-food/gas station order. even if you didn’t ask, percy’s still gonna get you a lil something from wherever he goes. he has a shoe box that holds every single thing you’ve ever given him. may or may not still have the receipt from the restaurant after your first date. listens to the music you recommend him. usually, percy’s very opinionated about the music he listens to but he always gives yours a try. embarasses himself solely to see you laugh. yes, the time he dropped his ice cream cone into the hudson was on purpose.

annabeth chase

waits for you to watch the latest episode of your favorite show. annabeth will wait for you no matter what, even if it pains her to not know whether or not her favorite character just died. eases up around you. she appreciates not having to be completely on guard all the time. paints your nails for you. annabeth always finds it funny when she sees your non-dominant hand perfectly manicured while your dominant hand looks as if you did it blindfolded.

jason grace

annotates his favorite books for you to read. when it’s the occasional romance novel, jason writes “us <3” in the margin everytime the love interests do anything remotely romantic. gifts you a necklace with his initial. he smiles everytime he sees it resting against your chest. jason’s phone is entirely made up of you. his lockscreen, his home screen, his widgets…everything is you. jason randomly gives you massages. if you’re working on some school assignment he’d come up behind you and start massaging your neck and shoulders, getting out the knots you didn’t even know you had.

piper mclean

allows you to bypass her dnd. most of the time, piper’s on dnd so she made it so that only your notifications could bypass it. she does the chores you hate the most. even if she hates it just as much, she’ll do it just to see you happy. piper loves making those cheesy couple videos with you on tiktok. every day she’ll tell you how you two are basically tiktok famous?? piper only listens to you when it comes to fashion advice. yeah, she’ll acknowledge what others have to say about her outfits, but she truly only cares about what you think. 

leo valdez

loves you to the point of invention. you can’t even count the amount of gadgets leo’s made for you. he also comes home with little knicknacks made from spare parts of his projects. flowers made of metal scraps >> regular flowers. lets down his guard for you. leo doesn’t feel the need to keep up his happy, humorous persona when he’s with you. he lets you take whatever side of the bed you want. even if leo likes to sleep against the wall, he’ll let you because he knows it makes you happy.

hazel levesque

buys matching couple outfits. you two have your own pinterest board dedicated to your matching outfits. takes care of your hair. considering her own hair, hazel knows a lot about hair care. date nights where she oils your hair and washes it for you over anything else. ties your bows for you. she laughs when you finish tying the bow in your hair only to realize that the loops and tails are different sizes. wears matching jewelry. you two have lockets with photos from your first date. 

frank zhang

never the first one to let go from hugs. frank can and will stand there and hug you for the entire day if you want to. ties your shoes for you. whenever he notices your shoes are untied he entirely stops what he’s doing and drops to the floor, propping your foot on his knee to tie it. always gives you his food. even if you had said you didn’t want any, frank still shares some with you.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part nineteen —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

The cool paste feels tingly on your skin as you rub it against your bruised stomach, wincing. Christ. Maybe Ghost was right to think he might break you. Beneath the mottled patchwork, another kind of pain stirs— your muscles are growing. Firm and tight. The only soft parts of you left are your breasts and your ass. Gently applying the paste to a nasty purple one on your left cheek, you curiously pinch the sore flesh between your fingers. Scratch that. Even your ass is firming up. 

Arnica has healing properties. Yesterday, you found a patch of it with Blue and created a salve with some water. You already applied some last night before bed. Whether or not it’s helping probably doesn't mean much when new ones are about to be added; still, the placebo effect brings some comfort.

You're still massaging your backside when the bathroom door groans beneath a heavy fist. 

"Hurry up. Grab your bow."

“Shit.” You startle, almost dropping the salve. "Uh, coming.”

Chucking on a clean shirt and your old pair of jeans, you pad out of the bathroom, ignoring the cry of your joints. Ghost is outside waiting for you. Wait— bow? Confusion delivers an uptick to your pulse; you never bring your bow to train.

“What’s going on?”

"The air," he replies in a flat tone.

The stale smell offers enough explanation. You cringe. "Should we split up?"

He shakes his head and nods towards the direction the gentle breeze is rolling in. "No need. It's coming from this way."

In the violet wash of morning, you trail beside him over tall grasses and scattered groundhog burrows as the air leads the way, luring you opposite the clearing where you train. There haven't been any Greys since the one you burned together. For the past few weeks, you'd almost forgotten about their existence— a pleasant naivety for once. 

Neither of you bothers with much small talk. He asks if you're sore, probably noticing how stiff you are, and you answer honestly. That's it.

You keep your attention strictly on the wood bow molded into your palm and the slight rustling of leaves all around you, scanning for signs of anything astray. You don't look at Ghost, even when you feel his eyes flicker to the side of your head. Staring at him for even a second longer than necessary rouses something in your gut that was once easy to label as fear; now you don't know what to call it.

He is wearing thicker clothes today, the intimidating vest stocked with ammo glued to his chest. You'd gotten used to his more casual wardrobe of gym shorts and hoodies. They make him look... softer, almost. A little less like a death omen. Though, you sincerely doubt there are any soft parts of Ghost left under all that gear, given the rigid planes you felt beneath your hands when you—

"There."

You snap your gaze in the direction Ghost is pointing at.

At first, you don't see anything.

Then, squinting, you make out a red color far too metallic to naturally sprout among the conifers. 

An arrow is urgently slotted on the bowstring as the two of you head towards it, your brows tightly knitted. You've been this way a few times and never saw a— is that a red car?— before. Closing in, your suspicions are confirmed when a stroke of sunlight bounces off the metal bumper. The patchy sedan is tucked within a bush, tail-end sticking out, with half-flat tires resting on corroded rims. Shadows of movement dance behind the tinted windows, too disjointed to be natural.

"What the fuck?" you mutter under your breath, boots scuffing over a long-faded gravel pathway that is now shrouded in weeds. The car must've been following it before winding up in the bush— the occupants no longer human enough to drive.

"They... they must have just turned while they were driving," you think aloud. "When did this even get here?"

"Maybe during the night," Ghost mutters.

He paces forward and swings open the passenger door. A string of moans is released as a Grey lurches within the confinements of the seatbelt, but he quickly silences it with a bullet to the forehead, causing it to flop sideways out of the car. Maybe just a day ago, it was a young man. His hair is fully intact and he's wearing a blue shirt with the Chelsea Football Club logo on the back.

"I wonder why they were driving this way to begin with," you say quietly, stomach rolling.

In the driver's seat is the slumped-over corpse of an older man, having died from so many bite wounds before the infection could take hold. The early stages of decomposition smell almost worse than the infection and you have to breathe through your mouth as you head for the back door. 

"There's another here I think."

You're ready to shoot and put whoever it once was out of their misery when you pry open the door, but the sight of a small body wriggling around makes you freeze. Curled up against the faded leather is an infected boy, no older than eight or nine. His eyes are all white except for the outer rim where a few vessels are still filled with red blood. Your fingertips dig fiercely into the frame of the door as you stare down at him; his soft brown hair, his small hands, his Minecraft shirt. He whimpers and tries to claw at you, mouth hung open in mindless hunger.

The feeling that washes over you is hot and cold at the same time. It's not the first or last time you've seen an infected child, so you don't know why the sight traps you for a few heartbeats.

A voice emerges beside you. "It's not a kid anymore."

You almost forgot Ghost was there. Your teeth clench. "Yeah, I know."

You feel his eyes burning into you. Your fingers tighten and untighten around the arrow's stem as you aim. 

"Hone it, Twix— the anger."

The tension in your jaw releases at the same time as your arrow snaps forward, cutting through the boy's skull and driving his limp body down to the car floor.

“You good?”

You forcefully swallow and look away, giving Ghost a short nod. "Guess that's all of them."

He slowly nods in agreement, studying you, but all he says is, "For now."

“Don’t you think it’s strange?”

“Seen stranger things over the years,” he says. “It seems like they were headed somewhere, maybe needed a new place to settle, and one of them got bit. Infected the others.”

You nod, thinking it over. “What about the car?"

"No fuel left, so it's pretty useless." Rifle still in his grip, he moves around to the hood and props it open. "Might have some parts I can use, though."

While he scavenges for gears that aren't rusted beyond functionality, you take a look at their belongings. There is an empty bottle of whiskey in the cupholder. In the boy's lap is a stuffed tiger that you assume was once white, but now it's a worn of grey. You carefully shift his corpse and take it.

"I have a friend who might be able to care of this for you."

In the trunk, at least, you find some tripwire. 

Dragging the two adult bodies back to the trench for burning is your 'strength' training for the day. Since they haven't decomposed much yet, they're heavy; you go back and forth, taking one at a time. Ghost carries the small one over his shoulder. After the flames snuff out the smell of rot, he relieves you, claiming he has other shit to take care of—more traps to set with the newfound tripwire.

"Hey. Would you like this?" you ask Blue when she's up, handing her the tiger. 

"I'm kinda too old for dolls, Twix." She must see the expression on your face because she shakes her head and disappears into her room for a minute before coming out with a teddy bear. "My mom gave me this one when I was a baby and it just sits on my bed by itself, but now it can have a friend."

You smile and nod. "Yeah, okay."

The day is spent playing board games with her. When she notices how sore you are, she offers an exclusive massage from Grim, who hops over your back and legs as you relax face-down on the couch. However, even with the honorary treatment, the aching lingers. 

"Auntie, I'm over here!"

In a violet-tinted field, you search for the voice.

It's barren and hazy, with no hard edges or places for a little boy to hide; so why is it so hard to find him? You call his name. You wander around, aimless, until you catch a familiar whiff of baked cinnamon and fresh laundry. This way. He's this way. You start running fervently. When a small hand tugs at yours, you whip around and try to grab him, but the soft touch dissolves through your fingers like ash. 

When you wake up, there's a hand on your back and blood on your tongue, evidence that you'd bitten through it during your sleep. The taste is quickly replaced with bile as you launch up, grabbing the sleeve of someone's shirt.

"Oh no, you don't."

The hand moves to your hair, wrapping it around in a fistful before forcing your head to tilt down. A bucket is tucked beneath your chin. You vomit into it, the cool metal rim hissing against your fingertips. Again and again. When it's all out, your throat feels like sandpaper. 

"Done?"

The dark room surrounds you; the perfect place to hide what you know must be a ghastly look on your face. Awareness creeps in, and you're not thrilled by the fact that you've thrown up in front of him twice now. Without looking up at the white skull you know is there, you nod.

Wordlessly, he takes out a cigarette and lighter. You hear a deep inhale. See the dull glow of the flame. Then, he passes it to you and leaves.

"You look like shit today."

You can't even be offended, fully aware of the purple painted beneath your eyes. One look at you quirks his brow up in that annoying mannerism of his.

You offer a tight-lipped simper, mumbling. "At least I can always count on you for brutal honesty."

"Good trait to look for in an ally." He throws the gauze at you and you begin wrapping up. "I don't suppose it has anything to do with the fact you nearly ruined another shirt of mine last night."

You tie off the gauze and glance up. "Look, I'm s—" you stop yourself, "I mean, I'm not sorry, because you wanted my box open so now it's open. You already knew the potential consequences."

"Try opening it without emptying your stomach next time."

You flash him a look. "I think I miss when you pretended I didn't exist."

"And I miss getting a full night of sleep."

"Can we just get started? I'm ready."

Ghost keeps his eyes on you as he motions a fisted hand. "As you wish."

When the familiar dance begins, and adrenaline ripples up your spine, you realize that you missed this yesterday. The rest felt good, but this— the thrill of seeing Ghost start to get as worked up as you, the sweat stains on his shirt matching your own... it is something you itch for these days. 

You get a few hits in that have your ego swelling. But then— the rough night catches up with you after half an hour of wordless sparring. Your breathing grows labored, while his is barely winded.

"Tired yet?" he asks.

"No," you say, but he calls you out immediately.

"You're a terrible liar," he reminds you. A few more swings have your lungs burning as you dodge until one finally catches up with you, and whatever healing your homemade salve has done is erased by a fresh layer of pain. 

As you clutch your side, he changes the subject. "Are you going to tell me what it was about then?"

"What what was about?"

"Whatever was making you whimper in your sleep."

Your face twists. "I wasn't 'whimpering'."

"Fine, then. Crying," he corrects plainly.

You sigh through your nose, averting your gaze only for a moment, then focusing back on him before he can strike you again. His words hang in the air, ignored, as you jab an elbow toward his ribs. He grabs you by the knob of it and pulls you unnecessarily close to his chest. When you try to wriggle free by placing a hand on his chest, he fists your hair, which has slipped out of a bun into a haphazard ponytail, and tugs hard enough to force your eyes up to his.

His gaze is demanding but his voice is light— a mere breath over your forehead. "Tell me why someone who has seen plenty of infected kids by now seemed so bothered by the one she saw yesterday. He reminded you of someone, didn't he?"

The mention of it makes you snap. "Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Trying to act like you know anything about me."

"I know enough. You are easy to read."

So that feeling you get when he looks at you isn't just in your head; he truly can see through. Your nails dig into your palm. "There's no need to read me. We're not friends. We're just... allies, or whatever."

"Or whatever," he repeats thoughtfully, tasting the words. "You talk like a teenager."

"Compared to you I might as well be," you retort.

"Jesus." He chuffs out an exhale, eyes flickering down for a moment before returning up to yours, narrowing. "Let's not change the subject here." 

"Fine. Take this stupid Halloween mask off," you lift the hand on his chest up to the hem of his balaclava, feeling how weighted the fabric is with sweat. "And I will tell you all about it."

His jaw flexes before he gently guides your hand away. "Tempting offer, but I'll pass."

You refuse to acknowledge the tinge of embarrassment at his dismissal and inch back as far as the hand on your hair will allow. The close proximity, or harsh sun, is making it hard to breathe. "Well, it's not fair for you to ask me shit about my life when you don't even let me see your face."

"I never claimed to be fair." 

"I promise I won't vomit no matter how ugly you are. I've seen worse things out here."

His hand tightens. "I think I miss when you were scared of me. Less mouthy back then."

"Well, I'm not anymore."

"No?" He flips you around so your back is against him, one hand settling on the toned curve of your hip. His voice lowers to your ear. "Maybe I need to fix that."

An unwelcomed shiver courses through you. He lets go. A wristbone nudges against your spine, shoving you forward. Irritation simmers in your veins when his remark finally registers, and you whirl around, readying your stance. 

"If you even think about threatening me after I explicitly asked you not to, then I would suggest sleeping with a knife tonight."

"Who's threatening who, Twix?" He gives a low chuckle. "Relax. I'm sure I could handle you in my sleep, anyway."

