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secret-smut-sideblog · 2 months

Text

Unpunishable

Astarion x F! Tav

(Girl Talk part 4, can be read alone)

18+ love triangle dynamics, possessiveness, blood drinking, tav being a menace, dom/brat, angry sex, power play, fingering (f!), mild restraint, spanking, spitting, p-in-v, prostate orgasm, some silly fun at the end

After Karlach spent the night with Tav, Astarion is feeling very normal about it. So normal that he needs her in his tent all night. Just to feed, he swears...

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

"You can feed from me tonight, if you'd like."

Her words were sweet, alluring. He knew he should express gratefully, but he was tight. Breathing through his nose.

"I'll see you tonight, then." He intoned in his best pantomime of casual.

Pretending he didn't see her emerge from Karlach's tent this morning. That he didn't go back to his tent to scream into his pillow.

Oh gods, no, no. Why had he waited?

Well, he knew. Fate had aligned against him, like it always does. He had planned to tell her, he truly had. But then she had nearly drowned. By his own idiotic actions, to boot.

Some god truly had a vendetta against him, he just wasn't sure which.

He tried to reassure himself, watching her mill around camp, it didn't appear they were together. Yet, anyway. They exchanged sly glances but beyond that their chatter was relatively the same.

Maybe he still had a chance.

Oh who was he kidding, it's Karlach. He's done for.

No. No, he couldn't give up.

Tonight, he had her for tonight.

Watched as her long legs kicked out in front of her as she sat down, leaning conspiratorial to whisper something in Shadowheart's ear. Saw the cleric's cheeks go red.

Feeling his eyes she glanced up, smiling cat-like at him. Pulling her hair over her shoulder. Tipping her head back slightly, beckoning him.

Gods below, he was in over his head.

Her face smeared with a smile, arms coming up. Arcane power pulsing wicked through her. "Umbra!"

Their enemies were swallowed in darkness. A flash of red hair as she dove in. The sounds of thrashing death from the darkness.

He pulled his focus back to the light, firing down on those on the outskirts. Pointedly ignoring the sounds of her viciously tearing into bodies.

He had asked before why she could still see in her spell.

"Ironic, isn't it?" She had laughed, pointing to her demonic eyes. "The blind leading the blind, truly. Well, previously blind. It's the Devil's Sight." Leaning on her hip, flourishing with her fingers. "What can I say, I'm thorough. I intended to never be without sight again, and I meant it."

He knew it went deeper than that, if her reaction to Volo's "help" was any indication.

When he had pulled a needle from his pack she grabbed his wrist tightly. Her normally charismatic eyes tight with icy rage. Sitting up.

"You are not putting that in my eye." Her voice a hiss, grip tightening.

Volo had flinched, endless apologetic words flowing from his mouth.

She had reminded him of their other Drow, Minthara, in that moment. Could see the same cold controlled anger in her. He understood why they were close. Both Drow nobility. Both raised with the same frigid hand.

The more he got to know about her, the deeper the rabbit hole went.

Now, their enemies were felled and he let out a relieved sigh. They had gotten into a powerful rhythm of combat, all knowing their role and executing it well. But that didn't guarantee victory.

She emerged from the dark, absolutely soaked in blood. Shaking the excess off of her blade with a flick of her wrist. Her usually neatly pinned hair falling out of its plaits. Chest huffing with exertion.

Gods below spare him.

"Call off?" She shouted, eyes scanning.

Since she fought almost entirely in darkness, she usually didn't know how the others had fared. So they worked out a system.

"Aye!" Karlach called cheerfully.

"Aye!" Minthara growled, pulling her greataxe out of a body with a grunt.

"Aye!" He called, more breathily than he meant to.

She smiled at him. "Excellent. Good job, all. Though I had no doubts."

"Minthara, check for injuries. Karlach, take account of the dead, throw any scrolls to me. Astarion, help me with this locked chest."

He let out a great sigh, pretending to be put upon.

She leaned into his play, looking at him with great pleading eyes. "Astarion, pleaaase~"

He could never tell her how shockingly effective that was on him.

"Alright, you child. Step aside." She laughed, stepping away with a flourish of her hand.

He crouched down, taking out his tools with sure hands. Beginning his ministrations.

"You know," He jumped at her voice in his ear, her warm body crouched behind his. "You make this look so easy, surely it must be harder?"

He resisted the shiver that sat at the bottom of his spine. Her velvet voice directly in his ear.

Of course she was still drenched in blood. She knew what she was doing, the she-devil.

"I assure you, it's difficult for most." He huffed, focusing back on his work.

"Hmm, do you think I could do it if I practiced?" She murmured, he could hear the smile in her voice. "I've been known to have very nimble fingers."

He nearly dropped his tools. Memories of their first night assaulting his mind. Regained composure.

"I'm sure you'd make a fine locksmith, darling. Now if you don't mind." His voice was snippy, irritation thinly veiling his arousal.

Always teasing him. Gods he wanted to push her against a wall.

Shook his head slightly. No. Less of those thoughts. Focus.

"Oh, you're no fun today." She giggled, rising to feet. He immediately felt the absence of her body.

"Prickly, I'll have to watch that I don't nick myself." At the word nick, she waved her wrist past his face as she passed. Rejoining their companions with a look at him over her shoulder.

Oh he was going to take her apart tonight.

He paced in his tent. So many emotions crashing around inside him. Longing, fear, anger, desire. And the one that surprised him the most; possession. That had been at the forefront of his mind shockingly often.

He wanted her. Badly. And he wanted her to himself.

He had a great fondness in his heart for Karlach but if it came down to it, he wanted it to be him.

Rest assured, he wouldn't go down without a fight, and he didn't fight fairly.

The flap of his tent lifted slightly, her white eyes asking for entry.

"There you are." He purred as she stepped inside.

She tied down the fabric. The universal sign of do not disturb.

Oh?

His dead heart raced a little.

"Well, are we planning for more than a feeding tonight?" He stepped closer, smirking.

She pulled the pins in her hair, kicking off her boots. Shaking her head, her red hair fell and bounced down to the base of her spine. Her eyes cutting up to his.

Hells below it wasn't fair.

"If you play your cards right. Now help me with my armor."

He stepped forward and she turned her back to him. Pulling her hair away for him.. His quick fingers went to work on the buckle on her shoulder.

The smell of her well-oiled leather breastplate, the blood still caught in its creases. The oils in her hair, something sweet. Appleblossom.

"...Are you smelling me?"

He sputtered, heat rushing to his neck. "Certainly not. Gods."

He saw contained laughter in her shoulders as he lifted her breastplate off. She sighed in relief, stretching.

"I don't mind." She turned her head slightly, winking at him. "I'm sure your keen senses tell you a lot. Don't they?"

She stepped back into him, sliding her head into the side of his face.

He leaned in then, giving in completely. Eyes closing, breathing in like she was the most enthralling perfume. If he could bottle it, he would wear it on his wrist.

His hands came up to pull at her hair, nuzzling down into the curve of her neck. A small moan in his throat. Exquisite.

She kicked off the last of her armor, now in her damp underclothes, still sweaty from their fight earlier that day. Her musk coming to swirl into the heady bouquet.

"How do you want me?" She asked, sighing and leaning her head back.

That question send a quick shock of pleasure into his already hard cock.

"Down. Down with me." He pushed on the back of her knees with his own.

She kneeled down with him, straddling around her back. Pressing his erection hard into her lower back. Making his intentions clear.

This was the first time he had taken charge between them and it sent a delicious thrill up his spine.

He bit down into her with a groan. Pulling her into his throat in pulses. Her taste sending his eyes into the back of his head. He would never get used to it.

Her little sighing whimper stroking down his cock.

He latched on harder with a growl, his frustration brought to the surface again. How many times did he have to bite her to make it clear that she was his to the others?

His.

That she felt the need to seek out other bodies. Oh he would make her certain that she needn't do that tonight.

He pulled off with great effort, laving his tongue obscenely up her neck. They had more pressing matters to attend to.

"So I couldn't help but notice," He started, fingers trailing up her arm. "That you spent the night with our sweet Karlach."

"I did." She agreed, pushing her ass back into him cheekily. Subtly moving her hips up and down. "Do you have any feelings about that you'd like to share?"

He expected her to deny it, to get flustered. He should know better by now.

Gods below, he wished he could warn that idiot on the beach that he was about to walk into the vipers' den.

"Feelings?" He intoned, playing up for time.

"Mhm," She hummed, reaching up and playing with his ear. Her skilled hands pulling, the sensitive skin betraying him. He stifled a moan.

"Would you have liked to join?" She smiled, giving a little tug.

The band of frustration snapped inside him. Catching her wrist into his hand.

She gasped and he could smell a new wave of arousal rising from her.

"No. I did not." He growled.

"As a matter of fact," He hissed, pulling her hair in his fist. Her neck bending open to him. "I was not pleased to see that at all."

She moaned, arching her back. "No?" Her voice coming out hot. "Not into sharing?"

He reached around her front. Pulling her chest wrappings off in a harsh flick of his wrist. Falling away into her lap.

"Not even a little, darling." He warned, directly into her ear.

Fingers twisting her peak. "I intend to make you mine."

She shivered, much to his delight.

"Prove it." She hissed, turning her head just enough to look in his eyes. That devilish smile on the edge of her lips.

He shoved the space between her shoulder blades, pushing her face down into his pillow. Hiking her hips up.

She groaned, then laughed. Laughed.

He growled, pulling her underclothes down roughly. His hand snapping hard down on her ass.

She mewled, burying her face in his pillow.

Oh now we're getting somewhere.

He struck the reddening skin again, the crack of his hand hanging in the air. Seeing the wetness start to drip down her cunt.

"You evil little thing." He chided. "Are you going to be good?"

She hooked her legs around his knees, pulling him off balance for fun.

"Hmm, I'll consider it." She mused.

He reached around her front, fingers circling against her clit, other hand pushing two fingers inside her. Fast and angry. She moaned, pushing her hips into him.

"You'll consider it..." He repeated, goading in his voice.

He thought about how she had him in the same position not long ago. Felt a thrill of fresh arousal fire down his cock.

He blurred his hands against her clit, curling his fingers and slamming inside her.

She arched her back up like a cat, her hands held out to balance her curling. Little choppy breaths.

"Astarion," She moaned, nearly whimpering.

Oh that was doing it for him. Pre-cum pooling in his leathers.

"Say my name again, or I stop."

She hit her fist against the ground in frustration, not wanting to give in. He smiled wide. Oh, he could get her to play his game by the rules.

His hands started to slow in warning.

"Astarion!" She whined, incredulous. That same tone when she asked for help earlier.

He started back up again dutifully. Her shooting daggers at him. Giving her a smug preening smile.

She was rocking back into him, sweet little urgent moans pushing out of her. He loved to hear her sing for him. Him and only him.

"Tell me you'll only make these sounds for me." He leaned forward into her ear.

"Is that what you want?" She panted, hand coming up to cup his head.

"Yes." He bit at her ear. Hands punishing.

"Swear it."

She panted, nearly there. The smell of her blood burning with heat.

"I swear. Now fuck me like you hate me."

He groaned, his cock throbbing against her backside. Suddenly remembering that she had never taken a man before. His arousal doubling.

He released his cock from its painful cage. Lining up to her with as much restraint as he could muster.

Planted a hand on her lower back. His cock steadying at her entrance.

"Hold on, darling."

She slammed back, sheathing herself on him to the hilt. He groaned, nearly buckling over.

Gods below, she was going to kill him.

"All out of venom?" She teased.

"Do I need to gag you?" He held her hips harshly, restraining her. Rolling into her at a punishingly slow pace.

"You can try." She moaned, gripping his length. Clenching down around him in pulses. The languid pace making her shake.

He gripped down on her hair again, fisting it at her scalp. Pulling her head back.

Saw her smile, eyes closing in pleasure. Hips meeting his in rhythm. Finally giving in to him.

But he wasn't done with her.

He leaned over her back. "Look at me."

She opened her eyes, those haunting white eyes. Filled with desire for him, pupils blown wide.

"Open your mouth."

She looked surprised but obliged dutifully. Those perfect plush lips falling open.

He spat into her mouth.

He saw her eyes hitch back, clenching down hard around him. Knew her orgasm was close behind.

He said her name sharply as he slammed into her, pulling her hair again. "You look at me while I fuck you through this."

She nodded, swallowing his spit. Face flushed.

Gods now he could barely keep his eyes open.

Her face cringed in what looked like pain. Eyebrows knitting together. Keeping her eyes open with what looked like great effort.

"Oh Gods," She whined, as the first contractions hit.

He focused on keeping pace but it was a futile effort. Her cunt taking him at the rapid pace of her undoing.

He felt his own face screw up in pleasure. Her eyes still locked on his.

Whimpering and begging moans pushing through her. Body shaking against him deeply.

"Please come, Astarion." She urged, her voice so sweet.

He could hold off no longer. Hearing his name said like that again the match striking to the powder keg.

His pelvis contracting in vicious pulses. His body remembering her pleasures had activated his prostate without touch. Those same hard tremors shooting through him. He spilled inside her in unbearable pulses. He bit down on his arm to not scream. Coming so hard he saw stars, and then coming more after that. Unable to maintain eye contact anymore, his rolling back into his head.

"Oh Gods. Fuck." He groaned into the muffle of his bloody arm. The pleasure finally winding down.

She squeezed his thigh reassuringly as she panted, head fallen into the pillow.

He pulled out of her slowly. Groaning at the obscene amount of his spend pouring down her backside.

Gods he didn't know he had that much.

He grabbed a cloth and wiped it away from her. Though he would love to stare at it for hours.

"Oh thank you," She purred tiredly, smiling at him. "What a gentleman."

She sat back on wobbly legs, reaching for her clothes.

He grabbed her wrist.

"What are you doing, darling?"

"Getting dressed." She said simply. Looking at him confused. "Don't worry you'll be free of me soon." She said easily.

Gods below how did she still think he didn't want her.

He pulled her into a searing kiss.

She squeaked in surprise.

"I Don't."

Bite.

"Want you."

Bite.

"To leave."

She moaned quietly into his mouth, wrapping her legs around his back.

"You're sure?" She asked, eyes soft. Melting him through.

"For the love of... yes!" He admonished, to her little smile. Biting her lip.

Blushing.

He never thought he would see the day.

"So you want to be my boooyfriend~"

"Oh Gods, I'm regretting this already."

"You liiiiike me~"

"Yes, you demon." He grabbed at her waist, biting at her playfully.

She squealed out a laugh. Trying to get away. "No biting! No biting!"

"A little late for that, don't you think?" He laughed. Digging his fingers into her sides to reignited laughter. Wiggling to get away.

"No! I'm ticklish!"

"Oh, you've made a grave mistake, admitting that." He leaned down and nipped at her sides.

He smiled evilly at her hands shoving his head, her mouth open wide in a gasping laugh.

He could get used to this.

(okay I think this is the last one of these, I hadn't planned to make this a series but the gods of smut took my hand. thank ya'll for all the feedback on this series!!!)