He's egging you on; you know it. And yet, you stubbornly take the bait. His knee— the right one. That's where you got him last time that made him falter. Maybe an old injury. But when you swing a boot at it, he expects your attempt, knocking you away by the ankle. 

"Ah. Eager to get me beneath you again?"

Pink sears your cheeks as you wipe a trickle of sweat from your forehead. "I'm eager to humble you for once."

"Might need to keep your dinner down to do that."

You grit your teeth. So maybe he did allow it last time. The realization darts your eyes to his wide stance, searching for an idea. Without second-guessing yourself, you kick at the other knee. He must find your second attempt amusing because he easily predicts it, but before he can catch your leg, you snap it back and drop yourself to the ground.

The brief distraction allows the second of time needed to fit yourself between his legs. You're slim enough to push through, kicking at the inside of both knees once you're on the other side. His legs buckle, and you reach up to pull his arm, finishing the job.

Once he's down, you scramble to get on top, not caring if your boot kicks his face in the process. You grab both of his wrists and bring them above his head, but it's impossible to wrap your fingers all the way around them. Instead, you lace them through his fingers, breathing hard in his face as your breasts meld against the solid heat of him.

"Did you allow that?" 

His voice is rougher than you've ever heard it. "No."

Your lips furl. "Good."

A dark gleam passes through his dilated pupils that makes your head fuzzy. You let go of his hands. Immediately, they gravitate to your hips again, thumbs fiercely pressing into the sliver of skin exposed from where your shirt rides up. You don't move even an inch, frozen in place as you stare down at where he grips you against him. That feeling in your gut deepens and spreads. It is hard to pinpoint—so insane and foreign yet familiar at the same time—but one thing is certain: it begins and ends where his rough skin touches yours.

Before you can figure anything else out, a scream shatters the air, and Ghost rips you off of him in one swift movement. 

[hopelessdazai]

✿ 》I'll have you muzzled and caged, ill put you right in your place, you want it.

╰⧼ 🪻 note.. ⧽ ; this was in my drafts for a period . I actually finished it tho so be proud of me ( reblogs appreciated !!! )

╰⧼ ☀️ features.. ⧽ ; beast dazai x gn!reader x beast chuuya ( reader is afab but only a cunt is mentioned ) WC : 1.5k

╰⧼ 🌙 contents.. ⧽ ; smut, petplay, buttplug (but it isnt used), handcuffs, chuuya is soft and dazais a little of a dick, it kinda gets right into it so be warned, actual smut begins after the divider.

“..puppy ears?”

the velvet headband was clutched between your fingers. a gift box on the table in front of you from the boss of the Port mafia. Dazai, your personal trainer. He didn't reply at first, simply smiling down at you - before stepping beside you and taking a layer of crinkled tissue paper off.

“There's a tail in there too.”

and that there was. your eyes caught specifically on the glint of a metal plug on one end. He would pull a stunt like this, you thought. to the side was a bone gag, a crystal white with a pink ribbon to tie around your head. shit, and there's matching handcuffs? How much was in here? You look up at him for a moment, your mind reeling.

he'd said you worked like a dog before this, but wasn't this a little self indulgent?

“..is this a joke?” You look up at him. wishing for some resemblance he was holding back a laugh. hoping this was some gag to mock you, that you don't have to actually wear these things. but there was nothing but a smile.

“a joke? I don't think so.” he hummed, taking the headband out of your hands and gently placing it into your hair. “I picked colours that would suit you, you know? it'd be a shame if you were to waste my money and not make use of them.”

you scoff, picking out the tail and holding it idly in your hands. It was soft. nothing you would've been into, nor what you'd wear for your boss when you're in the damn mafia. and for a moment you found yourself wondering if quitting without a notice was allowed here.

“I can help you put everything on.”

a laugh escapes your throat, one which you couldn't stop the bubble from popping. He had to be kidding, there was just no way someone like him had the nerve.

But he wasn't laughing, he wasn't even smiling anymore.

shit, he was serious.

“I discussed it with chuuya beforehand,” He begins, walking around the desk to sit himself down, one leg crossing over the other. “He wishes to see you in the getup too, if you don't mind.”

“This wasn't in my contract.” You frown, placing the tail on the table - the plug end making a small clatter. “When i signed up to work here, there wasn't anywhere that said I needed to prance around in sex wear.”

“Did you not read the fine print?”

there was a fine print?

you hesitate, shaking your head. “I don't see how that matters. this has to be some human rights thing ..” your voice trails as the door to the office opens, familiar ginger hair in your peripheral vision as he strolls over to stand beside you, giving you a smile. you smile back.

“Chuuya, it seems we're having some obedience problems..” Dazai begins, his hands coming to rest in his lap. “the outfit we so carefully chose for them, they refuse to wear. isn't that cruel?..”

You glance at Chuuya, and he looks back for a moment. no words are shared. but there's a mutual understanding of why you might be hesitant - a human response.

Dazai continues, “You've always spoken about wanting a dog, haven't you, chuuya? and you've certainly spoken more than once about wishing how (name) was with us during our sessions.”

Chuuya chokes on his spit, there's a strange silence afterwards.

“..I suppose.” He mumbles, crossing his arms and looking away from the both of you. Dazai stands up, walking around the desk to where you are. His hand rummages in the box for a moment, taking out a collar and clipping it around your neck.

“It suits them. don't you think, chuuya?”

he turns to look at you, mumbling something under his breath as he steps forward to twist the collar to suit your neck better. you mentally thank the fact you're stuck between two people who even each other out, at the least.

Chuuya gently pulls you close by the waist, holding your hands behind your back as he nuzzles himself into the crook of your neck. you feel dazai clip the handcuffs around your wrist, all happens without a word spoken.

The gingers lips encase a small area of your neck, gently sucking as you let out a light whine. you feel dazai slip closer behind you, his hands on your hips and an unmistakable bulge pressed against the curve of your ass.

shit, what have you gotten yourself into?

you would've done more if your hands weren't tied, and if you could do anything but let out a guttural moan as chuuya's tongue collected the slick off your cunt, you're sure you would've asked them to be gentle.

you blinked a hazy eye open, met with dazai's tip smearing precum against your cheek. a smirk on those lying lips of his. bastard. the clasp from the bone gag in your mouth clicked open, dropping to the floor with a thud. It almost made you flinch.

“Now, do you promise to behave?” The brunette hummed, his voice an almost patronising sing-song tone. You felt Chuuya grip your hips from behind, pulling you back onto his face. it prevented you from having any response but a whine. Dazai simply scoffed, slapping your cheek before forcing your lips apart with his thumb ; resting it on your molars. your drool escaping the side of your mouth.

“I expect a response when I speak to you.”

you did try, but with chuuyas tongue deep inside you and with dazai's thumb in your mouth, you could barely even think straight, let alone make any stupid promises.

“you're giving me the silent treatment, hm?.. bad dog ..”

you let out a whine, shortly cut off as the back of your throat was blocked by Dazai's cock. your nose pressed against the bush of pubes he hadn't even bothered to shave. He stayed deep as you gagged and your throat closed around him, your eyes tearing up.

“there we are..” He muttered, gripping the back of your head behind your faux puppy ears, forcing you to take his cock into your mouth as he practically used you as a human fleshlight. you could barely even let out any sound, your airflow practically fully cut off as your throat was rammed full.

chuuya’s thumb swiped your clit, rolling gentle circles that contrasted the brutal pace dazai used your throat in. it was just too much, letting out sounds you didn't even know you were capable of making. drool glossing your lips as tears run down your cheeks. your mascara had to be ruined.

“hah- look at you. pretty little thing .. the sounds you're making now ..” Dazai whispered, a low rumble of a chuckle leaving his throat. “It’s the smartest I've ever heard you be, you know?.. keep making noise for me, just like that..”

the rustle of fabric behind you as chuuya laid himself down under you, gently rubbing circles on your ass as your thighs shake from keeping yourself up.

“sit down f'me. be a good pup.” you hear him mumble. and you can feel his temper grow as you hesitate, dazai tugging on your hair hard enough for you to look up at him, eyes glazed over from tears.

“You were given an order, were you not? sit. down.” you gradually obey, feeling chuuyas mouth enveloping your wet cunt again.

it's too much, everything is too much. dazai’s pace on your throat increases, the gasps leaving his throat become louder. as do the shaky grunts against your clit as chuuya makes lewd slurping sounds, obviously to provoke the room further. you can barely even fucking breathe, the knot in your stomach is so tight. so close.

“swallow.” Dazai mumbles, letting out an involuntary whimper as he buries himself deep in your throat, the bitter taste of his cum of which you had no choice but to swallow down. and you swear you might drown in it, almost blacking out as you cum on chuuyas tongue.

everything is quiet for a while, save for the sound of heavy panting coming from both you and dazai. chuuya crawls out from under you, wiping his mouth from your fluids and leaning back slightly. you can see the wet patch on his slacks, he came untouched from taste alone?

“That's better..” dazai mumbles, pulling his cock out of your mouth and letting go of your hair, not sparing a shred of sympathy as your front half hits the ground. your body stings, the exhaustion hurts. you can't process anything other than chuuyas warmth as he gently tugs you into his lap, your head to his chest with his hand running through your hair.

he's always been gentle with you, anyway.

“well, I think that was a rather productive usage of our time, no? wouldn't you agree, chuuya?” dazai looked down at the pair of you, a smile on his lips. You couldn't speak, your throat hurt. But chuuya pressed a gentle kiss to your temple and nodded.

“I certainly enjoyed it.”

[t-tomuras]

† ─── •𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬

Pairing: Alastor x F!reader

Warnings: Use of petnames ( dear, sweetheart, darling, dearheart ), reader has ears and a tail ( mhm ), religious themes / comparisons, mild biting, ( very slight ) injury, creampie, slight overstimulation

Wordcount: 5k

Notes: HA HA HA I've no excuse for this. canon is what I make of it.

“If you truly want a shot at redemption, my dear, you must actually make attempts at changing your behavior,” the muffled sound of Alastor’s voice seems far closer than the simple radio on your bedside table; the one that you continue to ignore with each morning’s wake up call. Reasoning that Sir Pentious must’ve turned the volume up on it when you caught him skulking around in your room or maybe it was one of his simpleminded minions mixing up the rooms they were allowed in.. again. 

Regardless, you shift further into the plush comforter, whining louder at the sound of radio static but you don’t open your eyes. Reaching blindly about hoping to wrap your hand around the infernal contraption to continue blissful sleep but to no avail.

“Five more minutes,” barely audible through the fabric of your comfortable pillowcase. Whines muffled by the material that you keep your face buried in. 

“You said that an hour ago, dearheart,” he speaks again, volume louder this time. It causes your ear to twitch wildly in an attempt to pinpoint where his noisy little box was without fully rousing from slumber. Groaning as you feel around blindly, m grasping at nothing but air for a spell until you think you’ve got it. A triumphant little smile spreading on your still hidden face when your clawed fingers brush over something cool. Closing your fist around it with a delighted hum before a proverbial bucket of cold water is dumped on you at the sound of Alastors voice once again. Closer this time, more clearly and obviously not emanating from anywhere but the source itself.

“I believe I’ve been lenient enough with you,” you gasp when cold fingers wrap around your wrist, lifting you up while you scramble to grip at your covers. Scrounging to maintain some decency and not reveal your bare chest to the hotelier himself. 

“Alastor,” sighed breathlessly while vibrant crimson hues scrutinize you, cheshire grin unwavering in his judgmental gaze before you’re dropped all together, “what are you doing here? You never come personally for a wake up call.” 

Usually it was one of the other staff members like Nifty, sweet Charlie or indifferent Husk; hell sometimes even Angeldust but it’s never once been the boss himself. 

“It’s your first day on the job sweetheart, I don’t approve of tardiness either,” you clamber to sit up with your covers clutched closely to your chest. Swinging your legs over the side of the plush mattress top after Alastor gives you his back. Glancing to the side for whatever you’d taken hold of to see his staff set against your nightstand. Gaze flickering from it to him as he crosses the room in confident strides to your wardrobe. Taking a moment to rummage through the hanging clothes until he procures an empty hanger from the rack before returning to your bedside.

Extending his arm out with the metal wire hooked on thin digits as his other hand gestures towards it in show. His lids fall shut, bowing gentlemanly as he presents you with a white dress shirt and sleek black pencil skirt to compliment as well as a blazer you’ll forgo despite how it’s meant to complete the ensemble. 

“I had it tailored specially for you,” Alastor bends at the waist, lifting his head for his gaze to rake over your form, enjoying the way you squirm under the scrutiny. “No more embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions over that tail of yours! This will be your uniform while you work as my assistant.”

“Assistant?” You blink owlishly, gingerly taking the outfit after Alastor holds it out to you. 

“Yes! My assistant,” his voice warbles like an old radio that wavers in signal before it stabilizes once again, “you see, your gracious host believes the best suited action plan for your soul's salvation is to actually put forth some effort towards your community.” 

You’re standing now, pout on your lips as you tilt your head. Fastening the buttons to the crisp dress shirt of your new uniform, “and my community would be?” 

Though you regret the question the moment the words leave your lips, ears flattening against your skull they almost blend in with your hair at the sight of the telltale twitch to the Radio Demons eye. He doesn’t falter for long, taking hold of his staff and resting both of his hands over top one another against the spit guard of his mic. Taking your silence as understanding before he continues, busying himself by pacing about your room nonchalantly as you finish dressing. 

“I agreed with her and as of late I have been in dire need,” his head makes a sickening snap as it spins fully around to face you before his body follows, “of an extra set of semi competent hands for my laundry list of duties to accomplish in a day!” 

With an ostentatious gesture of the pommel of his staff, Alastor signals the end of his spiel, “that is where you come in, my dear. Two birds with one stone and all that jazz.”

You heave a bereft sigh as you pull on the tight pin skirt, shimmying it over wide hips but for once you don’t encounter a lack of space for your bushy tail. Spinning around to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, a tentative smile finding your lips as you smooth the fabric down the curve of your ass before you’re reminded you aren’t alone in the sanctity of your own room. 

“And don’t you look ready for the day?” Stifling your yelp when your new boss appears behind you, hands resting on your shoulders as he looks you in the eyes of your reflection. Nodding with a sheepish grin when he responds, “Marvelous.”

Hoping he didn’t take notice of the shiver that wracks down your spine before he turns on his heel. Spinning his staff around in his hand as Alastor takes his leave, projecting his voice as he makes no effort to wait for you, “come along now dear, we have much to do.” 