#i love a tav who can put him through his paces #put that man in a situation. and the situation is madness induced sex #astarion smut #astarion x tav #lyrics from: take me back to eden - sleep token

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mamawasatesttube · 2 months

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So i was just rotating your "Jack drake lives au" in my mind and at the same time remembered those panels of superman shaking hands with Some Fucking Guy (i think he was being a bitch to Lois or smth) and he makes direct unflinching eye contact with the tight lipped smile and his grip is a little too tight to be friendly

Anyways im not saying he hates Jack but i do think Kon off-handedly mentioned the "joke" about his nail polish and Clark went "oh really now?" And didnt forget

So rip Jack at that family dinner night bc not only is Lois waiting for an excuse to obliterate him but Clark is right there with her and if jack thinks that Good Ol Country folk Ma and Pa will back him up then hes in for a surprise lol

oh yeah absolutely!!!! the thing is. literally Nobody likes jack in this au ksjdhfkd like kon and dick absolutely have texted each other to bitch about him, ma openly shakes her head when she hears about how he treats tim (and she WILL speak her mind if he ever tries to shut that sweet boy down in front of her!), cass literally won't speak to him bc he failed the vibe check so bad, etc...

and like. no one is telling tim this. they Know it'll make him feel like he has to defend his dad bc he loves him! but sometimes tim mentions oh he can't join for games this friday night, he and his dad are going on an early morning fishing trip. and cass just meets kon's eyes across the room behind tim's back and rolls her eyes so hard.

but yeah. clark will mostly let lois handle the obliteration with ma's backup as needed bc he knows she's got this. his form of expressing his severe disapproval of jack, his views, and his parenting? supporting tim. thanking him for doing the dishes after dinner, praising his work ethic, ruffling his hair and telling him he did a great job with that case he wrapped up last week, etc. it makes tim go "!!! :D!!!" like that pic of the cat getting patted. tim has always craved approval and affirmation and affection from people around him and he gets it in spades from the kents. and jack sees his son light up and open up around these people way more than he does with him. it's not a good feeling.

it's just tough bc like, tim doesn't want anyone getting mad at jack. but the idea of anyone getting mad at jack on his behalf is also just such a shock to him. he's not used to that. he feels like he has to manage jack and be responsible for him in a lot of ways (if jack says something shitty in front of lois, tim cringes because now jack is gonna get his ass handed to him and feel humiliated, and that's his dad and he was trying to help, and also he feels like it's on him that his dad is being like that. why? oh you know.) (its the unnamed emotional abuse, thats why.)

but also clark and kon watch lois ask tim how his degree is going now that he's in engineering school, and lightly rib him and ask if she can't poach him into investigative journalism instead, because she doesn't usually take interns but she'd make an exception! and tim cocks his head like a dog and says well, maaaybe he'd be down to consider an internship if she's serious? it does sound cool. what are the details? and jack, who barely gets more than one-word answers when he talks to tim about his future, is just kinda seething. heart rate goin up bc hes mad. and kon and clark just exchange extremely amused glances across the kitchen and sip their hot chocolates.

like the tim and jack dynamic is complicated; it'd be a lot easier if the love wasn't so real but it is present. its just that jack is soooo emotionally immature and grounded in Classic American Manhood and ideas of fatherhood. and the fact that tim is growing beyond that and not fitting in the mold he's "supposed" to eats at him. its a tragedy but also we are all pointing and laughing at jack every time superfam make him grind his teeth.

#answers #peacheel #jack drake lives au #tim #clark #jack drake

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zoeykallus · 7 months

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After Reading your stories again, damn, I missed them, they were so good and fun :D

So I've got this head canon that Echo wears his headset to improve his hearing (which got bad after getting blown up).

So what about it got damaged and tech needs some time to repair it. In the meanwhile the reader tries to help him get along with his impaired hearing. (And maybe they found out something about their feelings in the process ;)

I just love your one shots and Echo is just my favorite ^^°

And as always, just have fun and don't feel pushed to do anything which you don't like to.

Aloha my dear!

So nice to still have you around! I'm glad you are still enjoying my stuff 😊

And again, sorry for the long wait! Let me see what I can do for you...

Echo x Fem!Reader One-Shot - Without Words

Warnings: Mostly Fluff (Possible Trigger: Mentioned Hearing Loss)

___________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

___________

>Master List<

"Do you really have to do this now?" asks Echo critically, frowning unwillingly as Tech sets about taking the headset off him. He feels uncomfortable, his eyes wandering to the clock again and again. He's excited enough as it is, it won't be long until your second date, and he wants to be on time, especially he doesn't want you to notice any more of his problems. It's enough that you know about his legs and his arm, he doesn't really want to reveal his hearing loss to you right away. Not yet. He wants to wait for the right moment, but when is the right moment for that anyway? Tech says matter-of-factly as always, "You want the problems fixed as soon as possible, don't you? It won't take long." Echo sighs somberly. "Yeah, I do, but I'm about to meet her". "Oh? A second date?" asks Tech, surprised. Echo says grumpily, "Don't act surprised, she simply likes me". Tech shrugs and says nonchalantly, "Our squad rarely has prospects of a romantic nature, by that I mean all of us, not just you" Echo laughs softly and says, "She's only dating me though, and I'm certainly not going to share that girl with you" "If you did, that would be weird too" Tech notes dryly.

He loosens the last screws and takes off the headset. Echo blinks a few times, hearing a low hiss he always hears when he's not wearing the headset. "This feels like shit," he grumbles, only partially able to hear his own voice as he does so. He feels Tech tap him on the shoulder and follows his finger pointing, in your direction. You've arrived earlier than scheduled. He sees your smile and can't help it, he has to smile too. "Hi," Echo says softly, almost timidly, and raises his hand in greeting, a gesture you return. But then you say something to him and all he can hear are muffled, distorted sounds that barely penetrate through the constant static noise. Echo raises both hands toward his ears, shakes his head and shrugs helplessly. "I can barely hear anything," he says louder than usual, and it feels very strange to barely hear his own voice as well. You look from one to the other for a moment, but then you smile in understanding and nod. You exchange a few words with Tech, but he can't understand what you're saying. A moment later, you gently grab Echo's hand and pull him with you. Over his shoulder, he calls out to Tech, "Hurry up with that thing, please."

Tech makes a shooing hand gesture to signify for him to go with you. Outside the Marauder, you walk just a few steps, to a bench beyond the landing area under a tree with a sweeping, low-hanging canopy in full bloom. It's a nice spot, and for the moment you're alone. You feel Echo looking around frantically as you walk, hearing phantom noises and expecting to run into someone or get hit by a speeder. You squeeze his hand encouragingly, gently tugging on it so that he closes in on you. You place your other hand on his forearm and smile at Echo. You can't use words, but Echo sees in your expression that you want to tell him you have everything under control, he doesn't have to worry. He's a little wobbly on his feet, every time he walks without his hearing aid his sense of balance suffers a little, but you gently and safely guide him to the bench beneath the flowering tree. His hearing has deteriorated over time after the Citadel, the damaged eardrums simply not recovering, Tech's guess is that this is also due to some nerve damage. Occasionally, however, the headset needs to be serviced and Echo is actually glad that Tech is taking care of this.

You sit down together on the bench, in the shade of the low-hanging branches. You hear him sigh in relief. Echo trusts you, yet he is glad to be able to sit down and not have to rely on his hearing or sense of balance for a moment. He looks at you, and you sense that something is on his mind. When he speaks, he is again much louder than you are used to, but you don't mind. "Didn't think you'd agree to a second date." You laugh softly, and he smiles when he sees it. Then you raise your hand, showing him first one finger, then a second, a third and so on. Showing him the whole again and again with a big smile. "You want more dates?" he asks, surprised. At your nod, he asks with a wry smile, "What do you want with damaged goods like me, anyway?" You pull a pout and shake your head, wagging your finger reproachfully, before smiling and kissing his cheek. When you look at him again, his cheeks have a little more color than usual. He laughs softly and says, "I like you a lot, too."

Your radiant smile makes his heart beat faster, and he has to take a deep breath to collect himself. This feeling that you trigger in him is quite new for him, but yet he already doesn't want to miss it. The fast pulse, the fluttering in his stomach, the tingling under his skin and this constant urge to smile. He's so excited with you and at the same time more relaxed than ever. "You're very special," he says a little breathlessly. You emphatically place your hand on his chest. "Me too?" he asks with a grin. At your energetic nod, he laughs softly again. You hear Tech say, "Finished with the headset. Am I interrupting?" and turn to face him. "No, you're not interrupting." Echo sees his brother with the headset and sighs in relief. You give them both some space and Tech puts the headset back on Echo. When he's done with it, Tech asks, "So, how does it feel? Can you hear me?" Echo gives him a thumbs up and says, "Fine, Tech, thank you very much" "You're welcome anytime." As Tech leaves you alone again, Echo looks at you, he grins and says, "Now let me hear your wonderful voice" You laugh softly and say, "It's not that wonderful"

Echo beams at you in love and says, "Oh yes, for me, it is". The way he looks at you is so wonderfully dreamy, makes your heart beat faster. "So you said last time you wanted to show me something?" you ask curiously. Echo smirks and says, "Hunter let me have the secondary shuttle for the day." You laugh softly and ask, "Are you trying to kidnap me?" "Something like that, of course, only if that's what you want." "As long as we don't go to Tatooine," you say with a little giggle. Echo laughs heartily. "No, don't worry about it. But have you ever seen a sunset in the lake scenery on Naboo?"

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@antishadow2021

@sleepycreativewriter

@projectdreamwalker

@1vlouds

@starwarsnerd111

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faegoddessog · 3 months

Text

Not 'till Monday

Warnings: Explicitly mature content, 18+ only, clit play, fellatio, cum swallowing, cunnilingus, snowballing (male to female), Austin taking SUCH good care of you is SO many ways.

Summary: Recovering from surgery is tough. Doing it with Austin at your side is amazing with one exception-no orgasms allowed. I mean how did the doctor expect you to NOT be turned on when Austin is caring for you? It was fine for the first bit, but as you near the end of your blackout period it gets harder and harder, especially when he's vowed to abstain as well. Monday morning could not come soon enough and that goes for the both of you.

A/N: This little one shot was inspired by a convo with @purejasmine. I basically vomited it up in 24 hours. There are wee references to my other works and yeah, I have completely self serving fantasy that he'd read my work and go... 'damn... that's hot'. LOL! Let a girl dream!!!

Enjoy! let know if you'd like to be added to my tags list!

@purejasmine @slowsweetlove @richardslady121 @austinbutlerslovers

You weren’t gonna read it, your T-besties new dirty smut, but the line just jumped out at you and now you couldn’t stop reading and re-reading just that one line.

“Is this what you want? For me to fill you with my cock?”

Holy. Fuck. You shouldn’t be, but you are so fucking turned on right now. The fucking buzzing and throbbing of your pussy is out of control! Fuck! It is so intense, it's no joke. You give in and read on. When you get to the mutual orgasm part, you squirm in your seat feeling your wetness literally bubbling out. What the actual fuck!

“I can control myself” you think, literally shaking.

Your throat vibrates with a needy groan as you toss your head back. ”Stop triggering me, bro!” you assert to the ceiling.

“Are you ok, Princess?” his concerned voice calls down the hall from your bedroom.

“Yes, I’m fine.. Well not fine.. But I’m ok” you shake your head, sighing, texting your t-bestie to fucking stop, tongue in cheek of course. You never want her to stop.

“What’s wrong, what’d I do Baby,” his voice is hot in your ear, just moments before his hand crosses your upper chest.

“Nothing you did Austin, my love. She’s just at it again,” you hold up your phone to show him the latest smut.

“Princess, you should not tempt yourself. You know the doctor said no orgasms, not until Monday. You can hold out a couple more days,” he lightly kisses your cheek and walks around to sit on the couch with you.

“I know, I know and I’ve been really good and you’ve been amazing. But she writes you so well… plus just having you around keeps me wet all the time.”

“MMM I know, that’s one of a long list of my favorite things about you,” he purrs at you.

Austin has been a freaking angel sent from the beyond since your surgery. Well, longer than that. He’s cooked for you, made sure you’ve stayed on top of your pain meds, stayed up at night to hold you in his arms until you fall asleep. He’s never missed a chance to take your walks with you. Even though they’ve had to be a little slower than usual. He holds your hand and points out animals and trees and the beauty of nature. You are so in love with him, he is the best thing that ever happened in your life. He even declined a project that was supposed to be starting this month because he knew you’d need him.

“Bah, there will be others,” he’d said when you had protested, “I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it anyway. And I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you after surgery.”

The flip side is that everything he does just turns you on, he is like your own personal interactive pornography. You have excellent self control, something you’d had to cultivate in your previous, toxic relationship. But this was testing your limits, you were starting to have a hard time concentrating on anything.

“I love that you don’t get weirded out by reading her smut that is about you.” You nestle into his arms. You two frequently read her stories together, getting so turned on that you fucked like bunnies. She absolutely loved the idea that her mind fuckery got the two of you off.

“Heck no, not when she’s given us some of the best fucking ideas… like that one about cockwarming…or the one where I dominate you and call you Pet… damn that was one hot time.” He reaches down and adjusts himself. It’s been a while for him too, he vowed no orgasms for himself in solidarity.

“Sweetheart,” you cover his hand with your own, your pinky brushing his burgeoning bulge, “if you want to you can jerk off. You want to cum in my mouth?” You feel bad for him, and you fucking love the taste of his cum. The idea of it makes your pussy throb.

“No, no my Princess. I made a vow and I’m sticking to it. Besides, I was once a teenaged boy, I’ve had plenty of hard-ons that I’ve not played with, and I KNOW how hot that makes you. No way.”

He stands up and offers both hands to help you stand up.

“C’mon, I have a surprise for you.”

He leads you down the hallway, through your shared bedroom and into the bathroom. The tub is filled with steaming water, the scent of lavender and chamomile drift in the air. Two glasses of sparkling water and a plate of your favorite foods sit by the side. You two bought this house in part because of the huge tub. Both of you love baths and wanted something big enough that you could share.

Austin helps you strip naked, put your hair up, and get into the bath before stripping off his clothes. If this was supposed to help you calm down, it’s a disaster. You fucking love the sight of him. He has been working out especially hard and he is fucking ripped right now. His lats pop and the ripples of his torso are fucking gorgeous as he bends to pull his joggers off. He doesn't quite get the first leg off and hops a little, giggling. He is so adorable and sexy at the same time, quite the enigma.

You lean forward as he slides in behind you. You feel the hardness of his cock slide down your back and nestle at the base of your spine. He wraps you in his kind, gentle, strong arms. You melt.

“Fuck Austin, I know you meant this to help… but it’s fucking hot,” you are struggling to keep your hips still.

“You want me to run some cold water?” he says helpfully.

You purse your lips and twist to look at him. He is smiling ear to ear, chuckling. He knows what you meant.

“Just wait love,” he whispers in your ear, “wait and I'll give you the most mind-blowing orgasm with my mouth in a couple days. Then I’ll cum on your tongue, but you have to promise to swallow.” As though you’d ever do anything else but swallow his seed. His cock twitches against your back, his teasing of you is turning him on too.

“Austin, you are not actually helping.” you giggle. Giggling is the only recourse you have right now. You fucking love this teasing, love this mind fuckery. At least you know you’ll get it eventually. Get his mouth, his tongue, his fingers, his body, his cock, his cum. FUCK now YOU are not helping.

“I’m sorry my love, here let me feed you. At least we can appease your slutty tastebuds if not your slutty pussy,” he kisses your cheek and grabs the plate.

“My pussy isn’t slutty!” you say with mock indignation, “it’s only for you Austin. How can it be slutty?”

“Mmm, you are right,” he reaches down to cup your pussy in his hand, but stops himself just before plunging into the water. making a fist instead

“Your wickedly wonton pussy, then” he breathes into your ear. Dear goddess in heaven, he is not making this easy.

He proceeds to give you little tidbits of perfectly cooked bacon, rare steak with goats cheese, roasted root veggies, fruit and yogurt, perfectly ripe avacados. You suck the bits off his fingers as he feeds you.

“My Princess needs her protein for healing,” he kept saying every time he cooked for you inthe past two weeks. He did, indeed, treat you like a princess.

The next two days pass without incident. There are no new story updates, and Austin keeps it surprisingly G rated. Though there is an undercurrent of sexual tension throughout the house. Sunday night is like fucking Chistmas eve, the anticipation is driving you mad in the best kind of way. As you cuddle on the couch watching a film, a standard Sunday night in your joint home, his arm is draped over your shoulder. His fingers lightly stroke your collarbone. You think they are shaking slightly, as though he is a nervous teenager hoping for a gratuitous movie theater-like grope session. Is your mind playing fuckery tricks with you?