Unfortunately for you, Alastor wasn’t being hyperbolic either. Toting you all over town before shoving a list of remaining tasks to do while he attended another meeting with the overlords. Groaning over each item you move to after completing the previous one, snarling incredulously as you shift his dry cleaning from one hand to another. 

“Where the fuck am I supposed to find venison at this hour?” Where were you meant to find it at all, rather. Perhaps you’ll call for Angel’s aid with the promise of your top shelf absinthe that Husk selfishly hoards for himself. 

In moderation, of course! Lest Ms. Morningstar force you to write out the importance of considering others' journeys to recovery. Tossing the plastic bag protecting his tailored suit over your shoulder to rest against your back to reduce the chance of wrinkling. 

“Kinda fucked up that he eats deer though,” commenting offhandedly to yourself as you send the proposition to Angel before, for the third time today, Alastor startles you. 

“It’s an acquired taste sweetheart,” he coos as he materializes from the shadows, falling into step with you effortlessly, “however I have taken notice of your lingering gaze, perhaps you possess the peculiar taste yourself.” 

Your ear flicks wildly in minute agitation, chest warming with embarrassment. More than accustomed to how aware Alastor was to most things deemed important but you didn’t think that included you by any scope of the word. 

What purpose could he have for watching you? Alastor doesn’t give you much time to dwell on it nor explore the thought before he’s pinching the list he’d given you earlier to steal it from your grasp. Humming, what you think is, anyway, approvingly over all the marked off items. 

“Your last errand for me today is to help me set up for my broadcast. I've been so occupied with our little passion project that I fear leaving it to those little egg creatures has left my booth in a state!” 

Alastor glances back at you with his signature smug expression, your tired body slouching forward as you follow him down the street as sinners quickly dive out of his path. “Fine, fine, as long as I can catch a break after this.” 

“Of course my dear, I’m no slave driver.” 

But a state is an understatement for the utter disarray Alastor’s booth was in upon both of your arrivals. You almost think this is a form of torment on the Radio Demon’s part for dealing with your tardiness but that notion is quickly dismissed upon seeing his reaction. 

A tight lipped grin (more akin to a grimace) on his features telling of his agitation even without the twitch to his lid or the vice grip Alastor has on his staff. 

Trash strewn about, broken glass and spilled drinks over the soundboard and overturned furniture. You could only imagine what could have occurred with the moronic minions, but you’re certain this transgression against Alastor’s prized space will not go unpunished. 

You see it as an opportunity for an owed favor, not that you couldn’t barter with Sir Pentious to do what you asked of him but this will leave you without haggle for certain. Thankful for his odd adoration of the incompetent creatures. 

Allowing them to see another day as you chirp quickly, “I’ll clean the mess if you repair the broken things.” 

Playful as if that’ll placate the man but he hums dryly, using his magic to mend the glass while you tidy up the old fashioned way. Sweeping up shards and crumpling up what you hope were unimportant scraps of paper the eggs used for ‘arts and crafts’. 

Though you do keep one that involves a crudely drawn Alastor with one of the eggs holding his hand, signed by name: Frank.. with a backwards R. 

Your sleeves are rolled up by the time you’re done, fanning yourself before finally taking down your hair to admire your work. The space near pristine save for the Radio Demons oh deer mug and a few scattered transcripts of requests that’ll never make it to the open air of his broadcasts. 

“Well done my little languorous lady!” You’re not sure if he’s being genuinely sarcastic or not, his tone frequently facetious sounding in nature but you choose not to take offense. Swiping your forearm over your brow as Alastor taps the reupholstered cushioned seat next to him, “that’s all for today. You may rest now.”  

“Gladly,” you all but groan as you flop into the seat next to him, slumping against its back as you glance over your shoulder through the window. Lidded gaze taking in the liveliness of the city below the hilltop of the hotel before you stretch out tired limbs. A yawn overtaking you as you allow yourself to relax. Uncaring that you’re still in the presence of a menacing overlord. 

You nod off with an ease that’s almost impressive. Slowly leaning against his shoulder until your limp body slumps further into Alastor, causing a stiffness in him as he looks over you. Scrutinizing for a moment as he contemplates if you’re feigning sleep for a brazen attempt at contact with him but the thought is quickly dismissed. 

You were a sleepy creature, after all. 

And for a long moment, his arms hover away from you in his surprise. Poised with the option to either shove you from his lap or hold you closer and in the absence of questioning eyes (not that any wretched soul dares to do so), Alastor chooses the former. 

His fingers come to pet along the curve of your skull. Combing through the bumps in your hair from the professional updo that you’d so proudly put effort into. 

With an almost bereft sigh despite his unwavering cheshire grin, he adjusts you carefully so you’ll curl with more ease in his lap, your nose pressed to his throat after he’d thoughtfully angled your head to his shoulder. Finally situating you in a way he could still reach his coffee and begin his broadcast. Alastor supposes you’ve earned this uninterrupted rest in his presence.

Just this once.

He supposes he shouldn’t be at all surprised with how your slumber remains wholly uninterrupted even while he talks or sings into his mic. Unmitigated volume but at least you remain quiet, not a peep from you not even a whine. 

He could almost praise you, but he’s already done so once today. And the notion is completely out the window whenever he shakes you in an attempt to rouse you at the end of his broadcast. 

Enough that you whine and shift in his hold but only further wrapping yourself around him. Arms coming to loop around his throat and link your fingers on the shoulder opposite of the one you rest on, shocking even him when you nuzzle into the juncture of his jaw. 

What a lucky thing you were, not to be punished for the over familiarity with him even while unconscious.

Alastor takes in a deep breath, chest expanding with the wide berth before he exhales long and slowly. Hooking his arms around your shoulders and the backs of your knees, for an ample amount of support of course, as he moves to stand. Sidestepping from his seat and descending the stairs that connect Alastor’s booth to the hotel. 

Features an impassive, muted smile as he treks quietly through the halls until he reaches the floor you stay on. Snapping his fingers to open your door and close it behind him upon his entrance, closing the distance to your messy bed with little effort. 

“Perhaps you’ll need to spend the day with Nifty soon,” said in jest when you seem to rouse ever so slightly. 

“Mmm, no,” playfully petulant with a smile gracing plump lips as you use your cutest sounding sleepy voice, “trying to send me away? Didn't I do good for you today?”

“You did, let’s try and make it a habit,” a little snide but you understand, even in your half asleep haze, it isn’t inherently directed at you. It’s like second nature to him now, the sarcasm and glib attitude. 

You giggle over it, humming in affirmation as you’re gently laid to rest but he's warm against your body. You cling to it, whine with furrowed brows as his fingers wrap around your biceps in a bid for you to loosen your hold. 

You tighten instead, flex the muscles in them defiantly even as he pulls away, “five more minutes Alastor.” 

“You always say that darling.” 

“And it usually works,” a childish rebuttal but you can tell when to take an inch or a mile depending on Alastors mood. Despite his unamused expression, you figure it couldn’t hurt to attempt the mile, “five minutes. You’re warm, I’ll fall asleep quickly.” 

To your surprise, but not without a defeated sigh more than telling of his annoyance, he agrees. Resting his knee on the edge of your mattress and you take it as your sign to let go of him so he can crawl in after you. Excitedly lifting the downy comforter in invitation before fluffing it over the both of you once he lies down. 

Rigidly and awkwardly, taking one side of your bed as if there was a physical diving line while staring up at the ceiling, but in your bed nonetheless; that doesn’t mean you won’t pout about it however. You’ve already taken one mile, what’s another few feet? 

“I took care of you aaallll day,” uttered as a sweet purr while you scoot closer, ignoring how pinstraight he lies beneath your covers. Alastor only hums sardonically, even in the dark you can see his smile. You prop up on your elbow, resting your cheek on the back of your hand as you petulantly furrow your brows over how he lies flat on his back staring up at the ceiling. 

Only sparing you cursory glances before his lids fall shut under your unwavering gaze, “five minutes isn’t a very long time, you know.”

“Rude,” scoffing indignantly, flopping next to him, close enough Alastor can feel your breath fan against his cheek. It bothers you how it seems like he’s ready to leave, the nonchalant, indifferent air about him palpable at your side as a silence falls between you. Causing a ringing in your ears before you disturb the peace once more. 

“I kinda liked it yknow,” you start slowly. Turning over until you’re half on your stomach, half on your side. Testing the waters by placing your palm on his chest, continuing when Alastor only gives you a sideways glance, “bein of some use to you.” 

Drumming your fingers against the fabric of his blazer, fingering a button as you wait for any response, good or bad, from Alastor. Touching him brazenly, however slight and innocent it may be, but it’s encouraging how he doesn’t recoil from the contact. It emboldens you, even under the intense gaze of glowing crimson; it goads you into testing further. Hooking your leg over his hips, waiting with bated breath to see if you’re pushing your luck but your self preservation skills were always in a severe deficit.

“Two minutes left, sweetheart.”

You swallow thickly at his warning, sitting up as you pull yourself to straddle his hips, “maybe I could do a little more for you.”  

He glances downward, brow quirked upwards as he watches you hover above his pelvis. Careful not to rest your weight against him, just in case.You’ve piqued his interest and curiosity in tandem. 

“What more do I need of you, then, dearest?” Dare you think there’s a coyness to his tone? 

Finally, you lower yourself against him, skirt hiking further up to the point it’s bunched at your hips. Leaning towards him until your chest is pressed to his and your elbows rest on either side of his face. Close, as if to share a secret as you whisper, “you need me sir.” 

The moment breaks the second the statement leaves your lips, Alastors pupils now morphed into the radio dials as his sclera darken to deep voids and irises glow brilliantly. 

You’re on your back in a flash, positions flipped with your boss for the day caging you in beneath him. Imposing his weight against you as he invades your personal space now, “and who are you to tell me what I need?” 

Though you’re far from dissuaded with this reaction. If he wanted to kill you he would have, “can I call it a suggestion instead? Or is my desire merely projection?” 

A beat of silence passes between you, then another. The blood coursing in your veins, roaring in your ears does little to drown out the sound of radio static emanating from Alastor. You worry your lip between your teeth, making the already plump flesh swell from the gentle abuse. 

All the while under the microscope of Alastors piercing glare until all at once, he relaxes above you. Shoulders slacking and, with a blink, you’re met with the familiar dual tones of crimson and vermillion, “I enjoy your company, sweetheart, I won’t lie to you there.” 

You relax in turn, tilting your head into your pillow as you bring your hands up to your chest. Testing over your sternum as if to manually slow your rapidly beating heart before steadily undoing the buttons of your blouse. Heat rising from your throat to your cheeks despite how he definitely saw your naked chest earlier in the day. 

It’s different now though, having him watch you undress compared accidentally and innocently seeing you in the nude earlier. You exhale your trepidation though, tossing away your shirt and arching up without touching Alastor who makes no move to aid nor assist you to unclasp your bra to shed away as well. Settling back down the pillow top, resisting the urge to cover yourself despite the inadvertence to one sided vulnerability; you’ve come this far, you’ve no desire to turn back. 

Meeting his unwavering eye contact with your own, stone faced while Alastor grins as you shimmy your skirt and panties down your hips until they slip down your calves to pool at your ankles. Lifting your legs ever so slightly to kick them away, spreading your thighs thoughtfully to frame his hips. 

Now laid completely bare beneath a still clothed Alastor but you’ve steeled your resolve, tucking your chin down to achieve a sultry look. Bringing your fingers between your thighs to swipe slow circles against your clit. Dull throbs of pleasure gradually flooding your system the louder the slick clicks grow from your ministrations.  

Lips parting around a breathy sigh as your hips twitch into your touch, all while the Radio Demon watches you with muted intrigue. 

It excites you, warms your chest as your arch with a soft moan. Batting your lashes up at him, “your turn..” 

Alastors grin grows impossibly wider, watchful eyes dragging down your naked body then back up again, “you’re still mine to command for the day.” 

A whine leaves your lips next, knees falling inward and resting against either side of Alastors tapered waist. Shoulders creeping higher as he leans down to husk in your ear, the usually threatening electronic warble of his voice makes your puffy throb with need at commanding, “undress me yourself.” 

A coy smile splits your features, pointed canines digging into your lips darkened by the rush of blood as you raise your arms. Resting your hands on Alastors chest before pushing into the sleeves of his blazer, away from his shoulders and he’s gracious enough to lean slightly on his haunches to shed it while you work at the buttons of his shirt. Unfastening each one with a fervor, eager to see and feel his skin against yours. 

Growing more bold as you lean up with him, dragging your palms along Alastors triceps as his shirt follows his blazer. Stalling minutely when your nose brushes against his, focus darting between his eyes to his lips and back again before you close the gap. A tentative brush at first but your grow confident easily, one hand cupping the nape of his neck just below the curve of his skull while the other ventures between you. 

Fingertips grazing his abdomen while you work at his trousers, laughing breathlessly into the kiss in a subtle bid for air when you feel a firmness at his crotch. Palming it testingly after you’ve undone his button and zipper, humming a pleased noise before you push at the pooling waist of the garment as you fall back against your pillows. 

“That isn’t your staff this time, is it, Alastor?” 

Alastor scoffs as he tosses away his bottoms, ridding himself of his final article in the meantime so you can appreciatively drink in the sight of him.

“Playing coy isn’t your strong suit dearest,” you shiver at the hint of agitation in his tone, but with delight this time. 

But even still, as you lose yourself to the overwhelming desire for him, your confidence wavers with his lack of enthusiasm over physical engagement. Peering up at him with a pathetic look about you, knit brows and a slight pout to your lips.

“Whatever the matter, are you losing your nerve?” Alastor teases as he lowers himself to you, hard cock sliding against slick lips, a gasp ripping from your lungs at the contact as you shake your head emphatically. Looping your arm beneath his to drape along his shoulder blades, ever so slightly pressing him more firmly against you. His head dips lower, allowing you to tuck your head into his throat and with his lips by your ear he growls out a simple, “lovely.”

Your hips twitch reflexively into his at the sound, delighted thrill dancing down each vertebra of your spine only to race back up when his mushroomed tip nudges against your clit. Sighing a soft sound as you chase the feeling, feet flat on the mattress top as you grind up into Alastor who chuckles bemusedly at how so little elicits so much from you. 

But he can admit to himself that you feel a kind of sinful he hasn’t partaken in for quite some time— if at all. He doesn’t remember, it’s never been a priority to him but it never hurts to indulge yourself every now and again. 