You hear him sigh. It’s nothing to do with the movie on the screen. You thread your fingers through his, rubbing your thumb on his palm. You can feel his eyes on you. You tilt your head up to look at his perfect face. His little dimple appears, the one that you can’t help but kiss. Now is no different. You lean up and press your lips to his. His fingers curl around yours as he deepens the kiss almost instantly. You are instantly wet, well, more so than you always are with him. Your tongues touch then caress lips. Lips are momentarily trapped by teeth, before opening to be sucked and stroked by tongues ones again. God his kisses are like fuel to your fire. Your hand drops to his chest, and you turn towards him, fully engaging in the act of kissing this perfectly amazing man. Kissing that quickly ripens into full on making out, including his hand sliding up your shirt to fondle your breasts. Movie theater grope session indeed.

The blaze of passion that ignites in your belly is ridiculous. This is the first time you’ve really kissed like this since the surgery. The forbidden fruit effect is full on. The fact that you can't have it, makes you want it all the more.

‘Fuck it’, you think, your mind clouded with lust, ’what is a few less hours.’

You move to straddle him and at the same time your hand reaches to undo the button on your jeans.

“Whoa, Princess,” his deep voice husky with desire, “not below the waist, not until tomorrow.”

“But…” your face is a mask of petulance, forehead crinkled down and lip stuck out. Your frustration is evident.

“No, my Love, I promised I’d take care of you and that means following doctors orders. No orgasms until Monday, and four weeks still until I get to sink into your tightness,” he reaches out to pet your protruding lip with one long finger. The finger that you want rubbing your clit right now. “I’m sorry I gave in to temptation, Baby.” With both hands he tilts your head down and kisses your forehead.

You close your eyes, breathing deep. He is right, dammit.

Later that night, he is propped up against the headboard. You curl up in his arms, grateful for his love of a good snuggle. He opens the book he is reading out loud to you. His gorgeous baritone lulls you to sleep.

You must be in an orchard, you have to be. What else smells like vanilla and citrus? The tall grass you are walking through brushes against your naked butt. The grass reaches and gropes along your thighs, trying to get to your pussy. It feels good, the grass caresses your ass. You realize it’s not the grass but a shining ethereal being standing next to you, hands cupping your genitals front and back. Warmth radiates from its hands and soaks into your skin. You feel an intrusion inside you, malleable and warm. A sense of peace glows in you, from the inside out and the light erupts from your sacral chakra, like water over pouring from a vase. It feels divine, like an orgasm of light. Then you feel a concentrated rubbing against your mons. You hear a moaning and realize it’s your voice.

You come to full waking consciousness and feel Austin next to you, on his side. The palm of his hand rubbing circles on your vulva. You realize you have been moaning and just came in your dream, or maybe here in waking life too.

“Yeah,” you hear in your ear, “that’s it, cum for me.” You can smell the orange and vanilla on his wrist as he brushes hair away from your face.

You eyes flutter open so see Austin staring at you, biting his bottom lip, nostrils flaring. When he sees your eyes open, his mouth curves just enough to expose the dimple at the corner of his lip. That fucking dimple, it melts you. Then his mouth is on yours hard and fast, the clean taste indicating that he brushed his teeth and rinsed with mouthwash.

His finger dips inbetween your labia, you are so fucking wet, he doens’t even need to pull wetness over your clit. It’s already bathed in your juices. You are pretty sure that you already came once, which is fantastic as you were nervous that something inside might hurt when you finally got to orgasm.

His fingers start working their magic, circling the hood of your clit, over and over. Then switching side to side. His mouth is constantly on yours. You want to stop him and tell him you want his beautiful mouth on your pussy, but it all feels so good. Usually he would gradually get faster, but he keeps a steady pace. It’s mere minutes and your orgasm washes over you. Your body freezes, spine jerking and your little grunts are swallowed by Ausitn’s mouth.

“That’s my girl,” he gently pets your vulva, “How was that my love?”

“Please, please keep going,” you pant, eyes pleading for the overstimulation that he is so freaking good at. You can’t stop your hips from pushing forward and back against his hand.

“No babe, we are gonna take it slow at first,” he smiles, eyes full of love, “don’t want anything to… burst or whatever with a crazy hard orgasm.”

“Hmmmmm” your voice whines, “can I at least have your cum, baby. I need it.”

“That I can do,” he nods imperceptibly, “C’mere sugar.”

You help him pull back the covers as you sit up, unwrapping his gorgeously perfect naked form next to you. His cockstand is a fucking dream, thick and long lying on his chiseled stomach. Your pussy practically drips at the sight of it. You snag the bottle of water from the bedside table and quickly drain it.

“Get that mouth down there, I need to be wet,” his voice is grizzly with need.

You could live off Austin’s cum. In fact you usually get it almost every day. The past two weeks have been torture, not having his milky seed in your mouth.

Eagerly you straddle his leg, bending down. He pulls your hair, still in its sleepy bunny ears, away from your face. He fucking loves watching your mouth on him. You lick your lips, looking at his eyes as he tucks one hand behind his head for a better view. He knows you struggle with your gag reflex and he has never asked you to go beyond your comfort zone.

Tongue out, you lick his soft tip. He releases a shaky sigh. He has missed this too. You bring your lips together pushing saliva out between the seam with your tongue, letting it run down his cock. You push your closed mouth down, tongue flicking his tiny hole. You seal your lips over his red tip, chasing the rivulets and sucking them back up as you pull back. You dive down again, only taking his tip. Your cheeks hollow and the sound of wet suction follows.

“Oh my god, Princess” he breathes.

You rub your smiling lips along his tip in a figure eight, like lip balm. You love hearing his sounds of pleasure. You engulf his head again, just a little farther this time. Your tongue rubs side to side along his frenulum. You bob up and down, up and down, tongue working him, slurping on the end of his cock.

He moans, his hand rubbing down his stomach to the inside curve of his pelvis. His thumb and forefinger catching up the root of his cock. His long middle and ring fingers falling in the crevice next to his balls.

“Yeah, that’s it gorgeous. Get me all wet with that pretty mouth,” he croons at you. His glutes start flexing slightly, pushing his cock up. He’s trying for all he’s worth not to fuck your mouth.

“Princess, I gotta… I’m… I need…oh god” he moans, not able to finish any sentence. You pull back as he holds his hand out, you drip spit into his hand and he wraps that big fist around that big cock. His hips thrusting up into his hand almost violently. He is so considerate and didn't want to do that into your mouth and make you choke. Clearly the last two weeks have taken their toll on his self control.

You love seeing him play with himself. Last summer, you ‘caught’ him jerking off. He had thought you had left. You’d ran back inside to get something you forgot when you heard his moan. Peeking through the door, your pussy had gotten so wet when you saw him sitting at his desk, laptop open. You had almost slipped into his office to help, but when you realized what he was watching, you were too beguiled to interrupt. It was a video you two had made. A close up of your lips around his cock, both oral and vaginal. You didn’t let him know you were there, but you watched through the sliver of the door as he stroked himself to climax. Your hand was down your pants and your finger on your wet, wet clit. It was so fucking hot. You loved the idea of being his porn.

Now, your pussy is again activated watching him pump himself. You realize you have lowered down to his knee and are rubbing your wet pussy on his thigh, riding him.

“Fuck, Princess. That is so hot, you are dripping down my leg,” he seethes through his clenched jaw. “GAH!” he tosses his head back, a sure sign that he is close. His hand speeds up, and stops, speeds up and stops, edging himself just a bit. His forehead is pulled down in concentration, his plush lips form a little ‘o’ as he pants.

Holy fuck, he could not be hotter in this moment. His bicep bulging, his pecs popped, abs contracted and tight, forearm veiny with effort, thigh flexed and wet with your juices. Your mouth is open, tongue flicking.nYour pussy lips dragging back and forth over his skin. Fuck, it feels so good. So much deprivation has made you ultra sensitive.

“Get that greedy tongue down there, so I can cum all over it,” he puffs out.

You tip your head down. His legs are long enough that you can still rub against him and reach his cock with your mouth. Your tongue is out ready to catch.

“Yesssss, here it comes,” he moans.

The warm milky cum spatters your tongue, you know how much he likes to see it hit your mouth. He groans in appreciation. Then you are down on him, sucking lightly, not wasting a single drop. It’s so fucking hot, such an activation for you to have his cum in your mouth. You sit up and grind into his tight quads just at the insertion on the patellar tendon. It's the perfect dune of muscle to rub your clit on. You moan around your mouthful of cum, your tongue rubbing it along the roof of your mouth.

“That’s it Princess, get it,” his hand is still on his cock, lightly stroking himself. He is so fucking turned on with your wanton display. His other hand is on your knee, somehow wanting to help, but not wanting to interrupt your flow.

Your pussy tightens, good lord the friction feels good. Just as you can feel yourself tipping over that brink, you let his cum slide down your throat. Your eyes roll back in your head and your pussy gushes as your hips freeze forward. Your hips and head jerk in unison, grinding your pussy down on him with each jerk. It’s nearly overstimulating… nearly.

You fall forward onto him, ass in the air, panting, shaking. He catches you with waiting arms.

Cradling your head on his chest.

“You good, Princess?” there is just a touch of concern in his voice. You love how he loves you.

You nod, slowly getting your breath under control.

“Could be better,” you look up at him with a glint in your eye.

“Oh yeah,” he gently swipes at a creamy drop on the corner of your mouth, offering the drop to your mouth. You greedily lick it from his finger.

“Yeah,” you say after rolling the salty tang around your mouth, “I, uh, I seem to remember a promise a certain hot fucking man made me. One of a mindblowing orgasm with his talented mouth.” You smile at him, running a finger along the border of his lips. Those perfect fucking lips.

“Oh yeah, when is he getting here?” he jests, chuckling.

You purse your lips and shake your head, you love his silly goofy side.

“Austin,” you kiss his mouth then roll off him, legs wide,”get down there and make good.”

His eyes smolder at you, he loves it when you have just a touch of command in your voice. It usually doesn't last long, as he likes being in control in the bedroom, but it turns him on nonetheless.

“Yes Ma’am,” he nods. Catlike he flips on top of you and slides down your body. In supporting his upper body weight, his shoulders bulge and ripple. That and his ocean blue eyes never leaving yours is enough to set you off.

He wraps his arms under your upper thighs.

He inhales the smell of you.

His eyes close and he moans in pleasure.

His mouth opens and he drags his tongue along your lips.

“Just nothing in, not yet” you remind him.

The apples of his cheeks pop as he smiles up at you, “I know darling.”

His tongue rolls around under your clit, pushing between your labia. He laps your little lips into his mouth, sucking them gently.

You moan at the sensations, god you’ve missed his mouth.

He nestles down at the bottom of your entrance and with a flickering tongue licks your wetness up, sucking your clit lightly into his mouth at the top.

It’s fucking amazing.

He licks again, his bottom lip dragging after his tongue, over and over. Until he settles on top of your clit. One hand slips from your leg and you feel two fingers press, not into your vagina, but in the crevices on either side of your lips. He licks your nub with the tip of his tongue and presses rhythmically on the legs of your clitoris from the outside, milking your pussy. It feels incredible, you had no idea that was a thing, at least not for your body.

Your juices start to flow freely, dribbling down. He greedily licks as much of it up as he can, sucking hard on your labia. Then his mouth closes wholly over your clit and the top bits of your lips. He sucks, the tip of his tongue flickering over the hard little button.

Oh fuck it’s good. He is good. Better than good, with his fingers working their magic. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangled in his unruly locks. Breath flutters out his nostrils and onto your pubis. Your hips start pumping against his pretty face. You know he loves it when you just let go and let your body react. He starts groaning, his hips mimic yours, driving against the folds of the sheets under him. The fact that he is so turned on by eating your pussy is exhilarating. The vibrations of his moans send your pussy into overdrive. All of a sudden you are there; screaming, grunting, shaking under the magnificence that is Austin’s mouth. Pleasure floods your body. You writhe. He shifts, letting go the suction and licks long, sensuous strokes along your quivering cunt. He flicks your clit at the top each time, making you shake in aftershocks, making you drip that much more. He closes his mouth wide over your pussy, sucking hard. Then, with a closed mouth he pushes up to his knees over you. His cock is rock hard and jutting out from his lean form. He is a fucking dream. He leans his head forward and dribbles a mixture of your juices and his spit onto his cock and into his hand.

“God I miss doing that to you,” he moans.

You are panting, watching the sex god Austin stroke himself. His hooded eyes are brimming with desire and lust.

“Touch yourself,” he commands, “I want to watch.”

You immediately obey, your finger rubbing back and forth on your swollen clit.

“Yes, finger that clit, Princess,” it’s taking all he has not to slide into you, but he would never endanger your health like that.

Your finger runs in circles around your clit.

“Pull your lips apart, I want to see it all,” his tone is intense, brooking no argument.

You spread yourself for him and continue to circle your clit. Anything for Austin. He spits into his hand again, and continues to pump fiercely on his cock.

“Pull up, I want that little hood pulled back,” he is huffing, his face contorted and serious, “I want you to feel my hot cum as it hits your naked clit.”

Oh. My. God. He has never said that, never done that. Your finger stops rubbing and pulls back your clitoral hood. The cooler air hits your exposed clit. You moan and clench. He watches as your pussy contracts, his breath hissing between his teeth. He glides hard on his cock.

“Keep it up, don’t touch it.” His chest expands in a deep, deep breath. His orgasmic groan begins as a rumble in his chest and blasts out his mouth in unrequited vowel sounds. Hot semen hits your vulnerable clit, it’s like fucking lightning. Your back arches and your hips shake, your orgasm is inches away. All you have to do is rub… but he told you not to.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, his mouth is sucking on you and hard. His tongue rubbing in his cum, back and forth over your clit. Your climax explodes over you like fireworks. You are so fucking lit. Your spine and hips jerk, bouncing you on the bed. He rides you down, lapping up his cum from you. Then he is over you, kissing you deeply with a mouthful of his own, sweet cum. It’s intoxicating, mind blowing, hallucinatory and nearly makes you orgasm again. You swallow every drop, curling your tongue into his mouth, desperate to get it all into you.

He pulls away shaking, having given you the same cum a second time. Clearly he found it just as electrifying.

“Fuck that was unbearably hot, Princess,” he pants.

Your head shakes as you nod up and down, still completely aroused. You pull his fingers between your legs.

“Rub Austin, please,” you beg.

Austin can’t resist it when you beg like that.

You spend the rest of the day either in bed, in the bath or in the kitchen. Austin made you cum in all of them. Orgasm Day, you’d come to call it, your own personal annual holiday. Now, only 4 more weeks and the medical ‘ok’ until you get to feel his thick cock stretching your tight little pussy. Until then, well it’s Austin’s cum for breakfast, Austin’s cum for dinner and Austin’s cum for a midnight snack.

#austin butler #austin butler fanfic #austin butler smut #austin butler fic #austin butler x reader #austin butler/reader

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auroramoon-draws16 · 5 months

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The Crossover Bar AU: the Beginning

“What… what the fuck?”

Desmond didn’t know what was gonna happen after the Temple (after sacrificing himself), but waking up in a bar, a 1920’s style speakeasy, was not what he was expecting.

It looks new, it smelled new, the scent of fresh wood and fabrics, stocked up alcohol and syrups, it was nice- really nice. He didn’t know what to make of it, but his body moved anyway. Stepping behind the counter he found so many bottles, glasses, there was modern bartending tools and shakers, also new. It felt like someone placed everything here, just for him. Like this was all just for him.

“So, do you like it?”

Holy shit- oh wow it’s been a while since anyone could sneak up on him. Desmond reflexively held his hand to the speaker’s throat, hidden blade at the ready.

“Wha- I- who are you?” He sputtered, eyes wide at the girl, no really, it was a girl. At least- he thinks, his mind couldn’t comprehend any detail about her. Like everything about her was glitching beyond recognition. She was short, and that’s all Desmond could tell about her.

“Don’t worry about that,” she grinned(?), nudging his hand away from her throat, and weirdly enough, he let her. “Answer my question, do you like it?” She repeated, not rudely per say, just… eager. Like a little kid showing her mom her drawing.

Blinking, Desmond lowered his hand, and took another look around.