His arm slips beneath you, fingertips pressing into your back to force you to arch further into him as he reaches to firmly grasp the back of your thigh. Pressing his thumb into the flesh while his hips roll into yours, coating himself in your wetness and filling the room with sticky clicks until his cockhead catches on your entrance. You inhale sharply at the initial stretch, eyes rolling back behind closed lids causing them to flutter and Alastor to chuckle until he’s fully sheathed in you. 

“Sweetheart you are divine,” ironic, given where you’ve ended up for eternity but the praise adds to the pleasure Alastor causes. Falling into an easy rhythm with the pace that he’s set. 

Even and calculated, satisfying with each rut of his hips into your warmth. Your legs raise until your ankles hook at the base of his spine, heels resting gently at the small of his back and the position cants your hips just so, allowing Alastor to drive into that patch within you that you swear has you seeing Heaven's light. 

Singing his praises with saccharine sighs and pitched moans that break the syllables of his name that punctuate each thrust he delivers. 

Like music to his ears, and Alastor grits it out in so many sounds rather than sentences, a first for the Radio Demon for certain; a loss for words. If not for the choked grunts when your tight walls pulse in time with your heavily beating heart, you’d think he was enjoying himself far less than you were as the telltale coil tightened in your lower belly. Assured of his pleasure as he hastens in pace ever so slightly, rut of his hips hurried almost imperceptibly— or perhaps you were just too lost in the throngs of pleasure on the precipice of euphoria to notice. 

“Where would you like me dear,” the sound of his voice barely grounds you, blinking a few times before he repeats his question as your hands cup either side of his jaw. 

“You’re pretty old fashioned, h-huh? How about th— ah, good ol pull n’pray?” You giggle over your own joke while your fingers thread into the crop of his bob. Tugging gently before pointed claws scrape softly, soothingly, at his scalp while Alastors grin grows tight quickly. Hips stuttering out of rhythm while you’re wholly unaware of how your laughter forced you to grip him tighter so deliciously that it was the final nail in his proverbial coffin. Velvet walls constricting around his sensitive cock so sinfully and it ultimately leads to his demise. The lights of your room flickering and his eyes glow brighter with the warble of his voice contorting his groan. 

His nails dig into your skin as his body seizes while spilling into you, giving you surface level puncture wounds. The combination of pain and pleasure occurring simultaneously while Alastor fills you full has you following him into sweet rapture. Cells alright causing you to arch into him, emitting a throaty moan that drags out the final letter of his name. 

All while Alastor continues to work you both through the experience. Each of his movements deliberate in order to prolong the feeling but it does well to overstimulate you in the best of ways. Body twitching as his hips drag backwards only to push in with a salaciously lewd squelch, his spend dribbling from you as he fills you full. 

Too full, overwhelmed in the best way that you can’t stop yours from splaying your palms out over his back. Digging your heels with a little more pressure in incistance for closeness as your teeth sink into the soft tissues where his throat curves into his shoulder. 

Drawing a surprised snarl from him and biting out “careful now darling. Don’t get too carried away.” Breathless post ecstasy as his hips slow and you utter muted apologies, dotting tentative kisses to the marks blossoming in your wake but you’re more than glad to have left some tangible evidence of your coupling. 

Even if not a soul besides yourself will ever see them, it’s enough to know they’re there and this isn’t some very vivid perverse dream. 

A calm falls over the room as Alastor detangles you both from one another, his lids fluttering shut when you stretch before settling down. Turning over on the stomach and he’s certain you’ll slip into unconsciousness within a few minutes— figuring then is the time to take his leave.

He recovered first, anyway, sitting up while his fingers smooth down any unruliness your activities might’ve caused before he shifts. The motion draws your attention and, despite how badly you want to remain on cloud nine now that you’ve achieved it with a blissful shortcut, you crash from the high. Alert now as a bit of worry spikes in your bloodstream.

You reach out, just like you have a multitude of times today alone but Charlie did say the road to your redemption was seizing opportunities whenever they present themselves. Fingers encircling his thin wrist, the touch earning a questioning sound from him. 

Squirming under his gaze, suddenly the slightest bit self conscious as you ask the same thing that always tumbles from your lips with ease, “five more minutes?”

And for the second time today, Alastor complies. Turning on his side as you brighten and beam at him before closing the distance with a swiftness. Nose to his chest while your arms weave around his torso, humming contentedly when you both settle between the sheets. 

“You always say that.” 

[catcze]

It’s Halloween soon, so here’s a Halloween au idea for you: Wriothesley and gn reader as Little red riding hood and the big bad wolf

OH. OH. OHHH IM BARKING BARKGIN ASDNASDKA

Imagine that it's supposed to be any other day for you. You pack your basket full of bread, jams, cold cuts and cheese, and don your red hood and your walking shoes, ready to set out to your friend Neuvillette's house by the lake in the forest. He's a bit of a recluse— he doesn't often venture into the city unless summoned directly, so you often come to say hello so he doesn't get too lonely.

The problem is, on your way there, you got delayed by a while. So when you get to the forest, you debate between using your usual, longer path that merely circles the forest, or one that pases directly though the woods. On your usual path, you'd get to Neuvillette's house late in the afternoon return home well in the evening. If you cut through the forest, though... you were certain you'd arrive on time. Earlier, even. So you gulp, steel yourself, and take your first step into the trees.

It's fine at first. A cooler walk than had you been under the sun, thanks to the shade of the leaves. But then you begin to hear the crunch of leaves behind you, as if there was something trailing behind... you quicken your pace, too fearful to look behind. But as you hurry your steps, so does the rustling and the crunching of leaves and twigs grow quicker as well.

Eventually, you're damn near running through the forest, taking turns, breathing hard and barely able to hold on to your basket. The steps follow you the until... they fall behind, then fade, then disappear. You quickly run behind a tree, leaning against it and catching your breath. When you peek out, you see there's nothing behind you and breathe a great big sigh of relief. Whatever animal was chasing you probably lost interest, you think, turning around and taking a few steps forward—

Then suddenly there's a grip on your hood, yanking you back so hard you stumble back onto the ground. "Hey—!" you yell, only to quiet when you realize who (or what) is standing before you. A man, quite tall, with spiky black hair and sharp blue eyes. There's a frown on his face and a furrow to his brow. Amidst the fluff of his hair, you make out... wolf ears? When you peek a little, you can see a similar wolf tail swinging behind him as well.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Is the first thing the wolf says to you, a brow raised as he crosses your arms. "Running all over the place, causing a ruckus. Not looking where you're stepping." His attitude immediately turns your fear into indignance, and you rise up, pointing a finger at his (admittedly rather sculpted, you can see the definition even though the top he wears) chest.

"You!" You yell, and the volume has his ears twitching. "You were the one chasing me? You gave me a heart attack!"

He snorts. "I was saving you, Red. Not every day a human wanders in here. Most of you fear the dark and the unknown too much to ever step foot in the woods."

"Oh, so scaring the shit out of me is saving me now?"

He rolls his eyes, crouching down to take a large, hefty stone in his hand. Lifting it like it weighs nothing, he tosses it at the place where your foot had almost been—

Snap!

You watch in horror as a rusted old animal trap snaps around the stone with such force that the metal contraption jumps. You gulp, just thinking of what could have happened to you.

"Those are everywhere," says the wolf by explanation, looking at the hunting trap with disgust. "Left a long, long time ago by crueler humans. We try to remove them where we can, but—" he shrugs, "—The forest is a big place."

You can't take your eyes away from the trap, feeling sick to your stomach. You clutch your hood closer to you, a safety blanket of sorts, and feel your hands tremble.

"Th... thank you," you tell him, sincerely.

He just shrugs again. "So. Why are you here? It's unlike you. You're usually seen on the human path, not passing through the forest."

And that snaps you back. You frantically check the contents of your basket, sighing when you see that nothing spilled or broke.

"I'm here because it was getting late and I have to see Neuvillette, so i thought i could take a shortcut" you say. Then your eyebrows furrow. " 'Usually?' " you echo.

"Humans aren't around here often, like I said. You're one of the few that come on a regular basis, though." He kicks away the trap with his foot, feet heading in one direction. You, however, stay rooted to your spot, watching the way his tail swishes as he walks. When he realizes you aren't following, he turns back.

"What, you wanna try getting around on your own? I thought you were late to see Neuvillette." He prompts, and you gasp, hastily bounding (and being careful of where you step, this time) up to his side. you both walk in pace, the wolf leading the way and you trailing slightly behind.

It's... odd. You've never even met him before, but there's something about him that makes you feel comfortable relying on him like this. Relying on him to get you where you need to go, and not lead you into another trap.

"So..." you attempt to ask. "You know Neuvillette?"

"For a similar reason to how we know of you. He's one of the few odd enough to set their place up somewhere like this," he says.

The rest of the trek through the woods is rather comfortably quiet, sometimes broken by you asking a question, and the wolf answering. You learn a few things about him: that he hasn't always been here, but that he came early in his childhood and lived here ever since. That he rather likes the sunshine. And, funny enough, that he also likes bread with honey and jam on it, if the way he took the symbol of your gratitude is any indication.

But eventually the trees give way and you can see Neuvillette's house in the distance. And you're right on time, too! You smile widely in delight, gripping your basket tighter. You turn to the wolf, who leans on the trunk of a tree leisurely, ears twitching atop his head.

"Thank you for saving me. And for showing me the way," you tell him, smiling gently.

The corners of his lips curl up, just a bit. "You're welcome. Be more careful when you walk through the woods, next time. You never know if there might actually be something out there trying to eat you."

You laugh, ducking your head to hide your face behind your hood, just a little. "Noted, mister wolf."

"Or better yet, you can just save us both the trouble and call for me if you want a shortcut," says the wolf, a large hand gently pushing at the small of your back, nudging you on your way. "I'll hear it, don't worry."

"Oh?" you ask, a quirk to your lips as you turn back at him, draped in shadows. "And what might your name be, big bad wolf?"

You see the gleam of his grin. "You can call me Wriothesley, Red."

[flowersandbigteeth]

I Have an idea for a character one shot (I'd just irk to fuck a centipede monster but same thing)

You get lost in the desert come across a cave, take a nap in the cave but when you wake up you’re trapped by a large centipede man who’s staring down at you like you’re a snack.

Preferably nsfw and Fem reader, also I’m sorry if you’re not taking requests I’m new to your blog

I really like this idea ^_^, It actually inspired a longer story I'm working on about a sarantopodarousacentaur. But for now, we have this.

sarantopodarousacentaur/half-centipede half-human (Mitas) x F reader

Word Count: 3K

Warning: nsfw, dubcon half-centipede smut, kidnapping, descriptions of violence, desert vibes

“Have you seen a witch run this way, miss?” a lanky member of the city guard asked. 

You squinted in the desert sun as it reflected off his shiny gold armor. 

“A witch?” you asked, leaning on your bow. “Nope, can’t say I have.” 

He gave you a nod, glancing at your horse, Bina, who had her head in a bucket of water you’d drawn from the oasis. 

“Pretty horse,” he said, tipping his hat. “Better stay safe tonight. There’s a witch on the loose. Murdered one of the merchants in town with black magic. Could be dangerous.” 

“Sure thing,” you said, giving him a little salute as he walked away. 

“She’s not here!” you heard him yell at his captain over your shoulder. “Just a huntress watering her horse.” 

“She’s the bloody witch, you mouth-breathing dolt!” his captain shouted. “After her!”

Time to go! 

You hurried to empty the bucket and climbed on Bina’s back, kicking her lightly to make your escape. Pulling your goggles over your eyes, you turned into the wind, heading towards the mountains where you might be able to hide. You weren’t any witch, as the guard thought. You’d killed the merchant with poison before you’d stolen all his gold. It only appeared to be magic to the idiotic guard, who apparently had no idea what poisoning looked like. He’d bled out of every orifice, but his death was faster than he deserved. 

You could hear the hoofbeats of their horses on your tail. The guards were wearing heavy armor, however, and carrying swords. You were much faster. You twisted in your saddle and shot off a few arrows to ward them off. 

“We’re under heavy fire!” one of the guards shouted, and you snorted.

A few odd arrows were hardly heavy fire. You could have killed them if you’d wanted, but you aimed at their obnoxiously shiny chests, and your arrows only dented the metal. 

You often stole, but you didn’t often kill. The merchant had it coming, though. When he took you back to his home, thinking he’d seduced you, you’d found a house full of half-starved slaves. Slavery was illegal in Dechete, but he’d bragged to you about how he’d paid off the city magistrate to claim he’d adopted all the teens. So, annoyed that he was both a lech and a slaver, you hadn’t felt the least bad about dropping a few drops of Bloodweed essence in his drink. You let the teenagers take what they liked of his possessions and horses, pointing them towards the coast before you broke into his safe and pocketed the gold coins he kept there. 

No one would have noticed for a few days if one of the newer slaves wasn’t a snitch and called the guard, hoping to gain a favor from the magistrate. He got an arrow to the chest for his opportunism. Probably didn’t kill him, but the punctured lung would keep his mouth shut while the others got away. 

Which is why you were galloping through the desert, hoping to lose the city guard in the rising sandstorm. It was better they chase you than newly freed youths. 

“Sorry, Bina,” you muttered, pushing her faster into the fading light. “I owe you as many apples as you can eat when we make it across the mountain.” 

Beyond the mountains were the green lands of the Thundering Redwoods and safety. With all the gold you’d stolen, you could buy some animals and a little house in the woods. You’d never have to see this dismal desert again. 

“Fall back! The storm’ll take ‘er!” you heard the guard shout as the wind whipped around you, shooting particles against your face like liquid sandpaper. If you could have breathed a sigh of relief, you would have. Instead, you focused on keeping Bina running straight so you didn’t end up lost. 

“You’re a good girl, Bina,” you murmured, though you doubted she could hear you over the whistling wind. 

The rocks of the mountains came on you so quickly, you would have driven her straight into a stone wall if she didn’t have better sense. She made a sharp 90-degree turn at the last moment and carried you into a canyon. The wind didn’t reach here, and you pulled off your goggles, looking around at the high cliffs stretching up above you. 

“You’re worth your weight in gold,” you cheered, rubbing Bina’s neck. 

She gave you a pleased whinny, happy to be safe from the irritating sand. Hopping off her back, you wandered through the winding canyon, hoping it would take you straight through to the other side of the range. Night fell, and you still hadn’t come upon the opposite end, so, lighting a torch, you looked for a cave where you might get some rest before starting off again in the morning. 

“This look all right?” you asked Bina, holding your torch into a hole in the canyon wall only a bit larger than her. 

She nuzzled your hair, and you supposed that was her approval. Inside the opening, the cave opened to a large hall with a high ceiling you couldn’t see with your weak light. The sound of trickling water echoed off the cold stone walls, and after making your way quietly through the passage, you found a spring pumping, clear icy water into a small stream that went deeper into the cave. 