There were wooden tables and chairs everywhere, nicely made from what he could tell, set up in a circle around a stage across from the entrance. The curtains a bright, vivid blood red, and there were lights up on the ceiling to brighten it up. From his place at the bar he could see a balcony, a second floor, but besides the railing and the edge of a pool table, he couldn’t see much else. On the walls were empty picture frames, waiting for something to occupy them- well, most of them- the one by the entrance had a portrait of Desmond with a golden frame.

It felt…

“It’s… home,” he blurted, “it feels like home.”

The girl(?) made a happy noise, bouncing up and down excitedly, “I knew it! I knew you’d like it!” She squealed, a warped and echoing sound, “oh I can’t wait! There’s gonna be so many more, they’re gonna like it too! You’ll see!” Before Desmond could respond, he felt arms wrap around his middle, “I’m gonna go get them, stay right here! Oh they’re gonna love you! You won’t be lonely, I promise!” And then she was gone. Just- he blinked and she was gone.

“Don’t mind her, the Apprentice is just excited,” someone explained, sounding both amused and fond. “This is her first project.”

Desmond looked to the other end of the bar, finding a man(?) sitting with an empty glass. He couldn’t see his features either, but that’s because he was engulfed in a bright light from head to toe. He felt familiar- distant- like looking into a funhouse mirror, him just not really… he even sounded sort of like-

“Hey, don’t do that,” he interrupted Desmond’s thoughts, holding up his empty glass, “you’ll get a headache. Now then, you’re a bartender, aren’t you? Mind pouring me something?”

Shaking out of his stupor, Desmond reached for the shelf, “right, uh, what’d you want…?” He asked, head still buzzing.

“You can call me the Reader,” the Reader told him, a smile in his faint voice, “that Whiskey will do.” He pointed at the bottle Desmond’s hand was hovering over.

After pouring him a glass, Desmond twitched, “uh, what do you mean- about her- the Apprentice- this project- what-?”

The Reader chuckled, “You’re not the first, you won’t be the last,” he muttered, more to himself than to Desmond, “she’s a good friend, she wanted to try something new, something different than what I usually do- or what They usually do- so I’m letting her try it out. This place is gonna be a catch all, a hub for any Soul needing somewhere to go, a place where they can Crossover the threshold without- well, y’know. Of course since you’ll be the Host, you have the final say over everything, this domain is all yours.”

“What? Who- I don’t understand, what the fuck does all of that mean?” Desmond spluttered. The Reader just laughed again. Asshole.

“You’ll get it soon enough,” he took a swig of whiskey and pointed to the door, “look, your first Guest is here.”

“Seriously? I’m not gonna fall for that,” and he was gone in a blink too, nothing but an empty glass to even hint someone else was here, “goddammit.”

Desmond didn’t know what to make of all this, who the Reader or the Apprentice were, what they were doing, what they even are in the first place, but he knew people were coming, Guests, the Reader said, and that he’s the Host. So that’s what he’s gotta do then, if the bar was made for him, and that’s what he’s here for, he might as well… right? What else was he supposed to do? He’s supposed to be dead, but he’s here as the Host.

Taking the glass and grabbing a cleaning rag from under the counter, he cleans it. Looking up at the doors, before hearing them swing open and watching someone stumble onto the floor with shouts of shock and thuds of limbs scrambling to catch onto the smooth floor.

“Hey, welcome to the- wait- Clay!”

“Seventeen!?”

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demon-blood-youths · 2 months

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Horror Book Chapter 9: A Cute & Creepy Present || Closed Drabble

Hi everyone! This is a quick crossover drabble for my dear friend @the-silver-peahen-residence. I decide to add a bit of horror and I want to continue the horror series.

Note: Please follow Peahen-mun, she's the best roleplayer! Her writing is nuts!

--- Here are parts ----

Horror book one: Bloody game of Hide and seek

Horror book two: Darkness of one self

Horror book three: How to Be Evil: Scared Straight Beyond Prank Part 1

Horror book three: How to be Evil: Scared Straight Beyond Prank part 2

Horror book four: Hunting grounds

Horror book five: Hacker Kidnapping part1 part 2 part 3(final)

Horror book six: plucking a butterfly's wings

Horror book Chapter 7: Dead scars

Horror book chapter 8: hidden shadows

----- Summary ---

Jujutsu High is having a normal until Gojo-sensei brings a present for Taz. But before Taz gets to see it, Yuji, Megumi, Nobara, and Kisho are curious about what it is. How are they able to handle this? And what was the present?

A creepy cat doll

-----

It's a normal day at Jujutsu High, Yuji and the other three, Kisho, Megumi and Nobara came back from their mission and are now hanging out in the classroom. They heard from Principal Yaga that Taz is on a mission with Miko and Yuria to exorcise a grade 3 curse as part of training.

As they talked and laughed, Gojo-sensei walks in, "Hi there, my adorable students!" Then he looks around, "Wait...Taz, Miko and Yuria?" He asked.

"Out on a mission. A grade 3 curse." Megumi answered. Gojo hums, "That's okay! I brought a cute doll for Taz! I just found in a shop and it looks so cute!" Gojo laughs.

"Are you doing this because the principal gives her better gifts?" Megumi asked. Gojo lets out a gasp, "Of course! I'm not jealous! My Taz always brings me sweets whenever I ask. She's so thoughtful that I can't help in getting something for her!" Gojo smiles happily. "Anyway! I got to do something! A quick job! So I'm going to leave this bag! Can you four look after this for me?! Just don't bring it out of the bag! I want to see Taz's face when she sees it." He smiles.

"Sure can do, Gojo-sensei!" Yuji smiles, happy to hear Gojo got something for Taz. She deserves it after all.

"Okay! Later~!" Gojo said in a singing tone as he leaves out of the room with a wave. Now it's just the bag and the four students.

"So Gojo brought something for Taz, huh?" Nobara smiles.

"It's the least he can do!" Yuji said cheerfully.

"I just wish Taz would stop buying cakes for him..." Megumi sighs.

"Oh come, Fushigoro, Taz says he doesn't mind it." Kisho said. "She and Gojo have something in common, both love sweets! Taz always says that she is glad to have a teacher who loves sweets just like her. She always shares with him."

"Still...I feel like he's taking advantage of her." Megumi grumbled, shaking his head, "Every time he asks, she never says no."

"Hey now! Like Kisho said, Taz doesn't mind it." Yuji said. "Although, I do get worried if Gojo gets any cavities from that. And I always ask her about it and she says no." He said.

"You both are worried about nothing! Taz will be fine!" Nobara crossed her arms and then she smirked, " But you know~" She smiled mischievously, "I want to see what kind of toy that Gojo brought."

"Huh?! He said don't bring it out of the bag!" Yuji reminds her.

"Come on! Aren't you at least curious about what kind of toy it is? We can just put it back like nothing happened!"Nobara argued.

"I'm with Nobara on this one!" Kisho said. "I want to see it too!" He said as his spirit companion, Eito chirped with curiosity.

"It's just going to be another cute doll. Almost the same as Eito here." Megumi points out. Eito tweets in a disagreement to which Kisho says, "Yeah! But not all dolls are plushies!" He said, crossing his arms.

"I don't know guys..." Yuji said.

"Come on, Yuji! You can be the judge if the toy is right for her or not!" Kisho encourages him to join in. Yuji sighs and concedes. "Okay! But once we take a look at it, we're putting it in back before Gojo or Taz comes back."

"Whatever. Do what you want." Megumi said with a sigh, not minding this. He won't admit that he is also curious so all four are in agreement. However, in the next few moments, none of them is prepared for what is in the bag once Nobara pulls it out. The moment that Nobara pulls the doll from the bag. All four faces blinked and turned pale, seeing the object in Nobara's hand.

"Eh?" Nobara blinked stupidly.

"No way..." Megumi begins.

".Hold on.." Yuji trying to process what's he seeing and hoping his eyes aren't playing tricks on him.

"Is that uh..." Kisho begins.

In Nobara's hand, it's a purple cat doll with wide smile with beady eyes and has a long tail. A sudden memory came to mind when they recalled one of Miko's friends, Hana and her ghost stories. One of them involved a toy factory rumored to have kids turned into toys. Not only that, there was one toy that was recalled and it had a disturbing cartoon commercial.

A Catnap doll.

They remember the news talking about this.

Strange and violent nightmares.

Recall.

Your kids. Are. Not. Safe with Catnap.

"......."

A moment passes and then, "AAAAH!"

The three Yuji, Kisho, and Nobara are now screaming making Megumi wince his eyes at the volume of sheer terror from their voices. Nobara throws the doll against the wall. They are now freaking out. Eito is squawking and flying around in a panic.

"What the hell?!" Megumi cursed.

"OH GODDD! I TOUCHED IT!! I TOUCHED IT! EWWWW!" Nobara cried, waving her hands in disgust.

"WHY DID SENSEI HAVE THAT?!" Yuji cried, putting his hands on the sides of his head as he can't believe this.

"NO! THE QUESTION WE SHOULD BE ASKING WHY DID HE BRING THAT HERE!?" Kisho yelled, pointing at Catnap with fearful eyes.

The sudden noise got Sukuna out of his slumber and wondered what is the commotion.

"What the fuck?! It's 2 in the afternoon! Shut up, I'm sleeping! What the hell are you all yelling about?" Sukuna asked annoyed.

"Gojo-sensei brought Catnap to the school!!" He answered with fright.

"Who?!" Sukuna had to open his eyes underneath Yuji's eyes to see what the hell he was looking at. Then he widened his eyes to see the cat doll on the floor, looking at him and the students with its wide grin and black beady eyes. Memories already flood his mind thanks to that cursed commerical.

"OH HELL NO! You gotta be shitting me! Six Eyes brought this thing here?! Has he lost his fucking mind?!"

"I don't think he knows!" Kisho replied. "What should we do?!"

"We can't let Taz see this! Or have Gojo give this to her!" Nobara said, shaking her head. "Nope, Nope. NO WAY!" She yelled.

"S-she's right! I won't let my little sister get this...this thing...it will give her nightmares!" Yuji replied.

But the question is, who's going to get rid of this.

"Nobara! You get rid of it." Kisho begins.

"HA?!" Nobara exclaimed at Kisho in disbelief, "No way!" She jabs a finger at Kisho's chest, "I already touched it! I'm not going to touch it againt! How about you go! Set it on fire!" Nobara pointed at it frantically.

"Do you forget that thing can spray?! I don't even know if it's flammable or not! What happens if I commit arson by accident?!" Kisho said. Megumi curses under his breath, shaking his head.

"Okay! Yuji, you go!" Nobara pointed.

"Huh?! Why me?!" Yuji gasped.

"Don't you care about Taz???" Nobara questions.

"I do! But...what if I squeeze it and the spray stuff comes out?! BESIDES! You're the one who started this! You go get rid of it!" Yuji yelled.

"WHY ME?!" Nobara cried.

"Oh my fucking- you damn brats! Can ONE of YOU get rid of this accursed thing!" Sukuna complained as he couldn't believe what he's hearing.

"You guys are unbelievable." Megumi rolls his eyes and stands up from his chair, "I will do it. Besides...the doll sprays from its mouth if you pull its tail." Megumi goes to get the doll off the floor. "We just need to trash it or something then we can explain to Gojo why Taz can't have this doll without her knowing." He said, leaving the class.

"Good plan." Yuji, Nobara, and Kisho said in unison, liking Megumi's simple plan.

The other three are following now him in the hallway. Megumi is going to trash this, tell Gojo when he comes back — probably show him the commercial so he can see where they're coming from and Taz won't know about the doll-

"Hey guys! We're back from our mission!" A happy voice is heard, making the four freezes in their feet.

"Shit!"

Megumi quickly hides the doll behind his back and hisses lowly at the three to do something. Yuji goes to take the doll quickly and throws it across the hall and out the window. Thanks to Yuji's quick thinking and excellent reflexes, Taz Hellion and the girls, Yuria and Miko don't notice a thing.

"Hi lil sister, how's the mission?" Yuji quickly said, flashing her a smile.

"It was good! Me, Yuria, and Miko exorcised the curse! Miko did a great job!" Taz said.

"Did she now?" Kisho smiles now, putting on his best smile. "How did you do, Miko?"

"It's thanks to Anaconda. He beat it and it's all thanks to Yuria backing us up with her Spirit Gun and Taz distracting it." Miko said. Yuria smiles. "Yeah! It was great! I felt like a sorcerer already!"

"Good for you guys! We're so proud of you!" Nobara nods her head. Then Taz takes a sniff, making the four sweatdrops.

"Is that lavender?" She said, taking a sniff at the air. "What is that? It smells like-"

'Shit! Taz's nose!' Megumi thought.

'This is bad! Really bad!' Yuji thought, freaking out.

'How are we going to explain this?!' Kisho thought.

"Oh! I dragged the boys to a perfume store after the mission. There was this lavender scent and I like it!" Nobara said. "I was thinking of buying it but I love the rose perfume more!" She explained. This made the boys grateful for Nobara's quick answers.

"Thank you, Nobara Kugaski!' All three said in thought, forever grateful.

Taz smiles. "Oh okay! Lavender smells really nice! It helps me sleep!"

This got the four more tense.

"Hmmm...I was thinking we should get a scented candle now thinking about it." Said Miko with a smile.

"Good idea!" Taz said as Yuria nodded. "Anyway! We're going to get washed up. See you later!" Taz said as she and two other girls walked off. After the girls are out of sight, the four are now in clear.

They let out a loud relieved sigh.

"Oh god! That was close!" Yuji said.

"Way too close!" Nobara said.

"Tell me about it!" Kisho said.

"We need to find that doll and put it in the trash. Itadori, where did you throw it?" Megumi asked.

"Uhhh...." Yuji blinked. "Out the window? I think?"

"You think?" Kisho questions. Yuji frowns, "Hey! I am not going to let Taz see that doll! What would you do if Miko saw it?"|

"Hold on! Me and Miko aren't like that, okay!" Kisho retorted but slumped his shoulder when the three raised a brow at him, "But I see your point.." He sighed. Megumi shakes his head and goes to go to the window that Yuji threw Catnap into. It was outside so the four looked for the doll. But it is not found.

"Jeez, how hard did you throw it?" Nobara said.

"Enough for sis not to see it," Yuji said. Several minutes later, no sign of the catnap doll. Megumi sighs, "We can find it later, sooner or later. We need to tell Gojo about this."

Yuji wonders and asks the King of Curses, 'Hey Sukuna, do you think Catnap has any cursed energy.'

'Yes but I don't know how much it is since all of you were freaking out. It's like it has some leftover residue but that's all I can tell. Kinie could of picked up the scent but the smell of lavender might of been a cover." Sukuna theorized. "Also I don't think it's a threat.."

Good to know. Yuji said.

"Just to make sure, how about we get your shikigami to sniff it out." Kisho suggested. Megumi makes a face. Kisho had his hands up, "Just want to make sure, okay? It would be easier besides...that thing has lavender smell on it. Even Taz says so herself. Eito can smell it too."

Eito chirps in agreement.

Sighing, Megumi made a shadow puppet with his hands and summoned his Divine Dog Totality to track down the doll. But then...the dog goes to track right back into the building. The four became confused until they reached the classroom. They open the sliding door and what's there is Catnap is sitting upright on the teacher's desk. The four sorcerers became unnerved by this.

"Uh...Yuji...you did throw out the window, right?" Kisho asked, making sure. Yuji slowly nods, "I did."

"SO WHY IS IT THERE???" Nobara and Kisho shouted, freaking out.

"I DON'T KNOW OkAY?!" Yuji cried as he is also freaking out. Then the doll drops to the side, taking another scream out of the three. All of them hide behind Megumi shaking and scared. The black-haired teen growls and shakes his head,, "Must be Gojo messing with us again!" He said, snatching the doll off the desk. They're seriously taking this thing to the trash. There's no way Gojo would think this is cute. This is a dumb prank of his.

Megumi goes to the nearest biggest recyclable bin and throws the doll into it before closing the lid.

"There? Are we all happy?" He asked the three. The three nodded. "Good. Once Gojo gets here, we will be fine." Megumi said.

---

But it wasn't fine. Tonight is where things get really disturbing. Night falls as everyone is in their rooms, resting.

Yuji is watching a movie with Jennifer Lawerence in it and then...he hears scratching noises.

Weird scratching sounds.

At first, Yuji thought it was some raccoons. But he had to remind himself. Since when Jujutsu High had raccoons? He checks around his room and there is nothing. The scratching has stopped. Yuji sighs. Must be Eito and Kisho again. Or something.

There's no way that Catnap is making trouble, right? He has been thrown in the garbage. Sukuna said it's not a threat.

Yuji shakes his head. Just a stupid ghost story. It's way too convenient to be real. Megumi said that it must be Gojo playing tricks on them. But then...Gojo-sensei hasn't come back to collect the bag and he called Megumi that he won't be back till tomorrow morning. Megumi didn't get a word in because Gojo hung up. It's gotta be a prank. It's gotta be.

He goes to play the video again and then a few seconds, the scratching continues. Yuji tries to ignore it but it is getting incessant right now.

Yuji is annoyed and looks out at the window, "Okay..knock it off-"

But words are caught in his throat as he sees pure white eyes within the dark sockets of a purple feline with a Cheshire grin looking at him in the bushes outside the window.

Catnap.

"AAAH!" Yuji falls off from his bed and looks outside. It is gone.

"Oh my god...Sukuna, did you see that?" Yuji said.

"I did. What the fuck?" Sukuna cursed.

"Can you switch with me so you can check it out?"

"Sur-wait a second! Why am I checking it out? How about you check it out???" Sukuna yelled.

"Because you're the curse!" Yuji whispered.

"And you're the sorcerer!" Sukuna bites back. Yuji grumbles, "Yeah..but..I don't want to go out there alone..."

"Brat...we share the same body, mind you...I'm the King of Curses and you're scared of some creepy little doll?"

"It's not a just doll. It's Catnap!" Yuji hissed. Sukuna groans. Over a freaking doll. I swear to Buddha...'

"Just get Megumi and Kisho." Sukuna tells him. Yuji goes to do that, he leaves his room and is now onto the hallway. Yuji takes a breath and goes to knock on Megumi's door. "Fushigoro? Are you there?" The door creaks open making Yuji tremble a bit. He peeks in. Megumi isn't there, the room is dark. Where is Megumi?

Then a hand lays on his shoulder making Yuji scream in fright, backing up.

"Woah! Yuji! It's me!" Kisho said as Eito chirped on his shoulder. Yuji is gasping and taking breaths, looking at Kisho wide-eyed. "Don't scare me like that, Kisho!"

"Sorry!"Kisho apologizes, backing up with his hands up. "D-did you heard it too?"

"What?"

"The scratching. The weird noises." Kisho asked, looking scared.

Yuji nods, "Yeah I did." To which Kisho lets out a 'whew' and is glad that he isn't going crazy. "The one causing it is that cat," Yuji added.

"You don't mean...."

"What are you guys doing up?" A voice is heard and two boys scream and hug each other in terror. But the two blinked to see Megumi who is twitching an eye. "Do you have any idea what time is it? What in the world are you two doing?"

"Fushigoro!" Kisho and Yuji were smiling with relief. Yuji goes on to explain, "It's Catnap! He was outside my window, looking and staring at him!"

"What?" Megumi said.

"It's true! We have been hearing weird sounds. Scratching and other weird sounds! Eito says that there's something in the bushes outside our rooms" Kisho said.

"And outside! I saw Catnap!" Yuji said. "He had white glowing eyes and I saw him in the bushes!"

Megumi groans, "You two! You guys are allowing this to get to you!" He said.

"No! Sukuna says so! Sukuna saw it too and said it has cursed energy!" Yuji said.

"Then it's a cursed object." Megumi said. "Why didn't you said anything?" He questioned.

"Well..because..Sukuna says it's not a threat and it has leftover residue." Yuji answered. Megumi shakes his head, "Look...the doll is still there in the trash can. Let's get it and-"

"Get it?! All we know is that it's still out there and not in the trash." Kisho cuts him off. "We need to find it and exorcise it! Even Wilson is getting antsy!" He said as a goat lets a bleat.

Megumi frowns, "Then how are we supposed then..." A phone rings, and someone is calling him. Megumi takes his phone out and sees Nobara is calling. He answers and puts it in the speaker, "What's up?"

"Fushigoro! Something is outside my room! It had white eyes!"

"Oh god..." Kisho utters while Yuji widens his eyes.

"And it's purple! I think it's...there. Shit! We should have exorcised it. You and the other two guys gotta come over! NOW!" Nobara said urgently.

"Kugasaki, calm down! We-"

"It was outside Taz's room when she wasn't looking! She was talking to me and I saw it outside her window! I thought I was going crazy but...god...I saw it again!"

That was enough to get the boys over. The boys ran over to the girls' dormitory with Nobara waiting.

"Where's the doll?" Megumi asked.

"Is little sis okay?" Yuji asked, looking worried.

"And the girls?" Kisho added that he is also worried as well.

"Taz is sleeping like a log. Yuria and Miko are hanging out, talking with Hana on a video call. Both don't know what's going on. And I don't know where it is." Nobara said. "I'm freaking out while trying to stay calm and I don't want to freak the other three out." She said.

Megumi nods, "Okay." He goes to summon his divine dog and tells his shikigami to find it. The dog went outside but nothing. The dog whimpers. Eito chirps.

"Eito says something was here but it isn't here anymore. Totality can't find it." Kisho said.

"Where did it go?" Yuji asked.

"What are you guys doing?" The four became startled and looked to see Yuria in her pajamas. "Oh hey! Yuria! What's up?" Kisho laughed.

"Okay? But what are you three doing here?" She asked, raising a brow at them. Who is going to tell her that Catnap is here on campus?

"Oh! Nobara asked us because...there's a roach."

Nobody. The four would rather keep this under wraps before creating a widespread panic that Gojo-sensei brought a creepy doll that is the infamous Catnap that is now on the loose.

"A roach?" Yuria asked, almost looking disgusted. "Yeah! She called us in because she saw it and she called us so you three don't have to worry about it!" Kisho explained. Megumi and Yuji nodded in agreement, going with this story.

"Yeah, it's true! It was so nasty! It had wings!" Nobara said.

"Ugh! Gross! Did you two catch it?!" Yuria asked.

"Eito did!" Kisho grins as Eito chirps in confirmation. Yuria sighs, "Oh that's good then. I don't think I want to see a roach." She said. "Never mind a cursed one." She gagged. "Anyway! I'm glad you three are here!" She smiles.

"Hahahaha! Yeah! No problem! We guys always want to help the ladies!" Kisho smiles. Yuria laughs but then thinks, "Well..I hope you get rid of the rats too. We were hearing sounds." Yuria sighed.

"Rats?"

"Yeah scratching sounds but Miko's shikigami scared them off." Yuria shrugs. "Not a big deal. I can handle rats than roaches."

That's concerning but Kisho doesn't want to show. "That's great! Let us know if it continues!" He smiles. Yuria nods and heads back, "Night!" She said, closing the door behind her.

"Oh god...this thing is now stalking us.."Kisho's voice is now trembling. "We gotta do something! We need to do something! I think it wants vengeance!"

"Vengeance?!" The three repeated.

"Think about it, we throw it not once but twice then we throw it in the trash, and call it all sorts of names! I mean...what if it's a kid turned into a toy like Hana says and we all treat it like crap. Now it wants payback and this is just beginning- and, and-oh god...it's going to come for us ALL-" A smack is heard.

Kisho was slapped across the face by Megumi who then grabbed his collar, "Pull yourself together, Kisho!" He shakes his him, "We're going to find the doll and get rid of it properly! We're not going to die, okay?!"

"M-megumi is right!" Nobara nodded. "We all need to calm down. It's just the doll wants us to freak out and we can't give it what it wants!" She said.

"Yeah! It's just one doll! We're jujutsu sorcerers!" Yuji exclaimed. Kisho blinks and nods, "Right. We're jujutsu sorcerers! We won't let this doll get to us!"

"That's the spirit!" Nobara grins.

"Yeah! We're going to make sure that Catnap doesn't get to Taz." Yuji said. Kisho nods, "And Miko and Yuria!" He said. Okay, time to find Catnap now. They will search from top to bottom to find it. So far, Totality barks, and Eito chirps.

Both Shikigami found it and are tracking it down to the classroom. The classroom where they left the bag.

"Is it here?" Megumi asked. Eito chirps, conversing with Totality to which he lets out a small grunt. "Eito says It is here..." Said Kisho. They looked around but the room was dark so Nobara went to turn on the light since it was too dark.

The light is on and they look for everywhere. But Catnap isn't there. The only thing they can see is the board. It was written in chalk with a scribbling message.

"I was Here."

Eito squawks.

"I know, I know. No need to freak out." Kisho said. "What is Eito saying?" Megumi asked. Kisho translates, "Eito says he has been here!" He said.

Yuji glares, "This thing is messing with us!" He said. Nobara sighs.

"Tell me about it!" Kisho said with his back turned, looking at the board. The three widen their eyes and Eito widen his eyes at this. "I mean....he must been here to send us a message and have us-"

"Kisho..." Nobara's tone became weird as if she was scared.

"What?" Kisho blinked.

"Your back." Yuji begins.

"My back?"

"It's on your back!" Nobara screamed. On Kisho's back, there is a purple thing on his back and stuck on them. Catnap slowly turns its head and looks at the three with its' grin and black beady eyes.

"What's on my back?! Guys?!" Kisho yelled, asking.

"Stay still, Kisho." Megumi said lowly. "Do. Not. Move." He said. Kisho wondered what it was on his back then he felt something crawl on his back. Kisho felt something on his shoulder and he looks from the corner of his eye. He sees Catnap who cackled.

"AAAAH!"

"Kisho! Stay still!" Megumi yelled. "STOP MOVING!"

"GET IT OFF! OH GOD GET IT OFF! IT'S CRAWLING UNDER MY SHIRT!" Kisho is crying as Catnap is now under his shirt, moving everywhere. Nobara goes to hit where Catnap is but ends up hitting Kisho instead.

"NOBARA! OW!"

"Hold still then!!" Nobara gritted her teeth, holding her toy hammer. Then Yuji kicks him in the back and sends him to the floor, thinking he got Catnap.

"OW! YUJI!" Kisho cries.

"I'm SORRY!" Yuji cried.

"God damnit!" Megumi goes to pull Kisho's shrit up and Catnap isn't there. The light flickers.

Totality let out a bark and all four sees Totality brought down and snores with Catnap on top.

"What the fu-" Megumi is cut off as Catnap leaps. Leaps on top of Yuji's head. The pink-haired teen screams, "AAAAHH!"

"Oh god, oh god, oh god!" Kisho yelled as they saw Catnap on top of Yuji's head and bonking on him. "SOMEONE GET IT OFF!" Yuji screams while the Catnap lets out a gaggling sound as if it's having fun at their expense. It's hard to get Catnap off Yuji. Even Sukuna is yelling, "YOU DAMN PEST! HOW DARE YOU LAUGH?!"

"Shit shit! Hold still! HOLD STILL!" Nobara said having nails in her hand.

Eito is squawking at it and starts to peck but the cat wraps its long tail and flungs him across the room, hitting Megumi in the face.

"EITO!" Kisho collects Eito from the floor and Megumi has enough.

Fuck this.

He tightens his fists into balls and lifts them both as if he was driving. What the? Kisho blinked. That's a hand gesture he never saw. What is this? Then Megumi shouts,

"With this treasure, I summon!- "

Then Catnap leaps from Yuji's head and onto Megumi's face. Kisho and Nobara were in shock as Megumi screamed, "DAMNIT! GET THIS LITTLE SHIT OFF ME!" He bumps into a couple of desks and chairs while Catnap is on his face.

"MEGUMI! STOP MOVING!" Kisho said as he saw Catnap trying to wrap his long tail around his neck but then Itadori stepped in after recovering from the bonks, "I got this!"

And makes the biggest mistake of his life, Itadori grabs the tail and pulls it.

"Pchit" A spray is heard silencing everyone.

The spray hits directly on Megumi's face. Everyone sweatdropped.

"ITADORI!" Megumi shouted.

"I'M SORRY!" Yuji cried, now crying and Megumi grabbed the back of Catnap and threw it across the room. The toy crashes through some books. Kisho and Yuji go to Megumi, "Are you okay! I'm so sorry!" Yuji apologized.

"I'm fine!"Then Megumi winces, "Damn it...that thing sprays me with something, and now...I felt...fuck.."

"You're saying that spray really puts people to sleep?!" Kisho said in disbelief as Yuji got Megumi, apologizing over and over. A gaggle is heard and Catnap emerges from the pile of books now, he then crawls over to them on fours. As if its scary sounds weren't enough, white eyes are looking at them. The eyes almost look human.

"GET TO THE CHOPPA!" Kisho shouted.

"WE DON'T HAVE A CHOPPER!" Yuji yelled.

"GET ON THE DESK!" Nobara cried.

All four are getting on the teacher's desk as the Catnap quickly crawls on fours towards them like a quick cockroach while making gaggling and laughing sounds. Megumi is coughing due to the spray while the three are freaking out, holding each other.

"Why did anyone make this thing?!" Nobara cries. "What is wrong with America?!"

"This thing is a curse! A CURSE!" Yuji yelled.

"What are we going to do?!" Kisho said, now crying.

"Can you calm down?! We need to figure out a plan! This thing is no lower than a grade 2!" Megumi said before coughing. "Fuck! Damn thing spray into my mouth!"

"I'm so sorry!" Yuji cried. Sukuna groans, "A plan?! You just need to squash this little infernal thing! And now it's laughing at us with that shit-eating grin!" He yelled as the Catnap lay there like a cat, not moving an inch only his eyes. Which is creeping them out.

"AND IT IS STARING AT US!" Kisho said while Eito was comforting them.

"What the fuck is wrong with you all? You're sorcerers and you're scared of this thing?!"

"Did you not watch the video?!" Nobara cried. "It brought down Megumi and his shikigami!"

Catnap lets out some red gas from his mouth in response, startling them.

"I'm still conscious. you know!" Megumi frowned. "And Sukuna is right! We are not going to get beaten by this thing! Now you pull yourselves together and -"

Footsteps are heard and a sliding door to the classroom slides open. "Guys? Is everything okay? I heard yelling!" Said the familiar petite with the orange marks on her right cheek.

At the doorway, it's Taz. Everyone froze. Not only Taz, but Miko and Yuria.

"What's going on? Y-you were all yelling." Said Miko.

"Yeah! What the heck-what is that?!" Yuria begins as he points at Catnap who turns its head at the girls. Taz Miko and Yuria blinked and pales, both took a huge step back.

Oh no! This is the worst! Nobara said.

"Get out of here!" Megumi shouted at the girls.

Catnap goes to crawl over to where Taz is. Taz looks at the Catnap and blinks her eyes at it. Catnap stays and looks up at her in silence. Taz stares at it.

"Sis!" Yuji said, now scared for her. The girl clasped her eyes and smiled with imaginary hearts coming off. "Awwww so cute!" Taz smiles. She walks then goes to pick up Catnap and pets it. Catnap purrs while Taz giggles.

Everyone suddenly faces fault, falling to the ground and twitching.

DID SHE SAID CUTE?!

"LIL SIS! NOOOOO!" Yuji cried so dramatically.

"That's cute?!" Megumi questioning Taz right now.

Kisho cries. "She has been brainwashed!"

Even Yuria and Miko were befuddled by this. Everyone can't believe what they're hearing! Taz giggles while Catnap mews.

"Yo! I came back!" Gojo-sensei arrives back, "I brought snacks!" Then he looks around, "Wow! What happened here?" He said, perplexed by this.

"Gojo-sensei! Look!" Taz said, holding up Catnap. Gojo smiles. "Oh! You found the present! I was meant to give it to you but my mission went on! Did you like it?"

"Uh-huh!" Taz smiles.

"Taz! Do you have any idea who that is?!" Nobara asked, questioning Taz's mental state.