“I think you chose correct,” you said, smiling at your horse while you pulled your saddle and her bridle off so she could have a nice drink and a rest. 

You washed the layer of dirt off your face before you plopped down on the floor to get comfortable. Pulling an apple, you’d nicked from your bag, you gave it to Bina as she’d done most of the work. You could find something to eat in the morning. 

“Sleep tight, Bina,” you muttered, exhausted. 

Curling into a ball on the hard floor, you quickly fell asleep. 

You woke looking at the floor…but it was the ceiling…No. You were upside down. You blinked, peering in the low light at a shadowy creature silhouetted by the sun creeping in through the mouth of the cave. Your eyes frantically searched for Bina, but you found her safe and sound, resting in a bed of hay and eating a salad of apples, carrots, and melon from a crudely shaped clay bowl. Where did that-?

“Hello, little human,” the creature hissed. 

As your eyes adjusted to the light, they popped open, realizing what was holding you aloft by your ankle. 

“Sarantopodarousacentaur!” you gasped at the half-man, half-centipede smiling at you. 

His body was long, and the segmented carapace looked like polished mahogany. Shiny gold legs tapped the stone floor as if he were excited. He righted you, lifting you so you were eye to eye. His face was rather handsome despite his mouth appearing far wider than a normal human. Messy black hair fell around his jaw, and his skin was as gold as the desert sand. Two odd, blood-red teeth poked past his lips, and you puzzled at what they could be until he stretched his maw in an eerie smile, and you found they were the tips of two mandibles that rested in his cheeks. He flexed them at you as if he were hungry. 

“Um…hello…” you said, unsure what to say to a legendary monster. 

Sarantopodarousacentaurs were a myth, a story the desert folk told to keep their children from wandering at night. Yet, here was in front of you, grinning like a demon. He set you on the ground and patted your head. 

“You are a juicy little morsel,” he beamed, folding his muscled body to your height. “The perfect size to be my mate!” 

You swallowed hard and waved your hands at him, stepping back. 

“Oh no, I’m no…er…mate,” you said. “I’m just passing through. Bina and I will be on our way. Didn’t mean to disturb you!” 

You inched towards the bow you’d left on the ground while sleeping. His body curled around you in one smooth movement, pinching legs trapping you in a golden cage. A finger tipped your chin up to meet his red eyes. 

“You will be my mate,” he said. “But don’t be frightened.” 

He waved a hand at Bina, who happily munched on her bowl of treats, not the least afraid of the monster. 

“I will take good care of you and your Bina,” he said. 

His black-clawed fingers tore at the filthy, sandy clothes you wore, slicing them to ribbons as he unwrapped you like a treat. Lifting one of your legs, he examined it closely. 

“You look delicious,” he murmured as his eyes took stock of your body. 

You wracked your brain, trying to remember if centipedes killed their mates, but you couldn’t think clearly under his careful inspection. 

“Don’t you think we should get to know one another…before you…do…whatever…?” you asked. 

Please don’t eat me. 

He smiled again, his face so close to yours that his mandibles brushed your cheek. 

“I go by Mitas,” he said while he sniffed your hair. 

“I’m…ah…(Y/N),” you said, shivering. 

The cave was cold now that you were naked, and Mitas frowned. 

“You will be warm in my nest,” he assured you, tapping legs carrying him at a dizzying speed deeper into the cave. 

You gasped at what must have been the creature’s bedroom. On one side of the room, jewel-toned blankets, furs, and pillows formed a large, wide bowl where he slept. Your mouth went dry as you took in the neatly piled bones and skulls of his victims. Some were split to make bowls for food, drinks, and pigments, while some were carved with intricate designs and hung on the walls like art. 

He plopped you in his nest and coiled around you like a snake, his stiff legs holding you in place. His odd mandibles bloomed, pinching your cheek gently. 

He’s definitely going to eat me, you thought. His heavy hands moved all over your body, tracing your curves as if he were getting to know them.

“Normally I devour little mouthfulls like you,” he hummed, tucking his nose behind your ear and sniffing you. “But you’re too pretty to be a meal.” 

He sighed. 

“I’m lonely,” he pouted. “I want a proper mate.” 

“Yes but…” you started to say. 

“No buts,” he hissed. “The goddess led you to me. You walked right into my den. She must have meant for you to be mine.” 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you argued. 

“You’re either a meal or my mate,” he reasoned. “Which would you rather? It’d be a pity to eat you, but I’m sure you’re scrumptious!” 

Posed with those options, you chose the one that did not result in your immediate demise. 

“M-m-mate,” you squeaked. 

If only you had your bow nearby! The sarantopodarousacentaur was strong, but not invincible. A shot to the heart would kill anyone. 

“We ought to kiss,” he decided. 

“You think?” you asked. 

He nodded and smiled his eerily wide smile. 

“That’s what mated pairs do, no?” he replied. 

At that you squeezed your eyes shut, prepared for the worst. What you felt, however, was rather nice. His lips were soft and warm as they brushed yours. With your eyes closed, you took more notice of the scent of his nest. He didn’t smell bad, more like sandalwood and moss. Without thinking you leaned in to him, your hands finding their way to his chest. 

The muscles were firm and sculpted. Curious, your fingers drifted down to his abs as he tentatively brushed his tongue against your bottom lip. Your lips parted on their own and you were presented with his flavor. Surprisingly he tasted like mint and honey. 

You sighed your appreciation as his fingers gently moved along your waist, exploring your curves. Your body betrayed any lingering sense of caution sparkling under his touch. It’d been a long time since you’d been with a man. As a desert scavenger, you were more likely to rob one than take him to bed. 

You heard a lusty moan build in your throat and he pulled you closer, the sharp points of his legs scraping your skin in a not unpleasant way. His lips set off on an exploration of your body, drifting to your cheeks, then neck, until he was curiously nibbling at your breasts. 

There was no holding in your gasps when he pulled a nipple past his lips and ran his tongue over it. The pointy mandibles tucked in his cheeks nipped at the tender skin making you shudder in pleasure, not pain. 

He hummed, pleased that you were obviously enjoying his investigation. Thick fingers slid down your stomach to dip themselves into your wetness. 

“What’s this?” he murmured as his roving fingers found your sensitive spot. 

Inquisitive sanguine eyes met yours. 

“It’s called a clit,” you explained in halting breaths. 

He chuckled lightly as he felt your body stiffen while he circled it. 

“You like that,” he observed and you gave him a tight nod punctuated by a loud moan. 

He made an odd chattering noise that sounded rather victorious before returning to your breasts, to lick your nipples, one after the other. He had your head all fucked up. Pleasure rolled over you like a unstoppable wave, clouding any thoughts of escape with ones of surrender. 

Feeling you relax into his arms, he pushed you down into the soft pile of blankets and pillows beneath you. Opening your eyes you found him looming over you, considering his strategy. 

As you watched a portion of the yolk of carapace that wrapped around his hips parted and what must have been his cock emerged. It wasn’t like a man’s at all, instead the tip was slightly curved and the shaft lined with knobs arranged in a spiral. You whimpered at it’s size, unsure if it would even fit inside you. 

“Oh,” you mewled and he smiled down at you, his mandibles stretching wide, obviously proud of what he had to offer. 

“I like your little, squishy legs,” he purred opening them with ease and brushing his member against the soft skin of your thighs. 

Precum mixed with your own fluids that had slid down your leg. Curious, he dipped his head and you felt his long tongue explore your channel, making you squeal. No one had ever been quite so close before. At first, you were frightened, but as he worked his tongue inside you, you couldn’t deny the pleasure he sent shooting up your spine. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your lashes fluttered. Panting your hands found his shaggy hair on their own and held him in place. 

You heard a rumbling grow echo through the chamber, coming from his chest. He stopped for a moment to glance up at you. 

“No, don’t stop,” you demanded despite yourself and he grinned at you, lowering his head again. 

His efforts moved to your clit, his tongue twirling around it like some tentacle. His teasing pushed you up and up like a drifting balloon until you popped, screeching as you came. Pleased with himself, he loomed over you, licking his lips with the agile appendage. 

“Now you’re mine,” he declared, his hips snapping forward and his cock plunging in to your soaking core. 

Your body was his to take as his cock stretched you. His shaft was stiff and smooth, the covering feeling more like smooth bone than velvety flesh. 

"Ahhhh!" you groaned as he drove into you. 

His claws fingers held you in place, gripping your neck and all you could do was gaze up at him. His eyes had shifted from a deep garnet to cherry red. 

"Minnnnne," he muttered in a labored hiss. 

His hips slammed into yours mercilessly, rutting you like a beast. You started to lose yourself in bliss, his member stroking the places inside of you that felt the best. 

Your eyelashes fluttered closed and the only thing that passed your lips was incoherent babble. 

"Touch yourself, mate," he ordered, eyes eating up your vulnerable body and you obeyed. 

Your narrow fingers desperately circled your clit, chasing your end and plucked at a nipple. His gaze on you was lecherous, enjoying your neediness. After a few minutes, he couldn't take it anymore, brushing your hand away and folding his large body in half so that he could nibble the pert nipples you'd tugged to a point. 

His other hand found your clit and as he drove into you he pinched and stroked your little bundle of nerves until you were sobbing. Pleasure detonated in your core like a bomb and your back arched in the soft linens as you screamed his name. 

You heard him chuckle, devolving into animal grunts as he took his pleasure. His glowing eyes narrowed and you could see the rapture growing in them. They were solely focused on you when he emptied himself inside. 

You both laid there panting, his body curved over you like a cave, but not pressing his weight on you. 

"Little mate," he purred,  fingers stroking your cheek. "You are so lovely." 

Like a gentleman, not a monster, he twisted around offering you a sip of water from a bone bowl. You were too thirsty and spent to complain, so you drank eagerly. 

He hummed at you in satisfaction. It seemed providing for you pleased him. Your head was dotted in his happy kisses. 

"When we are done resting we'll go pick fruit," he said, snuggling up next you and trapping you in a cage of his legs. "I won't let my scrap go hungry."  

"Where?" you murmured. "We're in the middle of the desert." 

His chuckle rolled over you like a heavy grumble of thunder, sending a shock of pleasure up your spine. 

"There's an oasis where I cultivate plants," he explained, yawning. "Only I know about it. Very secret, but I'll share it with my mate. Sleep now, little one." 

Escape briefly crossed your mind, but to be honest, you'd never been so satisfied carnally before and you were rethinking that plan. Your body was glowing and your hormones were slowly binding you to the myth made flesh dozing beside you. Maybe escape could wait until after a nap and some fruit salad. So you pressed your head into his chest and maneuvered his thick arm over you like a blanket, which earned you a satisfied hum from Mitas, and drifted into sleep. 

[feroluce]

So Sampo is canon described as the only person who can travel between the overworld and underground, but it's never actually revealed HOW he gets around.

I'd like to believe part of the reason he's so secretive really is just because of business. One of the best ways to keep your customers is by being the only one to offer something, and Sampo stands to make a pretty nice profit if he's the only one able to smuggle in supplies. Gotta protect the trade routes ☆

BUT the other part is because he's probably one of the only ones that could SURVIVE it. I'd like to think a lot of his routes enter the overworld either in places like Backwater Pass, where it's technically in the city but is overrun by Fragmentum, or on the frontlines, where it's frigid cold and crawling with Silvermane Guards.

If someone manages to get all the way up, and even if they manage to sneak past all of the Guards/monsters and not freeze to death, there's still the possibility of getting caught in the city proper by regular civilians.

And if Cocolia heard word of someone caught in the overworld, I can't imagine there's any way she would just leave that, she separated the halves for a reason. This person would be interrogated, and then the route sealed off, and then the Undergrounders would lose a vital supply route. Sampo has to be extremely careful to not get caught and not be tailed.

And I'm sure he does a lot of shady trading in Belobog proper, but I think a lot of it also comes from him looting the Fragmentum-corroded areas, too. After all, in the Cyrille the Fool quest line, when the trailblazer sees something strange in the Fragmentum, the first person they think to consult is Sampo.

So I love the thought of Sampo being like extremely disciplined and being able to be out there for like days at a time.

Looting is easier in the beginning, but eventually Sampo has to go farther and farther out for supplies. Sometimes he'll be out there for days, and it's not exactly a safe place to sleep, but he can stay awake and alert for absurd amounts of time if he needs to be. Going for 24+ hours isn't unusual for him on a big supply run; Sampo will be awake for a day or two, he'll bring back everything he finds to Natasha, then sleep for a solid 8-12 hours and be back up again. He takes a couple of low key days where he rests or does easy work, then he's ready to plunge into the fray again!

On the rare occasions he sleeps in the Fragmentum, it's not for very long, less than an hour, and Sampo has traps he sets all around him while he sleeps sitting up with daggers in hand. Caelus finds out about this habit the hard way because he gets restless and decides to go explore (I'd like to think with the Stellaron dwelling within him, he's largely immune to any kind of Fragmentum corrosion), and he sees Sampo curled up in a corner, head down. So of course he approaches to see if he's ok, and-

A trap pops and hisses

There's a bright flash of pink

Caelus blinks

His back hits the wooden wall behind him

There's the sound of reverberating metal-on-metal right next to his ear

Caelus blinks again

...and is shocked to suddenly find that Sampo is looming over him, pinning him to the wall, one dagger sunk into the wood and the other blocked by his metal bat.

And they both just stand there for a beat, until Sampo blinks the bleariness out of his unfocused eyes, and then he yawns obnoxiously right in Caelus' face and tells him he shouldn't interrupt people's beauty sleep! How is Sampo supposed to stay so handsome otherwise!?

Caelus only notices shortly thereafter that there's a thin line of blood on his neck, and he belatedly realizes that Sampo really would have taken his head off by pure instinct if he weren't also incredibly quick with his reflexes. No wonder he's the only undergrounder surviving out in the Fragmentum; anything that approaches in his sleep thinking they have easy prey is almost instantly demolished.

[pebblethestone]

Too Close To The Cliffs Edge¹

So'lek x Na'iv Sarentu Reader

Summary - looking though a old and abandoned DRA base for stuff, as they run into trouble, you help them.

Info - bold words are in Na'vi English is just normal

Too close to the Cliffs Edge MasterList

Masterlist / next

Words - 1227

A/N - Hellooo so uh So'lek right? Anyway I thought about doing some writing for him cause he doesn't have much story's yes that i can find 😞

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Digging through a box in a rundown RDA base you pick stuff up take a look at it and throw it onto to ground not finding anything useful as you continue, coming across amno but nothing interesting, you suddenly stop what you doing as you pin your ears up hearing footsteps going towards you, twitching your ears a little as you listen carefully, they are soft like Na'vi but they carry metal as it clangs together.