"Well...yeah...but he looks so cute for some reason! He looks like a cat, he smells like lavender and flowers and he is so fluffy!" She said. "As long as you don't pull the tail, it's fine!" She goes to stroke Catnap's chin to which the doll purrs under her touch. To the others, Catnap looks like a creepy doll but to Taz, he looks so adorable in chibi kawaai form.

Even Kinie is questioning this.

"I'm going to take him to my plushie collection!" She said, now skipping away while holding Catnap to her chest with a giggle. The four see Taz holding Catnap where they can see his face.

They see his eyes narrow at the four with a mischievous glint of his white eyes, letting them know silently this is far from over.

Gojo laughs, "Wow! Can't believe she likes it! I thought the doll was a little creepy. But looks like she really likes it, I'm glad."

Upon hearing this, the five looked at their teacher with a look. Gojo blinked, "What is it?"

They exploded.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE?!" Nobara yelled.

"THAT THING IS A NIGHTMARE!" Kisho shouted while holding a crying Miko.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING OF BUYING THAT FOR TAZ!" Yuji cried. "NOW SHE JOINED THE DARK SIDE!"

"HOW COULD YOU!" Yuria said.

"THAT THING SPRAY ME!" Megumi shouted. "Oh come on! She likes it! What's the problem?!" Gojo said, having his hands up.

"The problem is that you gave her a cursed doll!" Megumi said. Gojo stood there. "I mean...how is that different from when the principal gives her one?"

"UGGH!" The students groaned meanwhile Taz added her newest addition to the collection. "Good night, Catnap~! X3" She tells him.

Catnap purrs happily and goes to sleep soundly.

One heck of a night.

#ic #thesilverpeahenresidence #horror book chapter 8: a cute & creepy present #horror book drabble series #drabbletime;#drabble #poppy playtime au #jujutsu kaisen au #jujutsu kaisen #catnap

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yoimix · 2 years

Text

「言って」

[note: fem!reader]

ITTO's words might not always make sense. scratch that, his words might as well be up for interpretation by sumeru scholars specializing in human psychology. but he desperately needs to tell you that he is so, so in love with you.

when it comes to him, he’s always gone all out for everything, especially if they’re fun. the problem lies with you. you are fun, but you are also more than that. you’re pretty and you’re soft, you’re kind and you’ve got the nicest smile. itto’s confused beyond himself as to why he can’t just smash through with his words as usual. his gang gets what he’s saying, right? so why can’t you?

it’s probably because he can’t say a single word when you’re in front of him. the conversation goes haywire and itto forgets all about the date he was supposed to ask you on. besides, he can’t decide on where he’ll take you. but also, you have to agree on that date first. all of these thoughts are spinning around in his head, making a very bad bean soup. that’s how itto feels anyway.

“shinobu! this is not going to work,” itto whines, slumping forward on his desk. “we’ve already tried out all your plans a-z.”

shinobu sighs, her mask airing up. “it’s true that y/n-san can be a bit dense but this is all your fault. you start talking about something else altogether. did you really have to bring up your onikabuto matches last time? we were stuck collecting them for three hours.”

“but she fell asleep on my shoulder! and i got to carry her home.” itto brightens up at the memory.

“do you want to ask her on a date or stay in the... the friend zone forever?”

itto grumbles, slumping further. he’s not going to get his way like this. his thoughts are turning into a haze of dark clouds now.

“but,” shinobu interjects. “you can ask y/n-san for the summer festival. it’s indirect, it’s fun and you’ll get to see her in a pretty kimono. i bet you can win her stuff too! just- just don’t eat the snacks yourself.”

“of course not, shinobu! i know how dates work. besides, y/n eats everything before i’ve even seen what she’s holding. she’ll hit me if i take her stuff.”

shinobu shakes her head and itto’s about to point it out when she grabs his shoulders. “leader. i believe in you. you can ask y/n-san on a date without messing up this time.”

itto feels a bit of his confidence return to him. shinobu’s right. what’s the worst that could happen? he’s only failed twenty-six times. unlike the alphabet, there’s infinite possible numbers and that means plan one is now in motion.

“leader.”

kuki’s voice interrupts the plumage of numbers fluttering around in itto’s head as he tries to mark how many attempts it should take to ask a question.

“if i may ask, what makes you so interested in y/n-san?”

“oh. that’s easy. she jumped into the puddle with me.”

“huh?”

itto can’t explain it well enough. after all, it’s been years since then and his memory’s getting hazy. but the feeling of warmth when he saw you, in your hand-sewn yellow kimono, take a small step forward and a big splash into the puddle with the big and scary oni terrorizing the village; he knew he wanted you to be by his side forever. you were only eight, and he, a mere little demon of ten years old. he admits he was a bit of a menace, but he never meant harm. the village folk couldn’t understand.

but you did.

shinobu takes a sharp breath, snapping itto out of his reminiscence.

“there she is! go!” shinobu gives him a hard shove, making him almost trip into the mud. “just say: let’s go on a date. four words! i know you can do this, boss.”

and just like that, he’s left alone with you, who’s noticed him by now and is grinning ear to ear as you make your way to him. oh no. itto’s feeling it again. like his heart’s about to sneeze but he just can’t get it out. is that a new hairpin on you? gosh, it’s cute.

itto loudly clears his throat, putting on a strange suave manner of speaking. he learned it from the blue fellow that comes to beetle fight with him. “hello there, (name).”

“why do you sound so strange?” you tilt your head.

caught in just three words?! how is supposed to make it through to asking you out?

“say, itto. i’ve been looking for you-”

“you have?” he didn’t mean to interrupt and he has to hold in a groan.

“y-yes.” you pause, a small smile adorning your pretty face as you look down. “yoimiya-san was saying...”

oh no, not that girl. itto can’t have her stealing you too now that she’s stolen the kids’ attentions.

“you don’t have to hang out with her when i’m here!” he points at himself, an expression so serious you can’t help your burst of laughter.

“itto, of course i’ll hang out with you! but you’ve been acting strange these past few days... did i do something wrong?”

you hold in a sigh. you won’t say it out loud but you hate that he’s not talking to you like he used to anymore. you miss holding hands like when you were children too but that’s probably taking it too far. sweet, innocent itto could never know how you feel.

“fireworks,” he blurts.

you raise an eyebrow.

“you’re like fireworks- no my chest is like fireworks when you’re around!” itto’s shoulders tense up, trying his best to convey his feelings to you.

he clears his throat. this is no way for a man to act, and he’s better than all of them!

“wait, that’s not what i meant to say! i meant... fireworks... flowers... uh...”

“you wanna go to the summer festival together?” you ask, your face breaking into a wide smile. your eyes are sparkling. god, you’re so cute itto’s heart might just leap out of his chest with a wedding ring ready. “i heard yoimiya-san is working on her biggest project yet. isn’t that exciting? i wanna watch those fireworks with you...”

you cover your mouth, like you didn’t mean to blurt that out. maybe he’s rubbing off on you. itto tries not to feel that weird sense of pride.

“yes!” he straightens. “exactly! you get me. maybe we’re soulmates...”

he did not mean to say that out loud but the sound of your giggles is worth the slip of tongue.

“you’re so funny, itto. i’ve always known we are.”

#genshin fluff #genshin x reader #itto x reader #arataki itto x reader #itto fluff #arataki itto fluff #genshin drabble #genshin one shot #genshin scenario #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact x you #genshin impact scenarios #arataki itto x you #yoimix.drabble

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asksidon · 1 year

Note

hi hi! im a big fan of your writing n was wondering if you could squeeze in a lil scenario thingy! <3

fem! plus size reader gently rejects someone then gets the classic "whatever your fat/ugly anyway" response. used to those comments, it doesnt make the reader super distraught but she does emotionally shut down for the day. how would the prince react/comfort the reader?

[[ I'm kind of in love with this, so I'm going to drabble it. And thank you so much! <3 ]]

After a busy morning of work, Sidon has decided to stop by a tea shop that you happen to frequent as well; no other shop can beat the taste and value of their tea or the cute atmosphere inside the space. Neither of you have interacted, though you've noticed him before and never quite had the heart to join the admirers that make a point of stopping him for a selfie or a quick chat. He has smiled at you before - and you could swear he has even winked at you once - but your interactions haven't gone beyond that.

You hear him walk in before you see him, because the shop fills with excited murmurs and whispers. You see one very young hopeful approaching him for a photo before the barista can even take his order. Shaking your head slightly, you turn your attention back to your novel and go back to minding your own business.

That is, until another patron of the shop approaches you. A twenty-something male you've never seen before. He gives you what you decide is a nervous smile and proceeds to compliment your choice in books, then asks if he might buy you another tea and join you at your table. You hate to let people down, but something about the guy just gives you an "off" vibe. You gently tell him that you're leaving soon, and he questions you as to where you're going. Caught off-guard, you stammer something about an important meeting. Unknown to you, Sidon is waiting in the background for his tea hearing the whole thing - not making a point of eavesdropping, but he's nearby and knows what's going down.

Sidon's jaw drops a little when he hears the guy respond with an insult about your weight and walk away. Back at his own table, the unnamed guy says something to make his buddies laugh, and they all look over at you. Sidon is about to approach you when the barista gets his attention to let him know his order is up, and by the time he's fought through the crowd and turned back around, you've left.

Frowning to himself, Sidon leaves the shop and looks around its immediate vicinity to see if you're still around. Not finding you, he leaves and comes back in a few days around the same time to look for you. You're at your usual table reading, determined not to let anyone bully you out of your favorite place. Thankfully, since it is an off time on a weekday, the shop is not as full.

Your heart fills with dread when someone takes a seat across from you. As you've expected the worst, your eyes widen in shock when you look up and realize it is him. Prince Sidon. "Hello," he says. "I've seen you around so often, I feel I should know your name by now."

You feel yourself blush as you say, "Y/N... My name is Y/N. Hello, Prince Sidon, your royal highness." Since you are not standing to curtsy, and to do so might be awkward, you give him a head bow.

"There is no need for all that. I invaded your table, after all, Y/N." He flashes a grin. "I hope I'm not overstepping, but I heard what that... well, that idiot said to you the other day, and I had to know that you're okay."

"Oh," you say, surprised anyone noticed, as noisy and busy as the shop was that day. "Don't worry, I don't take things like that too much to heart." It seems like the best response to give, one that will make you seem strong. You certainly didn't feel strong after it happened.

"Good. Because you shouldn't." He leans back in his chair and regards you with a gentle look as he sips at his milk tea (which, he informs you, is matcha coconut and his favorite). "Someone like that really doesn't deserve your time, and if I judged right, you didn't know him personally before that instance?"

You nod your head. His curiosity about the situation catches you off-guard, but not in a bad way like the other day's incident.

"So, he must have thought you were pretty - as you are - if he came and asked you out based on your appearance. Some people don't know how to handle rejection in a mature manner, I suppose. Not that I would know anything about that. I'm always a gentleman." He winks at you for certain this time, and you smile.

"I don't doubt that, sir," you say.

"Sidon," he corrects you. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to reading, Y/N. If that idiot shows up again, try and get his name for me, will you? Frankly, I'm a bit bored with all this desk work I've been doing lately and would love a good brawl."

You're genuinely smiling by this point, and he gives you one of his own in return.

That's how you became friends with the prince, and he's been known to sit at your table several more times since then. He's pleased to know that no more idiots have bothered you, but his promise of a brawl still holds, if one does.

#millie-berra #sidon x reader #plus sized reader #drabble #prince sidon fic

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todderwodders · 3 months

Text

WIP WEDNESDAY

Gettin back on the horse.... by posting a snippet of Faline and Gortash after their divorce post act 3, ahead of Wednesday.

“Enver?” Her voice is thick with tears. He can see it in her eyes though - the pieces falling into place before her eyes, the coral off them dashing over invisible strings.

“You should recognize your own husband, wife,” he responds, setting his cane against a side table laden with coiling, vining plants. The room is fine, but decorated a cheery yellow and accented with reds that she would never pick for herself. Very little of Faline resides here - the soft, interlocking shades of blue and purple of her quilt on the bed, their children’s toys shoved under the couch, books stacked in untidy rows.

She seems to take a moment to respond. Opening and closing her mouth, eyes darting to the corpse she still straddles. She grasps it by the hair, pulls him up to face her, and then gently puts him down again, as if he still lived.

“You made quick work of him,” he notes, trying and failing to be patient as he leans against the wall. The knife - her Silverfoot - is held so tight in her hand still that her knuckles have turned white. He thinks, briefly, about swallowing those fingers, thinks about opening his legs to her slick cock, of slipping his cock into her mouth, of fucking her raw and emptying months of frustration directly into that ruinous little womb of hers.

He swallows. Faline reaches to scrub at her face, only to realize, just short of her nose, that it is covered in blood.

Her face crumbles.

“I do not blame you. The light in this room is abominable,” he says, voice sharp in the semi-dark. The fire still crackles merrily, sap popping in the silence between them.

When she smiles, she seems - frantic, and unsure of her own words. Enver resists the urge to slide his fingers into the cracks of her mind and pull, brusque and sharp, against it’s edges.

“The-- the double was very good this time,” she stutters.

“Thank you,” Enver says, rolling his shoulders as he speaks. “I purchased him from a Calishite market. He could very well be my cousin.”

“That's–,” Faline stops, shakes her head, and then speaks anyways,”horrible, Enver.”

Enver shrugs. “I am aware.”

He makes his way to her, soft and slow, as if to not spook an animal, or a mad woman with a dagger. He could do much to her in this moment, he thinks, and she would allow it.

“Are you going to kill me?” She asks, eyes glassy, voice rough as she tries to keep herself from crying, spoken with all the innocence of a little girl who has just asked if she is to be punished, fully aware that the consequences far outweigh whatever crime she could have committed.

“No, Faline,” Enver says patiently. He kneels, his knees protesting with a burn that will have him ache for bed in a few hours time. “No, I am not.”

Her lip, dry, her tattoo in need of a touching up, begins to wobble.

“I missed you,” she says, voice small.

“You left me,” he responds with a laugh. Never before has he wanted to roar at her, never understood the true desire beyond petty terror a man may have for torturing his wife, but this one, this hells spawned harpy he has selected as a bride, seems intent to drive him to madness. He feels the soreness of it, feels the weight of her choice on him. “I loved you.”

She looks shocked, eyebrows arched high and eyes looking like fine point beads - only to twist her face into a sneer as she laughs at him. It is deep, and cruel, and sonorous. He feels the hair at the nape of his neck stand straight.

“What you did wasn’t love, Enver,” she spits, suddenly venomous, eyes suddenly very sharp and very hard. He lashes out, hand curling hard around the wrist holding the dagger and squeezing. She does not relent. He does not twist, does not break. “You stood on the precipice of having it all and you decided you wanted more long before I even entered your world. You became greedy and you failed because of it.”

“You betrayed me first,” he growls, the anger, the betrayal rising and spilling out of him like live silver in a forge. “You ruined me. I could have salvaged the plan if you hadn’t stabbed me in the back—”

“Enver,” she says, suddenly serious, voice dropping into something like a razor scraping across brick. “Your god would not have prevailed, you had to have known that from the very start. Even if you succeeded, how long would it have taken for a chosen of Mystra or Torm or Tyr to come for you? How long before someone else found the flaw in your Steelwatch? The foundry was your own money, that is a loss and I am sorry for it, but I am not sorry for saving at least half of your reputation. You should have thrown off Bane and sided with that wretched husk. You are just feeling hateful about it all because I left before you could put me aside or slit my throat so you could have lube before you fucked me to death.” “Cruel,” he hisses, teeth clenched. “You are cruel and morbid to me.”

“You wouldn’t love me if I was not so. You wouldn’t even think twice about me.”

They both fall silent at that.

He doesn’t know what does it - when conflict shifted to want - although he suspects it has been on both of their minds the moment she slit that man’s throat, her hand on his full mouth, a mirror of his own.

She kisses him, the edge of her blade on his throat, parallel to his jugular. He puts his weight on her - her thighs, thicker than he remembers, fill his palm as he wrenches her thighs from the corpse and onto his lap.

#my writing #tavtash #enver gortash #faline #bg3 #tiefling tav

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anthrofreshtodeath · 1 year

Text

More Crossover Work

Ok so I wanted to play with putting Booth/Brennan and Rizzles conversations side by side, and then added sex in to make it interesting 😂

Still getting a feel for b&b, but I'm feeling a little more comfortable. This is under a cut because it's naughty.

“It’s not the Royal Diner, but I know you have to be hungry,” Brennan carries a greasy paper bag in her hand when she announces her presence in the homicide bullpen.

It’s late, enough for most other detectives to be gone, and a lot of the lights are out. Booth sits slumped in his office chair, his white shirt with two streaks of dirt across the front, the gum soles of his slip-on Vans planted on the linoleum below. He blinks, like if his eyes move quickly enough, his exhaustion will evaporate, but nevertheless, they light up when they see her arrive. She takes the seat next to his desk and he smiles. “Oh hey, Bones, look at that,” he sits up straight when she puts the takeout box in front of him. “Burger and fries.”

Brennan half-smiles at him and then turns to Jane, who is looking at the screen of her phone. “I have it on good authority that The Dirty Robber has some of the best food in the Back Bay,” she says, “I’m sorry, Jane, I didn’t know you were still here; I would have-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jane, looking just as haggard as Booth, rubs a long hand over her features. She puts her phone down. “I gotta get outta here, anyway. And if that good authority is my mother, you better temper those expectations a bit.”

Booth chuckles, his ribs a little sore from tackling the running suspect they encountered in a truck depot just outside the city only a couple hours prior to now. “Your mom’s a nice lady, Jane,” he tells her around a french fry. “You could stand to give her a break every once in a while.”

“She got to you, too?” Jane stands and throws her blazer over her equally dirty button-up shirt. “Was it the sack lunches she sent in yesterday?”

“That mighta been part of it, yeah,” says Booth. “I love a snack pack.”

“He does. He has quite the affinity for pudding,” Brennan adds, “especially when he’s injured.” She throws her head in his direction and crosses her legs. Then she pops the lid off of her own food and begins to navigate it.

“Not a bad choice,” Jane chimes in when she picks up her keys. “You two have a nice dinner, and a nice night. I’m off.”

“Hot date?” asks Booth.

“Yeah,” snarks Jane on her way to the elevator, “with the first loves of my life. The Boston Red Sox and my couch. Night!”

“See ya!” Booth calls out, and then he turns his attention to Brennan as soon as the doors ding shut. “She’s goin’ to go see Maura.”

“What, like sexually? No, Booth, they’re divorced,” Brennan shakes her head to dismiss him, but nevertheless leans in to share the conspiracy with him.

“The secret texts? The get up and go? Seen it all before,” he tells her, elbows on the table while he points a long fry in her direction. “Divorce or no divorce.”

“They don’t seem to like each other very much when we’re all together,” Brennan posits. She picks the fry out from Booth’s fingers and chews it. She shrugs. “Doctor Isles becomes very clinical when she’s angry. Moreso than me,” she observes. “And when Jane is around, she’s very often angry.”

“More than you? That possible?” Booth teases, and he ducks when a blueberry from Brennan’s fruit cup flies toward his forehead.

“Wh- Booth,” Brennan chides in that way that tells him she’s actually a little insecure about it.

“Aw c’mon, you’re not that bad,” he soothes, getting close, patting her wrist, even though he still wears that guilty grin. “But you gotta look beyond the surface. She’s mad because she’s hurt. She’s hurt because she cares. She cares because she’s, y’know, still in love, Bones.”

“I don’t see it that way. Doctor Isles is an empiricist and love is fleeting,” Brennan tells him, and he sits back, moving away from the moment because he’s heard it all before. “It’s fickle and she’s clearly moved on.”

“See, this is the problem,” Booth says, crossing his arms. He is thankful for the emptiness of the bullpen because he feels his ears getting hot. “You think everyone’s thinkin’ with their heads all the time, but those two are thinkin’ with their hearts right now.”

“That’s absurd. The brain is the only organ with which you can think,” Brennan scoffs, “you might be able to argue about the neuronal connection to the gut, but even then, the heart isn’t involved in cognition at all. Beyond, of course, its role as blood supply to-”

“It’s!” Booth starts through gritted teeth, but then he stops himself when his hands come forward and clench. “It’s… not that simple. Rizzoli’s been through hell, and she’s just tryin’ to prove that she’s worthy. That she’s worthy of the risk it would be to take her back, whether either of them see that or not. And them seeing each other is probably the only way they can have that conversation right now.”

Brennan pauses, and then she sighs. Her eyes catalog all of Booth’s signs of arousal, the ones that prove his nervous system is on high alert, and the sexuality that runs deep underneath it, because he’s buried it to move through his day. She drops her mouth open before she speaks, like she is trying to think of exactly the right words to say. “You are… talking about us,” she says. “Or, more accurately, about you. But I’ve already told you… you don’t need to prove yourself worthy. It’s not about that.”

Booth knocks his head back against his seat, and his eyes get glossy, wet. He never cries the tears that coat them, at least, never in her presence, and she doesn’t know if she’s appreciative that he’s spared her the emotion she has no idea how to carry, or disappointed that he doesn’t trust her with it. “It’s not about that,” he echoes lamely. Like he’s not sure he’s heard correctly so he has to assure himself. “Let’s just finish up dinner, a’right? Then we can get back to the hotel and get a decent night's sleep. Remind me to talk to Rizzoli tomorrow about moving the operation out to Amherst permanently.”

“Booth,” Brennan pleads, but she doesn’t know what for, because the conversation they stumbled into is one she’s been dreading since… well, that she has always dreaded.

“Just eat your sandwich, huh?” He says around a giant bite of his own. He sucks ketchup off his thumb and then he looks anywhere but her eyes. “I’m tired.”

___

“Hey,” Jane calls when she walks through the front door of her little one bedroom about three blocks from the station. She drops her keys on the counter and opens up the gun safe around the corner in the kitchen so that she can lock up her firearms for the evening. She punches in the code, and when she finally faces the living room, the harness holster on her shoulders is empty, her shirt untucked. “You sure whatever I left at the house couldn’t wait? I know-”

She stops herself, because while she expected to see Maura there, she did not expect to see Maura on her couch, in nothing but what appears to be her underwear and Jane’s very old, very lucky, Jason Varitek jersey. The home white with the Red Sox across the front, even though each word drifts away from the other because the first three buttons are undone and Jane can see the hardest working pushup bra she’s ever encountered beneath. Maura barely turns her head, and by god, the sexiest part about the whole scene is that she might actually be more invested in the Sox/Orioles game on the big screen than whatever performance she originally intended to put on. “Hmm?” she begins, only turning her head once the pitch has been thrown and counted for a strike against Xander Bogaerts. “You cut yourself off.”

Very, very lucky, thinks Jane. “Hmm,” she echoes, but in that way she often does, swallowing and tucking her chin down just before marching into a situation she has no idea how to handle. She marches to her own sofa, the one she had to buy when Maura kicked her out of the house, the one where Maura sits now. “Babe? What uh, what are you doin’ here? In that?”

“Well, I came in my work attire,” Maura answers. She reaches for the remote, turns the TV on a soft mute before she faces Jane completely. “But I’ll admit that when I arrived I wanted to wear something that would put you at ease with me,” she whispers into Jane’s mouth when she pulls Jane forward by the front of her shirt.

Jane’s gaze flickers to Maura’s wet lips, then lower. The Tek jersey is a men’s medium, and had been a gift. She usually wears it over a hoodie for games like tonight, in mid April when there’s still a chill in the Fenway air. It drapes on Maura now, just enough for Jane to imagine sinking her teeth into the tops of Maura’s breasts - the ones on tasteful display. “At ease?” Jane asks. “Maura, I…”

Maura silences her by dropping to the floor, kneeling between Jane’s long legs, and tugging at Jane’s belt until it pops loose. At the sound, their eyes meet. Jane’s hands squeeze into fists on the tops of her own thighs, because when Maura arches her back forward, the jersey rides up, and an all black, sheer Agent Provocateur thong peeks through. It leaves no ass to the imagination, and Jane squirms - everything’s far away except the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears. “Sit up,” Maura’s voice brings her to reality again, not some far-off blurry space, but to the thick air of her apartment living room. Maura is still there and yanking the waistband of Jane’s slacks toward her. Jane lifts herself, and the weight of her belt causes her pants to thump to the floor around her ankles.

She’s exposed. She’s wet, and she knows Maura sees that, and she can’t help but spread her knees at Maura’s insistence. There are teeth on the short patch of hair just between her hips, and then, pressure. A bite. “Agh,” she grimaces, because it feels so good. “At ease isn’t exactly what I’d call this,” she asserts.

Maura looks up then, her tongue out, hovering dangerously low. “Well, I wanted you at ease until I saw that new toy in your nightstand.” She wastes no more time, and dips her head into Jane, waiting for her. “Now I just want to unravel you.”

Jane winces at the first tongue swipe, the one that spreads her and exposes her to Maura’s expert mouth. Her hand grips the armrest and her toes curl and Maura keeps going. Pleasure, wet and writhing, wraps around her waist. “What’re you doin’ goin’ through my things, huh?” she yips, when something hard brushes her clit. Damn Maura for knowing all her weaknesses and rolling them up into one sexual show of force.

“I was looking for this,” Maura looks up, blinking herself into a pout, kissing Jane as she pinches jersey material between her fingers. “Why do you have it? Who’s it for, Jane?” she demands. “Who are you seeing?”

Her pout transforms into a scowl just before she returns to licking Jane into a frenzy. She mimics Jane’s most devastating slow, deep, encompassing stroke to make her come. Jane gets the other message, too: I know exactly how you fuck, and I’ll use it against you. You better not be fucking anyone else like this. Jane moans, turning her head into her arm, the one clutching the headrest of the sofa behind her. “Jesus,” she croaks. “Nobody. I keep it here for you, a’right? I wanna fuck you. Just you.”

Maura stops. She looks up again, this time her green eyes shining with mischief, and maybe a little sentimental humor. She says nothing in reply, just closes her lips around the apex of Jane’s sex and spends all of the next two minutes there. Sucking, licking, kissing, sending indecent squelching sounds to mingle with Jane’s groaning.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Jane chants, because her orgasm has hit her all at once. The tension she carries makes her ribs bark, an injury nearly identical to Booth’s, but she rides through it for all the colors bursting behind her shut eyelids, all the zaps of oxytocin slithering out to her limbs while Maura brings her back down. “Fuck, babe,” she gulps in air as it passes.

Maura licks her lips, and climbs up to straddle Jane’s wide open lap. “I don’t believe you,” she says into Jane’s parted lips. Jane’s hands slide onto her ass with a barely-there squeeze. “I shouldn’t believe you.”

“Why not?” Jane pants. Her chest heaves and seeing Maura this close, in that Sox home white, revs her up again. She walks two fingers around to Maura’s front, lace scratching against her fingertips, which earns her hand a smack. “Youch!”

“Don’t touch me yet,” Maura orders. When Jane’s brows narrow, confused, Maura gathers her head and pulls it close. “You belong to me only, Jane,” she says in Jane’s ear. When Jane pulls back to argue, Maura pulls the hair at the base of Jane’s neck so that Jane stares up while she stares down. “Divorce or not. You. Belong. To. Me.”

Jane nods slowly, and though Maura’s grip is tight, she shows mercy in the way she scratches Jane’s hairline. Jane shivers and her sex pulses. An elixir of domination and affection? Maura intends to end her. “You… you left me,” she says, moving her hands back to Maura’s thighs, her hips, her waist.

“Mine,” Maura reiterates. She kisses Jane, all soft lips and tongue, and Jane can’t help but kiss back, pulling Maura close. Her thumbs swipe the bottom of Varitek’s number 33, halfway up Maura’s back. “Come to bed. I’m going to show you,” Maura says.

She rises, puts her feet on the floor all while Jane watches. Jane freezes, stays put, until Maura throws a look over her shoulder right at the mouth of the hallway to the bedroom. Then, Jane jumps up, yanking her boots away and hopping out of her pants. Her shirt takes a little longer because she struggles with the buttons, but soon enough, it flutters to the floor, her undershirt and bra completing the trail to where she meets Maura in the dark hall. “Hey, hey,” she calls, like she has done often since their breakup, and she pulls Maura close to her by the wrist.

Maura whimpers when Jane, naked, with scars and muscle and olive skin exposed to the air, presses her into the wall behind them. Her head knocks against it, and she wraps her arms around Jane’s shoulders for stability when Jane’s hands rub up against her hips again. Fingers entwine with the sexy elastic there, twisting and smoothing and begging to get rid of it. “Jane,” she warns.

Jane keeps it up. She smoothes the skin under that elastic, her thumbs alternating between pressure and delicate touch. “Take ‘em off for me,” she pleads, her voice silky and rough, somehow at the same time. The bottom drops out of her pitch and Maura’s mouth opens, like she wants to swallow it. “I wanna see you. I wanna touch you. I wanna get wet,” Jane pursues her case.

And all the kissing and the touching and the body-to-body moments break Maura’s resolve. She looks down, their legs all tangled, their feet so close together on the carpet, and makes a decision. She lets Jane go so she can pull her underwear away from her body and hold them up.

Jane turns from Maura’s mouth and looks. She leans into the barely-there thong in Maura’s hand, inhales, and then, when she’s found where they’re wettest, she bites them, taking the cocktail on her tongue. She kisses Maura with that new taste - the smacks of it are loud and sweet, and match when she brings her fingers back between Maura’s legs.

This time, Maura opens. She shifts to the balls of her feet and wraps a leg around one of Jane’s when she takes two fingers inside. She and Jane knock against the wall for a few thrusts, Jane’s hot breath tumbling into Maura’s ear and down her neck. Jane’s shoulders flexing under her fingers while she holds on. When the pleasure grows so heavy as to be mind-altering, she drags fingernails through the sweat down Jane’s back. “Stop,” Maura orders, and Jane does pause. “Bed.”

“We throwin’ a wrench in yah plans?” Jane teases, and there’s Boston in her whisper.

“You are. You’re the one wrenching my plans,” Maura whines, half because Jane slips out, and half because Jane really is turning this thing on its head.

Jane laughs at the verbiage. “Well, I am a plumber’s daughter, y’know,” she says, but Maura is already halfway through the bedroom’s threshold. So, she jogs the last few steps until she can catch up. “Where you goin’, huh? C’mere,” she beckons as they fall into the bed together.

They kiss for a few more seconds; Maura can’t resist, but then she pushes Jane back onto the unmade bed. “Stay there,” she says. She shuffles on her knees toward Jane’s side of the bed, opens the nightstand, and pulls out the toy and harness she’d happened upon during execution of plan A. “Put it on.”

Jane licks her lips and does as told. There is a flurry of movement and Jane grunts when the curved end slips into her, and then she tugs at the base to get the feel just right. With that hand still holding it, she nods at Maura. “Come find me, babe.”

Maura rolls her eyes, but mostly so that the unexpected swell of emotion doesn’t spill over. The intimacy in Jane’s demand reminds her of times past, when the only thing between them was love. She shuffles, straddles Jane again, and decides that she won’t hold back. She lowers herself, Jane keeps the toy steady, and as a team, they achieve union between them. “Christ,” Maura adjusts slowly. She settles, lets her weight rest against Jane’s lap. Her hands caress each of Jane’s sides, including the one with the bruise. She is full and she needs something to anchor her to the moment. “This is superficial,” she says. The wound is warm under her palm, and it undulates with the way she rocks her hips. “It should heal quickly.”

Jane has to tell her long legs to still because Maura’s rhythm is a deadly one and if she gives into it too fast, she’ll come again before Maura even gets a chance. Looking up and seeing perfect tits beneath a Boston jersey does the opposite of help. “‘S that what this is all about? I got hurt? Because I wasn’t the only one.” She tries to control the speed of Maura’s fucking, but she gets lost in the feeling of Maura’s ass in her hands, full and soft and pushing silicone into her at the perfect angle. “Agh,” she moans, unable to keep up her tough exterior.