Scanning around the room you are in you spot a vent being as quiet as you can you go under it and jump up getting into the vent with a little struggle but you manage it, moving forward into the vent as you look down through some bars into the room you where just in, as you see a na"vi walk in watching as he walks across the room as he digs through draws.

Hearing more footsteps this time but more heavy than the last as another Na'vi walks into the room. Your eyes look at her like a sky demon, keeping your hand close to your dagger.

“Are you sure this is the right place Alma?” you hear the na'vi man say only catching a few of the words of the sky poeple tongue.

“So'lek, I am sure Don't worry we won't be here long, I only have to grab some stuff and then we can go” she says as she walks through a door. Still not understanding what's being said exactly.

Your eyes follow her until she leaves the room, looking back towards the male Na'vi as you scan him wearing stuff like the sky people do, your tail moving to the side hitting the metal in the vent and causing a sound.

Grabbing your dagger in your hand you see him look up to where you are as you both lock eye contact, watching him closely as he's about to move, Turing around in the vent as you move down it quickly hearing the thugs of your foot spots echoing, coming to a stop as you see an exit outside closed of moving towards it as you force it open.

Leaping the building, lading okay and running into the forest hearing the na'vi leave the building as he runs after you. Hearing him speak the words you don't understand, jumping over a log and through a small river, moving down a small hill slowly with careful steps, stopping as you feel eyes on you looking around and seeing nothing as you carry on.

Out of nowhere, you feel a force hit your side as the na'ni man tackles you to the ground you both roll down to the bottom, as he's onto you, you hiss at him pinning your ears back and shouting at him, and he pins his ears back as you continue shouting his poor ears off.

“let go of me! Right now!!” you say as he lets you go

“A Sarentu?“ You hear him say, stunned as he says that him walking closer towards you as he looks at the mark on your face.

“I had thought that you all disappeared?“ He says to you as you make eye contact.

“I do not know where my clan went, I don't remember,” you say as you step away from him as he gets too close to you, ears twitching as you ear footsteps rush towards you as you see the woman avatar Alma you think her name was as she reaches yous as she looks at you.

“The RDA are here So'lek” she says out of breath to So'lek, as she looks back at you with curiosity. Your ears go up as they twitch picking on the sky people metal machines moving around, Deciding to help them.

“Come, come, hurry” you say as you also move your hand in that motion, moving off ahead of them, as they both you at each other and not their head as they follow after you.

“Hurry up” you say stopping to let them catch up as you, yoye then start moving again just a little slower this time, coming up towards a huge tree.

“We go up, now,” You say as you start climbing up the tree getting into an opening as you climb into it, and look out of it to see the other two coming up the tree. The male climbs into the tree first he then helps the female into the tree as she lands on the ground out of breath. Watch as the male turns around to look at you as he starts to talk to you.

“Hello, my name's So'lek this here is Alma and you are?“ He says to you as he introduces himself as well as the others. Still a little on edge as you decided to introduce yourself to them as they did for you.

“I am Y/n, it's nice you meet you both,“ you say to them staying in the spot you standing where you are.

“It's nice to meet you Y/n” you hear Alma say surprised that she could speak the native tongue, as she steps towards you and moves her arm towards you, taking a step back watching as So'lek grabs her hand gently and shakes his head at her.

“You both must be hungry?“ you say to them gesturing towards the floor as they look around the very small home, plants and herbs handing from the top of the room baskets filled up this fruits and materials, a short table in the middle perfect for sitting down on the ground for. Looking up they see a hammock, some weapons scattered across the room.

“Sit, sit,” you say to them, they both stop looking around, and both of them take a seat on the floor next to the table. Opening up a basket at you grab enough for three of you, move back towards them and take a seat on the floor with them, Handing them both a fruit.

“you may stay one night, and then leave, it is not safe at night,” you say to both of them after you had looked outside seeing it was getting darker.

“We thank you for your generously, ” So'lek says to you as he turns his head to look at you. Alma nods her head in agreement as you nod your head.

“I will be going to sleep now, you both should do the same” After a while, you say to them as you climb up towards your hammock, letting them decide how they are going to sleep

The Next Day

Opening your eyes as you peck over the side of your hammock seeing that Alma is still sleeping where So'lek is already up and about, moving out of your hammock as you climb down seeing So'lek stop what his doing as he sees you.

“You've done quite well by yourself, must feel lonely to have no one around” he says to you as you turn your head to the side.

“It does but I've managed to do it over the years” you say to him.

“How about you come with us? You wouldn't be by yourself then” he offers to you as you think over his words, looking over at Alma you do not like the sky people very much, but if a Na'vi is with them maybe you can trust them.

•▪︎•▪︎▪︎○▪︎°▪︎•°▪︎▪︎•▪︎▪︎°•▪︎°▪︎○▪︎▪︎•▪︎•

Next

[neomel]

Alrighty fellow insane sonic fans i have something very cool for you today: a WORLDBUILDING theory!! this is something that's been kicking around in my head for so long that i forget it isn't something I've shared with many others yet lol

[ This post primarily covers stuff from Sonic Adventure, Sonic Adventure 2 and Sonic Advance, and ignores Sonic Chronicles and Sonic Pocket Adventure as they have been struck from canon (see: Encyclo-speed-ia) ]

[ It should also be noted that this theory is built on the idea that "the world" as depicted in Sonic Forces is not accurately depicting the entire globe, but rather depicting Eggman's takeover of just the island archipelago where the animal cast lives (South Island, West Side Island, Mirage Island, Northstar Islands, Angel Island) as to explain its geography and lack of human characters ]

Right! So, a big theme in the environmental design of the original Sonic Adventure was having the Sonic cast sort of "cross over" into the human world more - the wording on this was initially nebulous, but with updated translations and clearer official word recently, we now know that it means that the "human world" is moreso like a mainland populated by humans that exists separately from the animal-inhabited island archipelago of Sonic 1, 2, CD, 3&K and Superstars (see: Sonic Origins). My immediate first point of comparison - of all things - is something like the first Madagascar movie, where the lemurs are able to be a fully functioning society in a region completely isolated from humans.

Except it's not quite like that movie, is it? We see in Sonic Adventure (and further in Unleashed, 06) that animal characters like Sonic and c.o are able to exist just fine within the human world, to where Amy has flat-out moved into Station Square. Big and Tails, too, have settled down by the Mystic Ruins close to where Angel Island (sometimes) crashes down by, Rouge owns a club in Sonic Battle - you get the gist. Animal characters, the majority population of the islands as we see in Forces and the IDW series, are able to migrate into the "mainland" human societies, but it appears to still be a rarity, likely not even something everyone has the opportunity to do (Big might've been born on Angel Island, Tails and/or Sonic can fly any of Sonic's friends to wherever they want to go, etc.). The most contact humans have with the animal world is through the Mystic Ruins site, or Eggman using his excessive wealth to fly in and try and effectively colonize the islands as we see in Sonic 1, 2, Superstars, CD, 4.1 and 4.2 (for note: CD, 4.1 and 4.2 take place on the same island of Mirage Island)

Sonic Adventure 2's level select is obviously to be taken with a grain of salt as a stylized take on a world map, but it seems to infer the same thing that Origins' main menu and Angel Island's close proximity to the Mystic Ruins both corroborate - the island archipelago inhabited by the animal characters seems to be quite close to the mainland "United Nations" landmass, most evidently close to Rouge's Route 280 level. And given how often Eggman lays his sights on the islands as a primary target for his schemes (Heroes may well also be taking place on the islands, as Seaside Hill is confirmed to be near/on South Island), it would make sense from the United Nations' POV to try and make access to the islands more accessible. For example, to enable easier import and export of goods, help citizens evacuate from possible disaster (eg. how the Metal Virus in IDW described how it was impossible to evacuate to anywhere else but Angel Island), and so on - a way to connect the two societies more smoothly only makes sense.

With ALL that context and preamble out of the way, this is my theory, and where Sonic Advance finally comes into the picture:

Radical Highway in Sonic Adventure 2, and later Neo Green Hill Zone from Sonic Advance, were together depicting a brief attempt to connect South Island to the United Nations mainland.

You may think this is a bit of a nutty conclusion to draw given how little of a story Sonic Advance actually has, but I think there's a lot we can glean from just the environmental design of Neo Green Hill Zone alone. Compared to the original Green Hill Zone, and most of the levels in the Classic Sonic games that aren't just flat-out urban cities/facilities seemingly built under Eggman's control (Star Light, Spring Yard, Chemical Plant), Neo Green Hill Zone's touches of human infrastructure are far more...friendly, for a lack of a better word. There's parasols and wooden scaffolding, a grind rail or two along paved sidewalks, yet the natural beauty of the area is left entirely in tact. Nothing about it appears like Eggman's work, yet it is quite evidently structured for human interests, for tourism and walking/biking rather than all the funky ways in which Sonic's animal cast are comfortable moving around. Then there's of course the name: NEO Green Hill Zone, as if it's reinvigorating the idea for a fresh new facelift, re-marketing it!

But how does all that connect to Radical Highway?

Radical Highway (and Mission Street by extension) have a quirk unique to them when compared to almost all other urban city levels in the series - as you can see in the image above, they're themed around still being under construction. Compared to a level like Lethal Highway from Shadow the Hedgehog (or the aforementioned Route 280 from SA2) the holes and gaps in Radical Highway are presented as being specifically because the winding roads are still under construction. You can see this on the level map above too - Route 280 and Route 101 appear to be part of a long, linear, already-finished stretch of road, wheras the area of Radical Highway and Mission Street is filled with gaps, inlets and breaks in the road. Route 101/Route 280 already appear to fill the function of letting people cross between the two city areas depicted on Adventure 2's world map...so then, what exactly is the construction and general wobblyness of Radical Highway for?

Well, let's look at Sonic Advance again: Specifically, the end of the Neo Green Hill Zone stage, and the way the game progresses immediately thereafter:

The natural beach environment of Neo Green Hill Zone Act 2 suddenly bows out before the Eggman boss fight to give way to something quite interesting: A red bridge extending out from the island's coast. The bridge's architecture doesn't quite match that of Radical Highway, most notably using tall suspension wires hooked up to some off-screen upper portion of the construction, but I think the idea alone is fascinating enough: This is drastically more modern architecture compared to the rickety wooden bridges otherwise seen in Green Hill Zone. We're still a bit unsure of if Advance 1 takes place before or after Sonic Adventure 2, but if it's before - it may also be possible that the work on this bridge began on the South Island end of things *before* the mainland Radical Highway-end were finished with their work, with the idea of joining the two bridges somewhere in the middle.

Let's again also consider where this bridge takes our characters in Advance - to Secret Base Zone, a shockingly urban facility which we still don't really know the location of. Sonic and c.o need to zip-line into its entrance, with a background that only features light and buildings far off into the distance - is it possible that the Secret Base exists sort of like an oil rig in the middle of the ocean, inbetween South Island and the mainland, as some sort of production facility for the UN? Regardless, it serves as a pit-stop in the Advance campaign - after it, we can pretty cleanly chart a roadmap for where the cast travels. Casino Paradise's ocean background seemingly depicts it as being part of the coastline (bottom left of the SA2 map), Ice Mountain is pretty clearly meant to be another area of Ice Cap Zone given how it leads to the Angel Island Zone - which is, in reality, a dilapidated Sky Sanctuary. Effectively, the campaign seems to go from South Island, to the bridge connecting South Island to the mainland, to a coastside Vegas-like casino wonderland built by Eggman, which is near the Mystic Ruins and thus near Angel Island by extension (it may be connected to Night Carnival from Sonic Rush?). And all of it connected thanks to the works of a bridge, seemingly set up in Adventure 2 with Radical Highway being under construction, possibly with the goals to connect the two core parts of Sonic's world.

Whew! That's pretty much all the words I have, and I've now reached the max cap of images per posts. I truly don't know how many Sonic fans care about these granular details and concepts about the environment of Sonics world in games from 20+ years ago, but I hope it got some gears turning - and if there is some merit to this, it may further get you wondering as to why the path connecting the two was seemingly cut off in the end? Given the cityscapes we see in Forces and IDW, it's possible that this mutual relation between the two worlds lasted for a fair while - what could've possibly led to that bond being broken? Maybe Unleashed breaking the world apart had something to do with it...

Thanks for reading this far if you did - and feel free to add your own ideas or things I might've missed in all of this!

[tainted-liquor]

Sea Grillz✧˖°

'I wont hurt you, mama c'mere' - Miles G. Morales e42! Miles Morales x BlackFem!Mermaid!Reader TWs: I don't think there are any ! Ingredients: Sugar, Kisses, and smiles! A/N: Reader is slightly Caribbean-coded! Other than that enjoy luvs :P W/C: 1,410

The moon illuminated the ominous night sky, painting gentle highlights on the surface of everything that can be seen by the naked eye. Miles was keeping watch of a cargo ship he had just taken over 20 minutes earlier, relying on his prowler mask to aid his eyes through the deep dark sky. He was cold, and even though everyone on the ship prior had been robbed of their life, he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't really alone. The soft crash of the waves and the rock of the cargo ship touched the drum of his ear in a hypnotizing lullaby, allowing him to shake the fleeting sensation of a pair of eyes on him. He took a glance over the sea-line, and everything was clear. But just as he turned his head away from the eastern side of the Caribbean sea, he caught a sudden movement sandwiched in between the low tide.

As you swam through the tide, weaving through the seaweed and coral on your way back to your safe haven, you notice an unfamiliar silhouette standing perfectly still against the rock of the waves. You halted your movements, freezing in place as the end of your tail twitched in anticipation. Having spent all of your life out deep in the sea, you had never really seen anything like this strange shadow before and slowly approached the surface to take a look. It looked like the little sailboat you had in your glass bottle, which you had found whilst swimming slightly closer to the shore than you normally would. You quietly swam closer, before you caught an identified figure turn your way. Was that a human?

You quickly ducked down into the water, baby-teal tail perfectly hiding in the sea as you swam closer. If it truly was a human, he wouldn't follow you down. Especially if they knew just how deep the water was, and what could possibly reside. You saw the human stand up, straightening his posture as he clenched his...claw? You caught the shiny metal glimmering in the moonlight, common sense leaving your body as you began to swim closer toward the man.

Up close he was hella intimidating, a purple sort of...chunk of glow-y metal obscured your view of his face, small white slits stationed where his eyes would have been. You poke your head out of the water, remaining a comfortable distance away from the man, hesitantly leaning back as he turns to face you. The small white cuts on his mask squint, indicating to you that he's examining the little that he can see of you, your big beady brown eyes, slightly furrowed brows, and hair stuck to the top of your head like a smooth glove due to the weight of the water. He turned his head to the side as he walked closer to the edge, standing with both claws at his side, tightly clenched and ready to fly at the slightest mishap. He beckons you closer with his two fingers, nodding his head backward as if to say 'Come here.'

You stay still for a moment, narrowing your eyes before swimming closer, still making sure to keep your tail out of view just in case he felt like having a fish dinner. He chuckles lowly as he holds out a sharp claw, titanium twinkling in the moonlight as he extends it out to you. You swam closer, bringing yourself up out of the water a bit more so he could see your whole face and tensed shoulders. You put your smaller hand within the palm of his cold claw, watching as the faded-blue ombre of your skin faded to your original melanated shade as it came into contact with the crisp air. He gently pulled you forward, causing you to swim fully up out of the water, tail keeping you afloat as your body finds its resting harmony with the waves of the water.

the small slits on his mask widen for a moment, before quickly squinting as he mumbles a low "I won't hurt you, mama. C'mere." You reluctantly allow him to pull you closer, placing your top half on the freezing floor of the cargo ship as you inhale sharply at the sensation. He laughs before shaking his head and returning his confused gaze back on your tail. "Eres tan fascinate, chica bonita..." he mumbles as he walks around me, taking in most of my form as he studies the scales that create a smooth transition to my tail. I tilt my head to the side in confusion, eyebrow-raising as I attempt to decipher what it was he just said.

He gave another chuckle before crouching down, placing his wrists on his knees as he gives me one final scan. "What's your name?" he asks as I frown slightly. I point to the gills on my neck before making a talking motion with my hand and crossing my arms. Without exposure to water, my gills would make it virtually impossible for me to speak. He looks around quickly, ripping a piece of a dead man's shirt, dunking it in water, and tying it lightly around my neck. Admittedly, it probably looked odd but he was probably just really curious as to what I would sound like, but desperate times require desperate measures.

I take another sharp inhale, my voice recalibrating as I feel my vocal cords return to their lively harmony. My voice was smooth and laced with a thick Islander accent. "I am Y/N." I nod, any fear I had of the strange man dissipating almost immediately as I reach out to feel the strange material of his mask, the projected purple glitching and running away from my touch. He nods slowly before he gets his next question ready. "You live here? Like, always?" he asks. I nod again as I begin to toy with the pointed triangles on the back of his suit, attempting to bend the solid material under my fingertips.

"You a handsy lil' thing, huh?" He remarks as he gently removes my hands from his suit, mask disappearing before my eyes as I watch his smug smirk grow. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he murmurs a small "Don't touch. My tech is dangerous, and mad expensive" He grins as he watches me visually analyze everything he was wearing, confused at why a human would need such things in the first place. My first thought was that he was a pirate, stealing and taking things that weren't really his, but if pirate, why kind? I stare deeply into his eyes, face mere inches away from his as I internalize every feature of his. I knew I'd never see him again, so I committed every small detail of his to memory.

"Who are you?" I ask with a puzzled expression, trying to make sense of his whole get-up and why he was acting so sketchy. From the body sitting just mere inches away from him, him sitting on a boat that he clearly doesn't own, and me practically being in his lap as he makes no attempt to harm me whatsoever. He was absolutely gorgeous as his deep brown skin seemingly glowed under the night sky, a slight smile on his lips as a couple of his teeth peaked from under his grin, and strange jewelry was visible on his teeth. He chuckled as he placed a gentle claw to the side of my face, his pupils bullying their way through my soul as he tilts my face up slightly.

"I'm the Prowler, Mami. But I'll be back for you, Chiquita. Sometime when I'm off work" He winked as he rested his hands just above my hips, dangerously close to my shiny scales. He didn't seem to care about the unfamiliar texture under his skin as he watched my fins flap madly in the water, indicating my mix of surprise and joy. I nod as I feel him release my hips, allowing me to slip back into the water before his mask silently reforms, encasing his seemingly perfect face behind the purple hologram-like features. He walked backward as he got one last look at me before turning around and walking himself to the helm of the ship. I gave him a small wave, free hand resting on the piece of fabric wrapped thickly around my neck as I swam away, feeling slightly somber about having to say goodbye.

[0vergrowngraveyard]

“Y’know keed, I think you could reach the stars one day.”

The look Tails gave him made him chuckle. Big blue eyes stared at him with confusion and his head tilted to the side.

“What?” He asked.

“I said ‘I think you could reach the stars one day’.” He repeated, chuckling again at the bland look the kit shot him. Even at just four years old, he had a nasty stink eye.

“S’not what I meant.” Tails hopped off the branch he was sitting on and made his way over to where Sonic was laying in the grass. He sat down next to him and looked up at the beautiful night sky. “I mean what do you mean? That's way too high up! I can’t fly that far!”

Sonic held up a finger, “Not yet, maybe, but someday you’ll be able to!” He tucked the hand behind his hand again as a makeshift pillow,

The kit furrowed his brows as he continued to look at the sky, thinking about what Sonic had just said, until he shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

Sonic looked up at the kit next to him. His big ears had lowered against the back of his head as he looked longingly at the sky.

With a sigh, Sonic opened his arm, a silent invitation for the kit to lay next to him. Tails quickly snuggled up next to him, his namesakes draping across him.

“Well, kiddo,” Sonic started, squeezing the kit closer to him, “You could do anything you put that big brain of yours to so yeah, I think you could do it”

The fox didn’t respond right away so Sonic turned his gaze back to the stars above. He almost thought that the kit had fallen asleep until he tensed up next to him.

“But it would be lonely up there…and I don’t want to be lonely…” His words tugged on the young speedster’s heartstrings. The kid had been alone for a while, maybe even longer than he assumed. In a way, they could relate to each other in that way. It’s not like Sonic had parents waiting for him somewhere, the only family he ever needed was laying next to him, cuddled up against his side.

Sonic wouldn’t let Tails be alone, not anymore.

“Then I’ll just have to go up there with you!” He said, giving the kit another squeeze.

Wide blue eyes turned towards him like he didn’t expect that answer. “Really?”

Sonic chuckled, “Absolutely! Always wanted to see what it looked like up there! And what better way to check it out than with my little buddy!”

Tails looked at him, considering his words for a bit before he smiled and nuzzled into his chest. “If you’re going too, then I’ll try my best.”

Sonic looked down at him to the best of his ability. “Yeah?”

Tails let out a big, squeaky yawn. “mhm…”

A fond smile spread across his muzzle as he looked at the stars, holding his baby brother close to him as the kit drifted off to sleep.

“I’m looking forward to it, lil’ buddy.”

——————

This wasn’t the most ideal situation to be in.

The hedgehog sat alone, surrounded by the rubble of an exploded Eggman base.

He wasn’t sure why it exploded. It was a little dramatic, and not to mention totally rude, of the doctor to blow up his own base while he and Tails were inside. All they wanted was to delete a few files and completely trash the place!

Sonic was worried about his brother, they had been separated during the countdown and he had no clue where the kid was.

He would be turning this place inside out looking for him if it wasn’t for the world spinning due to a head injury and his leg being broken.

Oh, and the metal rod stabbed through his side, causing him to quickly bleed out.

Yeah, it was far from ideal.

But it would be better once he knew his kid was safe and judging from the vitals visible on his communicator, it seemed like he was fine.

He just hoped he’d be able to see him before-

“SONIC!” A young voice called out. “SONIC! CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

A smile quirked up in his muzzle. Looks like dying wishes do come true.

“I’m…I’m over here, bud!” He called back. He cringed at how weak his voice sounded.

The sound of the fox moving debris around and making his way towards him filled the area until he watched the kit duck under something as he finally came into view.

A horrified gasp came from him as he looked at the hedgehog who was sitting in a small pool of his own blood.

“Hey, buddy…fancy seeing you here.” He coughed out.

“Sonic!” Tails was at his side in an instant. His breathing rapidly increased as he looked over his big brother, not knowing what to do. “D-don’t worry! I’ll get you out- I’ll get you out of here! I promise! Just hang on”

“Tails.”

The kit brought up his communicator and seemingly sent out a quick distress signal to anyone who would see it. “It’s okay- it’s gonna be okay. Let me…I- I can…“ Tears started forming in the kit’s eyes as he struggled with his words, the gravity of the situation crushing him.

“Tails.”

His little brother looked at him and oh how Sonic wanted to get rid of that expression on his face. He didn’t want those tears to be there at all.

“I’m so, so proud of you, bud.” Sonic smiled at him, “I…I didn't tell you that enough….”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” Tails yelled, tears pouring down his cheek, “You’re gonna be okay! I- I promise! I’m gonna fix this! I- I swear—!“

His breath hitched as the hedgehog’s trembling hand weakly cupped his cheek, his thumb wiping away the tears. Tails held the hand closer, eyes squeezed shut as he nuzzled against it as he whimpered.

“Hey.”

Tails opened his eyes and for a precious second, all Sonic could do was stare into them.

Next to yellow, Sonic’s favorite color was blue. Not because he was blue (at least that wasn’t the entire reason, only part of it), but because whenever he looked next to him, aside from yellow, that’s the color he saw the most.

Those big baby blue eyes of his little brother. He watched them go from dull, hopeless, and terrified to bright with trust and wonder. He would do anything to keep those eyes shining.

Though, they were shiny with tears now, which made Sonic sad. He didn’t want the kit to be upset, he didn’t deserve it. His kid deserved nothing but joy and the best the world had to offer.

“This isn’t on you to fix, lil’ buddy. Please—“ He took in a shaky breath, “p-please don’t blame yourself for this…”

Tails just cries into his hand, tears mixing with his brother’s blood. He chokes out apology after apology. Sonic doesn’t understand why he’s apologizing, he didn’t do anything wrong. The kit could never do anything wrong in Sonic’s eyes. Call him biased or accuse him of having tunnel vision all you want, he could never get mad at Tails.

Especially not for this, not for something that wasn’t even his fault.

“Bud, can I ask you a favor?”

Tails’ nods his head violently, face still nestled in his brother’s hand. “Mhm!”

It took a moment to find his voice.

“I-I want you to explore the world for me…”

He knew it was kind of an odd request to be coming from someone like himself, someone who traveled the world almost daily, but he had his reasons.

It was his way of telling the kit not to shut down when he goes. Not to hide from the world, but to continue to embrace and protect it.

To keep living in it.

Tails pauses as he slowly looks at the hedgehog, confusion etched on his face. “B-but…but you’ve-“

“I know…” Sonic weakly chuckles, “I’ve seen all over Mobius more times than I can count.”

“Th-then why-?”

“Because you haven’t, lil’ bro.” Sonic interrupts him, “I want you to see it all too.”

Sonic fights down a cough before he continues, “So can ya do that for me, bud? Go see the world?”

Continue to live. If not for yourself, then for both of us.

Tails once again nodded, pressing against his hand again, “Yes! I promise! I promise I’ll see everything! The tallest mountain, deepest cave, I’ll be there! I’ll be there…!”

Sonic smiled.

Good

He let out a sob, “But…but I want you to be there with me! I want to see it all t-together…”

The hedgehog let out a chuckle that almost sounded painful, “I’ll be there bud, always…just not, y’know, physically.” He coughed, “But you’ll n’ver be al’ne. I’ll ‘lways be right by ‘ur side.”

More tears fell down Tails’ cheek as his words started slurring. Looks like his time was almost up.

His smile wavered a bit. He wanted nothing more in life than to see what his little brother would accomplish in life. He wanted to stand there with him, to be his shadow for once, to watch the kit shine his light that’s been covered for so long.

It hurt knowing he wouldn’t get to see it. It hurt so much more than the metal rod sticking out of his side. It hurt more than the head or leg injuries he sustained. It hurt more than any little cut or bruise he had on his battered body.

But hey. It’s the thought that counts, right? He sure hopes so.

Chaos, he’s so cold. He didn’t even realize it until now. Someone should turn up the heater in this place or something.

There's only one part of his body that feels warm: the hand his brother is holding.

Tails was always so warm. He was lucky he had such thick and fluffy fur. Sure, it sucked in the summer when he would shed and overheat, but it was nice every other season. He loved his brother’s fur, his namesakes, his big ears and, Chaos, he really did love everything about him.

His kid really was amazing.

He silently beckoned Tails to cuddle up against his side, just like he’d do when the kid was having a nightmare.

If only this could just be a nightmare. Just a horrible, horrible nightmare.

The fox seemed to understand that his brother was freezing and he quickly curled up against his side. His namesakes draped across his lap and curled around him and he hugged Sonic, burying his face into the crook of his neck. He could feel his short fur getting soaked with tears but he didn’t care. He never cared about something like that.

He let his head settle on top of the kit and he closed his eyes. He was warm and cuddled up with his baby brother.

He couldn’t think of a more perfect way for him to go.

So with one last, and long overdue, “I love you” (the pained cry that came from the kit broke his heart), he let himself fade.

He couldn’t wait to watch Tails reach the stars from above.

[throneofsapphics]

Hi can I request manorian x reader where she has a drinking problem and stopped but when she’s out with her friends they make her drink and it gets bad again :( manorian are frustrated, give me some angst and also then helping her

one day at a time

Manorian x Reader

Summary: “You knew they were next to you, one on each side, probably waiting for you to wake so they could talk, but the last thing you wanted was to face them. One drink, and all of your progress felt thrown out the window.”

Warnings: alcoholism, not great handling of alcoholism, minor injury/description of blood, some angst, hint of fluff 

Word Count: ~3.2k

A/N: thank you for the request

“Just one,” she grinned at you. 

The problem was one always led to another, on and on until you slowly stopped remembering why you didn’t drink. As she slid it towards you, across the table, you knew you were making a mistake, but kept trying to justify it to yourself. 

The disappointed look on your friend's face when you turned the first two drinks down. 

It’s not like you said you would never drink again. Just that you’d keep it under control.

You wouldn’t go home for a few hours, that’s plenty of time to come back sober. Like you’d said - you’d promised to come home sober. 

Earlier, you’d told them you’d likely be home … but you said likely. They wouldn’t worry. Maybe. The fear of their disappointment, of them seeing you like this, overrode any common sense. You weren’t thinking clearly. If you were, you’d know they’d rather you come home drunk off your ass than not at all. 

Not quite in your right mind, you decided to stay the night at a friends apartment. 

One thing you forgot; the guards, waiting quietly for you in the shadows. Discreet enough you rarely saw them, at least two or three were always there, especially after the threat on your life a few months ago. The reason you’d stopped drinking in the first place. Nobody knew you had a problem. 

-

They watched as you took drink after drink, waiting for you to leave so they could make sure you got home safe. Under orders to make sure you got to the castle, through one of the side gates, without attracting attention. 

“She’s got a high tolerance,” he said under his breath, the man next to him chuckling. You twirled and danced, finally waiting until last call. They knew just how much you’d downed, but you played it off well, appearing mildly tipsy. 

As you strode for the door, arm in arm with a friend - the one who’d funneled drinks to you all night, they rose to follow. 

-

Turning onto her street, the path away from the castle, you only made it a few paces before you were intercepted. 

Shit. 

You’d forgotten they had people tailing you at all times. Felix, and someone behind him you vaguely recognized, his name slipping from your mind. 

“Castle’s this way,” he jerked his chin, an amused smile on his lips, probably thinking you’d just made a wrong turn. 

“I can’t go home like this,” the words stumbled into each other, your cheeks flushed red with alcohol, jerking your arm out of your friends. 

“We have more wine at our place,” a vice-like grip curled around your upper arm. Alcohol numbed you enough you didn’t sense the pain right away. Felix had tensed, eyeing her warily. “Come on,” she coaxed, nails digging in harder, warm liquid pooling on your arm. When you didn’t move - she tugged - hard enough you let out a small cry, your shoulder straining - maybe even popping. 

Everything happened quickly, you were separated from her, a third person, a woman, appeared from the shadows, a flash of metal, you were shoved behind someone. Shielded. Murmurs over the wind - words indistinct but undeniably a threat. If your arm wasn’t hurting like a bitch maybe you’d feel pity. 

It was repeating again. You were too drunk to stop someone, hurting you. Last time you’d barely gotten away. Even though she was a friend, likely meaning no harm, just unaware of your own strength, the realization brought tears to your eyes, quickly hidden as your good arm threw your cloak over your face. 

The guards were good. Not a single passerby sensed anything was wrong. 

They stuck close to you as you headed through the back gate, half-aware of everything around you.

Declining a visit to the healers, just wanting to be with them, you made it to the end of the hall before Manon was shoving through the door, stalking towards you, Dorian behind her. 

You couldn’t - wouldn’t look at them, and tried to skirt around her. She wasn’t having it, stepping to the side to block you. 

Taking a breath, you prepared yourself for the lecture - for the disappointment, only for her to gently lift your arm, gold eyes peering at the spot where your friend had gripped. Blood - that was the warmth from earlier. Why Manon came out so quickly - she’d scented your blood. 

“It’s fine,” you murmured quietly. She lifted it again and you winced, some of the pain catching up to you, the walk had sobered you enough. A small strain that would heal in time. 

“What. Happened?” You could tell her temper was balancing on a paper thin edge. 

How could you begin to explain the shit show? Thankfully Dorian started guiding you back towards the room, giving you time to think. 

After you were seated on the couch, a cup of tea pressed into your hand, Dorian against your side, Manon pacing in front of the fireplace - looking murderous, he spoke. 

“Who did that to you?” You raised your brows, surprised he wasn’t asking about why you were drunk. “We’ll get to that later,” he read your expression, and your head dropped.

“Who was it?” Manon hissed, murderous rage flooding from her. You’d have to convince her not to gut the guards who brought you back here. 

“It was an accident.” You winced as Manon pressed a finger into the fingertip shaped bruises, silently calling your bullshit. “It wasn’t on purpose,” you tried. She didn’t look convinced. 

-

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Dorian sighed, wrapping his arm around your waist. You’d insisted you were fine, ready. He didn’t want to stop you, even though he had a bad feeling - hence the clear orders he gave to get you back. Maybe he should’ve told them to keep you from drinking, but that felt a bit too invasive - and he’d trusted you when you said you were ready. 

You were, for all he knew. There was something else missing - other answers he needed to get. 

“I need you to stay here with her,” he said quietly, to Manon, as you were getting ready for bed, the bathroom door wide open. She agreed - quicker than he thought he would. He was going to get answers. 

Felix, the guard who spent the most time watching you, was waiting at the end of the hall, as if he was expecting someone to come looking for answers. Dorian watched a hint of relief cross the man’s features - probably that it was him, not Manon. He couldn’t blame him, his witch was terrifying on a good day. He gave a detailed and precise report of the night’s events - down to each detail, and Dorian remembered exactly why he requested for him to guard you. 

Objectively, he knew they’d done everything right - but he was still pissed you’d ended up injured, blood drawn by one of your ‘friends.’ As for the identity of the friend, he decided Manon would have to get you to tell her yourself.  

“Thank you,” he said at the end, giving a polite nod as the guard bowed, taking his leave. Dorian pressed his forehead against the stone wall, letting the rough and cool surface center him. Anger would get nowhere tonight. He’d been so fucking proud of you, and the disappointment stung. 

-

The next morning, your head was pounding. One hand shielding your eyes from the sun, an audible groan left your lips. Hungover. 

Hungover. Drinking. You’d broken last night. Fuck. 

The self-loathing hit a moment later. You knew they were next to you, one on each side, probably waiting for you to wake so they could talk, but the last thing you wanted was to face them. One drink, and all of your progress felt thrown out the window. 

“Good morning,” Manon drawled, and you forced your eyes to blink open, your hand to move. Her expression was too neutral. An obvious sign of her holding in her anger. “Who hurt you?” She followed up. 

Hurt? There was a tinge in your shoulder. Vaguely, you remembered one of your friends gripping you, her nails digging in, the wet drop of blood against your skin. “It was an accident,” you said quickly. 

She pulled the sheets down, revealing the angry blue-purple bruises, small indents of fingernails, on your upper arm. Her finger traced over them, barely touching. “That is not an accident,” she hissed. 

“They didn’t mean it,” you tried. Manon raised one brow. “Please, don’t hurt them.” Before breakfast, and you were already resorting to begging to keep her from murder. “I’ll promise not to see them again, if you won’t hurt them.” 

Her nostrils flared. You watched her debate it, whether or not to satisfy her bloodlust and rage. Part of you was endeared by this, at her protective streak, but the other part was very, very worried about having blood and death on your hands. 

“Fine,” she conceded. “How do you feel?” 

The words felt like a trap, but you answered honestly. “Like shit.” 

“Good.” Ouch. She ran a hand down your arm, skipping over the bruised area, and gently squeezed your hand. Tender, coming from her. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” You tried to sit up, to catch her and maybe give her a kiss or hug, but with preternatural speed, she’d already left the room. 

A pathetic and small broken noise left you, and a sigh reminded you of Dorian’s presence. 

“She’s just on edge.” His voice indicated he, too, was on edge. 

You were still half-raised, staring at the door, when he slid closer to you. Close enough to feel his body heat, but not to touch. Self loathing and destructive thoughts filled you. Maybe they didn’t want to touch you, maybe they thought you were disgusted enough you’d be packing your bags, heading right out of the castle. Your shoulders caved, curling in on yourself, eyes squeezed to fight tears. 

Dorian’s hand rested lightly on your good shoulder. “We’ll talk later.” 

Then he left, and you felt your fears were confirmed. 

Forcing yourself out of bed, you brushed your teeth, washed your face, scrubbed your body near raw - trying to erase any vague scent of alcohol. You had the day off work, and knew they’d both be busy. Tying a towel around yourself, you clutched the clothes from last night in one hand. Without hesitation, you threw them in the fire. The less reminders, the better.

That night, you all had a private dinner in your shared rooms. 

“Why?” Dorian asked, and you could tell he was trying and failing to keep his tone neutral. That was worse - you wanted anger, maybe frustration, anything else. 

“I don’t know,” you fidgeted with the ring on your middle finger, the one they’d both given you - not an engagement ring, just a physical representation of your commitment to each other. “I thought I was ready, but … I wasn’t. I gave in.” 

You didn’t need to say what you gave into. It was obvious - the atmosphere, peer pressure, temptation. Glancing up, they both tried to hide it - Dorian more than Manon - but the disappointment was there and gods you hated yourself even more. Subconsciously, you began to slide the ring down your finger. Before it could reach your middle knuckle, Manon’s hand had clasped over your own. 

“Don’t,” she nearly snarled, lifting just enough to slide the ring back up, before retracting her hand quickly, like she couldn’t bear to touch you longer than necessary. At least they didn’t want to leave you. Yet, a voice in your mind whispered. 

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding. Any words might lead to tears. Dorian sent you a smile, but it was strained - forced. Didn’t they understand you hated yourself now? More disappointed and frustrated with yourself than they ever could be? Maybe, maybe not, but it wasn’t worth saying. Quickly gulping down the rest of your water, you excused yourself. 

Finding your favorite chair in the small personal library, closest to the fire, you tried to read, but your eyes scanned the same page at least ten times. Everything would be fine. It wouldn’t happen again, and … hopefully whatever divide came between the three of you would mend. 

-

Manon knew you were avoiding them. But, she’d always been under the impression that if someone needed help, they either had to ask or do it themselves. You’d come to them the first time, and she was waiting for you to do it again. At communal dinners, she watched how your eyes would waver towards the various bottles of wine or liquor, before averting quickly - as if they’d burn you for looking at them. Your hand would twitch if one got particularly close. Dorian had noticed too, and said nothing. Maybe that’s what you wanted? For them to pretend it never happened? 

As another week passed of your distance, she grew tired over it. Fine. If you wouldn’t ask for help, she’d go to you. 

Dorian would be out late, and she headed back to the rooms - knowing you’d already be settling in. 

Inside, she saw something that nearly made her blood boil. A bottle of wine sat on the coffee table, a small note attached to it. You sat on the couch, arms wrapped around your knees, physically shaking - staring at it, a haunted look in your eyes. 

Slowly, she stalked towards you. No glasses, the bottle wasn’t open. Getting closer, she picked the bottle up, watching you from the corner of her eyes. You kept your gaze straight ahead, switching to the wall, pointedly avoiding her. At least you weren’t fleeing the room. 

Witch senses helped, and she could tell you only touched the note - not the bottle. 

“We’ve been missing you, come out of hiding soon! First round is on me.”

A female, one of your former friends, signed underneath it. She walked around the couch, placing the bottle out of view, before crouching in front of you, putting herself directly in your line of sight, forcing you to look at her. 

“I told them before,” your voice was just above a whisper, “that I’d stopped.” 

She noticed the blue-purple bags under your eyes, the pain in your eyes. 

“And they still pushed you?” Manon was fighting to keep her temper even as you nodded. “Not very good friends,” she commented. “You should’ve let me kill them.” 

A choked laugh left you, and she thought that was a fairly good sign. “I don’t need blood on my hands,” the corner of your lips tilted. A smile you were fighting rather than forcing, she liked that. Manon knew you liked how protective she could be, even if it irked her you rarely ‘let’ her act on it, not that she always asked for your permission. 

Still, it was about time she got to the point of this. “Do you need help?” 

The smile left, your arms tightened around your knees again. One small jerk of your chin. Manon raised a brow. “Yes,” you sighed. 

Years with you had taught Manon more of what human’s needed, liked, and granted these things grew on her as well. She wrapped an arm around your shoulders, chuckling at how you quickly unwrapped and hugged her midsection instead, leaning your head into the space between her chest and shoulder. Before you and Dorian, she never thought she would’ve missed physical touch this much. But, as you not-so-discreetly moved close enough you were nearly on her lap, she realized she didn’t want to go another two weeks without this kind of closeness. 

-

Dorian spotted the bottle of wine tucked away on the kitchen counter first, his eyes widening in alarm. A closer look told him it was still closed, and a note was tied around it. The contents of said note pissed him off. That’s the last thing you need right now. Gazing over his shoulder, he saw Manon shooting him a warning glance. A keep fucking quiet, if he read it correctly. You were there too, curled up around her. 

How long had it been since he spotted the two of you like this? Too damn long. But … Manon had probably been with you for a few hours by now, he could justify interrupting. It was only fair to share. 

Striding across the room, lips curving into a wicked grin, Manon’s golden eyes narrowing into a glare, he sat heavier than necessary next to the two of you, one hand brushing over your knee. 

Your pretty eyes blinked open, small bags lining them. Had you not been sleeping well? He hated that he didn’t notice it before now. 

“Hello love,” he ran his hand up and down your thigh, in calm and soothing strokes. 

“Hello,” you murmured back. 

“Tired?” 

“No,” you yawned, covering your mouth. 

“Mhm,” he slid one arm under your knees, the other behind your shoulders, ignoring Manon’s snarl and carted you off towards bed. 

Manon stood in the doorway, silver hair gleaming, arms crossed. “I have a few reports to read,” she said gruffly. 

“Can’t you do that here?” He could tell you were trying to keep the whine from your voice. Manon’s eyes softened briefly. 

“The two of you are too distracting,” she spun on her heel, closing the door softly behind them, not giving either of you the chance for a snarky reply. 

“I can’t get you to myself for a while?” He teased. You blushed, and his fingers trailed over the heated areas as they turned a brighter shade of pink. 

“Of course you can,” you mumbled, hand running over the back of your neck. You wanted to talk - maybe not wanted, but needed. Dorian needed it as well, even if it was the last thing he wanted to do right now. “Are you mad at me?” You asked. 

Honestly, he reminded himself, and took in a steady breath. “I was at first,” he said cautiously. Resignation showed on your face, along with a glimmer of hope. He’d said at first. Wording was important, and he still treaded carefully. “But, I haven’t been in your … situation, so I can’t say I understand - or what I would have done.” He didn’t recognize the emotion that flashed in your eyes, but it didn’t look negative, so he continued. “I want to help you,” he gripped both of your hands, pressing a kiss to the ring he’d given you last year. “If you’ll let me.” 

Tears started to glimmer, lining your eyes. Maybe you’d wanted help this time, but been scared to ask for it, or were ashamed, or - Dorian reminded himself not to make assumptions.  

“I’d like your help,” you said quietly, blinking. His thumb brushed away the tears, and your head tilted. “Did you and Manon coordinate this?” 

It was his turn to blink. “No,” he shook his head. A pleased expression crossed your face. Apparently that’s what the two of you had spoken of earlier. “Did she ask if you wanted help?” A nod confirmed it. Subconsciously, his lips quirked up at the corners. Figures they'd both ask on the same day, and that Manon would beat him to it. "We'll take it one day at a time," he assured you.

"Thank you," you tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle another yawn and he figured now’s a good time to table the discussion. 

“We can talk more tomorrow.” 

You looked relieved, and nearly dragged him into bed.