“No, that’s not it,” Maura yelps when Jane pushes up with her pelvis, going deep. She gathers her long honey hair into her hands, holding it up before letting it go and puffing feminine little moans above her head. Her fingers then go back to Jane, to that one puckermark of a scar just to the right of her abdomen. “I just… I needed this. Without the fighting and the tension. I…”

“Hey, hey, ok,” Jane says through a grimace, because orgasm threatens her again. “I - I’m not complainin’, y’know,” she laughs, and then, finally, finally, Maura does too. “The sportswear was a nice touch.”

Maura winks, and then she picks up the pace of her ride, the fucking now fast, and hard. “Think… oh. Think of it as a ceasefire, my love,” she struggles to reply. Her gaze drops, because Jane is shaking and then tossing her head back against the pillow. Maura can think of nothing better to usher Jane through her climax than the cries bubbling up out of her own mouth from how good Jane feels inside, so she doesn’t hide them.

“Shit,” Jane clenches her teeth as she comes again, her grip tight against Maura’s skin, holding her in place.

So, Maura slows, bends down, letting every inch of her upper body touch every inch of Jane’s until their lips meet. Each kiss is soft, slow, and sweet. “Hmm,” Maura hums when Jane stills.

“Proud of yourself?” Jane asks hoarsely, and Maura sits up again, resuming the winding of her hips. She shrugs and smirks. Jane licks the length of her own thumb and puts it on Maura’s clit to humble her as much to repay her for the good time.

“Oh, Jane,” Maura breathes out when she feels it. Bolts of electricity speed all the way to her brain, and she spreads her thighs so that Jane can have better access and she can ride faster.

“Hey, oh,” Jane coos. “It’s not gonna take long,” she says, and Maura glares at the pride she senses in the statement. “It’s not,” Jane insists. “I know you, you know me. I’ll get ya there quick. Just ride it out.”

Maura would never tell Jane, but she’s grateful for Jane’s commitment, her steadfastness. Because true to her word, she gets Maura there quick. Maura accepts the oxytocin bath over her whole body, arching her back and making her cry into her own palm as it slides down her face. The other flattens against Jane’s chest, holding on tight until every jerky motion cycles through her hips and she can gather herself. “That…”

“Was quick,” says Jane. “Told ya. I know this was a you-showin’-me-who’s-boss kinda thing but I couldn’t let ya get me twice without a little bit of fun for yourself.”

Maura hangs her head. She wants to dismount, but her legs are like jelly and the thought of pulling Jane out of her incites grief. Feelings of loss she doesn’t quite want to deal with for at least the next few seconds. “I was going to say that was good,” she admonishes Jane’s humility.

“We’re good together,” Jane says. “Like I said before: this was never the problem with us. And if I’m hearin’ you right, you don’t want the other problems in the way tonight.”

Maura bites down on her lower lip, hard, her crying tell. She hates it, but Jane is right and Jane has seen her. Has listened. Suddenly she needs nothing more than to lie down. So, she does, moving until she is under the covers and hears Jane divest herself of the toy they’d shared. It falls to the floor, and Jane turns until she can gather Maura up from behind. “Is it ok if I stay here tonight?” Maura asks, her voice quiet and unsure.

“Course,” mumbles Jane into the hair on the back of Maura’s head. Maura moves backwards until most of their skin touches. Jane’s hand slips under the jersey on Maura and then she huffs. “Take this off, would ya? You’ll sleep better without it, trust me.”

Maura undoes the buttons of the jersey with care, and with Jane’s help, unsnaps her bra. Those fall to the floor, too, and Maura lets a little more vulnerability creep in now that they lie naked together. She pulls Jane’s hand up close to her heart, flattening it until it presses on her sternum. “I think…” she wavers, contemplates how much she should say, but who else would she tell? “I think Agent Booth is in love with Doctor Brennan,” she finishes quietly.

Jane smirks because Maura can’t see. “I think so, too,” she agrees, leaving out the fact that Booth has confessed as much to her. “Big time.”

“He should tell her,” Maura says as she snuggles closer. Jane gathers her up with both arms.

“I think he has,” Jane chances, hoping Maura doesn’t ask because she won’t be giving up much more.

“And she rejected him?” Maura is surprised.

Jane kisses Maura’s earlobe to soften what she’s about to say. “Well, you’re the one who always says it’s about more than just love, right? Maybe he’s just tryin’ to prove himself worthy right now.”

Maura is quiet for a bit because she had said that before, it’s true. “I don’t think it’s about being worthy, either. He seems like quite a worthy mate.”

“Hmm, I agree,” Jane burrs, which earns her a pinch on the forearm. “Ow! Not.. not for me, obviously,” she corrects, though if their lives had been different and they’d met under better circumstances... “But you’re right.”

“Maybe her heart just isn’t ready yet,” Maura whispers, curling into herself all while making sure Jane curls around her.

“That’s not a very you thing to say,” Jane comments, amusement taking her inflection up a bit.

“What do you mean, it’s not a me thing to say?”

“Well, no studies about trauma? Or the neuroscience behind cold feet?” Jane argues. “No cardio-cerebral-blah blah blah?”

Maura pulls Jane’s hand to her face so she can bite down on its index finger. Jane yelps, and Maura soothes with her tongue. Swirls it around, sucks until the pain goes and Jane relaxes. “No, not this time. I want you to hear me.”

“I’m still listenin’, even when you do sound like a textbook,” Jane tells her. “But, for what it’s worth, I agree with you. I don’t think her heart is ready yet. I also just don’t know how long he can wait.”

Maura says nothing. Jane accepts that, snuggles close, and lets herself fall asleep against Maura while the last of the Sox game carries in from the living room. Maura waits until she hears that deep, even breathing to speak. “How long can you wait?” she asks when she knows she won’t get an answer.

They lay, and Jane sleeps, for over an hour. Maura looks out the window through the crack in the curtains, and the April moon shines brightly. She knows she won’t rest with it there, not as she lies now, and not until she gets up to use the restroom that is attached to Jane’s bedroom. She pats, Jane stirs, but doesn’t free her. “Move, please. I need up,” she says softly.

Jane wakes enough to move and settles onto her back again, with a huff of sleepy air and a stretch of just her lower half under the sheets. It evokes visceral memories in Maura, of their marriage bed, and she’s glad for the dark on the way into the bathroom and the way out of it, because she can’t hide the emotion on her face. She’s also glad for the way Jane’s eyes flutter with dreams, how her consciousness drifts beyond the here and now. Maura’s hands are cold from having just been washed, and her feet from the spring chill. Her heart is cold with all that they’ve become.

And as if anticipating it, Jane wakes when Maura climbs back into bed. “C’mere,” she says, “it’s cold tonight.”

Maura frowns, and the tears might win. She burrows into the side that Jane’s offered, and hides her head in the crook of Jane’s shoulder in case they do. She finds Jane’s bruise and rubs on it again. When she speaks, she has to sniffle some moisture away. “What are we doing?”

“Sleepin’,” Jane deadpans, pulling her close and kissing her temple. “Shh.”

“Not what I mean. I can’t just keep using you; you’re so kind,” the words are muffled against Jane’s skin.

Jane snorts; she wakes fully. “Wha-?” She asks as her brain catches up. “What do you mean, usin’ me?”

Maura scoffs. “Using you. I can’t just show up whenever I want to be penetrated. It’s not fair to you,” she answers.

Jane frowns, and then squints. “You gotta be so… clinical?”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I like to be accurate,” Maura says.

“But that’s not accurate,” Jane argues.

“Of course it is,” Maura responds. It intrigues her, Jane’s line of thought, so she pushes up on her elbows until she can look Jane in the face. Green meets brown and Maura bites her lip again. Oh hell, she thinks, because she can’t stop her hand from smoothing the hair on the top of Jane’s head.

Jane knows the effect she’s had, and so she shuts her eyes and smiles. “I mean, the using, maybe sometimes. You deserve to use me a little bit after everything that went down between us,” she says. Maura pulls back, but Jane’s hand on the small of her back brings her close again. “Plus - I know I’m not just a dick to you.”

This time, Maura’s face scrunches. “Must you be so non-clinical?”

Jane barks out a laugh. “You want me to say, uh, non-biological phallus-shaped object, Doctor?” she prods, and Maura blushes before she shrugs. “Either way, it’s true. No matter what you might say. Sure you’re mad at me, and maybe I’m mad at you, and we’re not together anymore. But we’re never just ships passin’ in the night, here, babe. We’re makin’ love. Every time. Because we miss each other. I miss you.”

Jane is earnest, not desperate. She’s open, but not distraught. And Maura melts into her arms because of it. “Oh, Jane,” she breathes again, just before they kiss and just before Jane shifts on top of her for the first time this evening.

#lauren writes crossover fanfiction #there's sex in this one fyi #sex barely related to an already tenuous plot #also it's long #it's a coin toss whether any of these scenes will end up in the actual fic #but this one probably has the best chance #jane would also give a seeley-esque 'makin' love' speech so here it is

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cambria-writes · 1 year

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hello! welcome back!

would you look at that i've remembered to update! y'all lucky it took me almost two years to update with chapter 16 on AO3 and by the time i've posted that one here i'll probably have chapter 17 done!

not gonna lie though every time i see the word counts for these chapters i want to cry. i love reading long chapters so want to put that out too, but several years ago i guess 2-3k felt like a marathon to me!

and that's okay. that's growth. 🌱

pairing: patrick jane x reader word count: 2,262 rating: M, each chapter rated individually warning: alcohol consumption, reader drinks maybe a little too much, reckless flirting, Frat Boys, swearing, reader isn't often referred to with pronouns but they are afab

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𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖛𝖊: ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔤𝔫𝔢

Patrick Jane helps you through your sobbing the only way you believe he knows how to. For a few minutes, he lets you cry. Vent. When the tea begins to cool beyond Peak Consumption Temperature, he begins to talk.

And, really, doesn't stop.

He talks about how the older woman you saw was the original killer. Explains to you what you already know about her motives. You aren't sure how Mr Jane could possibly know this, too, but you stay quiet and listen. He says that she was targeting young women because she believed them closer to the truest human nature. She killed those who looked down on her and belittled her. And eventually she found someone worth keeping around.

It was a murderous cult, is what it was. In the end, it was someone who had gone off the deep end and took their passion too far. You don't have it in you to argue. He isn't completely wrong, but you can't find the words (or the air in your lungs) to explain what exactly it was. Not that Jane would believe you even if you did.

By this point in the conversation, despite yourself, you drink. Camomille probably. You can feel it calm you. You stare down into the cup while he speaks. You don’t dissociate. Not really. But you blank out for a few seconds, long enough for it to be noticeable, you think. Slack jaw. Slumped shoulders. Vacant expression. You tense when you see a hand approach you before realizing Mr Jane is just taking the cup and saucer away from you.

“I can help you with that,” he says, calmly and quietly. You find yourself nodding without thinking. Frown into your empty hands.

“Help me with what?” You don’t look up. You know what he’ll say and how he looks at you.

“That depends on why you want,” is Mr Jane’s typical non-answer. “I can make you forget. It’s temporary, but it works. For a while. Or,” he leans forward, leaning his elbows on his knees and threading his hands in front of him. “I can teach you.”

The tone of his voice is serious. No kidding, no joke. He wants to teach you something. Now you look up. The intensity in his eyes almost makes you sweat.

“Teach me what?”

A grin fit for the devil spreads across Jane’s face, white teeth showing.

“How to sharpen that fear into a knife.”

Your tears are still drying on your face. But slowly, quietly, you can feel something hungry expand in your chest.

The first exercise is in a bar. A dive bar. Sleazy, questionably sanitary and filled with even more questionable characters. The beer’s not even that good. You drink it anyways. It makes it easier to talk. Removes your bias. Removes the majority of the self-doubt.

That’s what Jane says, anyways. Part of you can believe it. The other part believes in ulterior motives in spite of yourself.

It takes the time of a beer and a half before he wanders off. Orders you to watch closely what happens, to try and memorize every movement he makes. No matter how small it may seem, you are asked to track everything. The small rub of his thumb when he shakes a woman’s hand. The lack of any nervous tics altogether. Slow, deliberate blinking. Leaning in for conversation, but only after confirming boundaries. Everything about Jane’s posture screams “I’m paying attention to you and only you”.

The woman excuses herself and grabs her jacket. Jane makes his way back towards you with a martini he didn’t have before. As the woman threads an arm through a sleeve, she pauses, shoulders the rest of the jacket, and reaches into the left pocket. You already know what’s in there, but the surprise on her face shows that she had no idea. She looks around to find a familiar dirty blonde head, but gives up after a few seconds.

She exits the bar with a smile on her face and her phone in her hands.

“That was smooth,” you comment, eyes glued to the door shutting behind the woman. “She seemed pissed that you even came up to her until you shook her hand.” You turn to Mr Jane. His face is plastered with a look of pride and satisfaction. “Is this witchcraft?”

He lets out a quiet bark of laughter. “No, darling, that is just the simplicity of the human mind.” Places a hand on your shoulder and squeezes. “It’s easy to make anyone like you as long as you push the right buttons.”

You’re too distracted by the warmth of his hand to mention that his phone hasn’t gone off yet.

You can’t put words to it yet, but there’s an idea slowly sprouting somewhere in the back of your mind.

“So, tell me.” The hand disappears from your shoulder. Jane sits back on his stool and sips at his martini. “What did you see?”

You look down for a few seconds, gather your thoughts. You saw a lot of things. Though honestly, you can dismiss about half of them. Grab your beer and take a swig straight from the bottle before you can speak.

“You were always turned towards her, that’s the first thing I noticed,” you begin, eyes still unfocused, aimed somewhere at the floor. “Your feet were always pointed towards her, which I think is one of those subconsciously-read body language things about attentiveness. You kept your arms open and wide apart. That would look inviting I guess. And you didn’t hunch or try to make yourself smaller. Not… not in a presumptuous way, though. Confident, I guess?”

A quiet snort and a hint of a grin. Alright, not bad, you’re on the right track. Straighten yourself on your stool and grab your beer with both hands. Look up directly at Jane.

“The handshake; you did that thing where you rub with your thumb. She looked weirded out by that, but seemed to relax when she realized you didn’t look nervous. You put yourself between her and the rest of the crowd, but in a way that I think gave the illusion of privacy? You didn’t impose yourself so much that it looked like you were boxing her in. She had the option to walk away any time she wanted.”

You’re about to continue when two things happen: Jane looks above and beyond your right shoulder and you can feel more than see the shadow that someone is casting down on you. Already hate the vibe. And the smell. Can’t fathom why anyone would want to bathe in anything related to Axe. You cast a withering look at Jane; though he looks some measure of upset, when his gaze lands back on you, you know that look. It’s a challenge.

Alright. Sure. You’ve done significantly worse over the past several days. Turning down an arrogant idiot should be a piece of cake.

Turn around on your stool to greet the intruder. He has already made the mistake of being far too close to you. Your face is level with one of his pectorals. Jock #1 is “casually” leaning against the bar. Does his best impression of someone who is failing to look uninterested. He looks at you like he’s just noticed you. Or, at least, you figure that’s the look he’s going for. It isn’t working.

You keep your expression flat. He’s clearly expecting you to ask something. Who he is, what he wants. You keep quiet. The man looks significantly more uncomfortable when your eyes move from his forehead back down to his eyes. Only then does he finally break the silence.

“I, uh. Hi.” He at least has the decency to cringe.

“I was shot in the leg a few days ago, I was targeted by a serial killer and her equally psychotic sidekick, had brain matter splatter on my face no sooner than a few hours ago, and I really just want to get shitfaced and forget about it in pleasant, intelligible company. You feel like you can have a five minute conversation with me that won’t bore me to death? Give it a shot. Otherwise I’m going to stay here, have another shitty beer in this shitty bar and lament my shitty life with the only not shitty thing to have been in it in the past five days.”

Take a slow, deliberate swig of your beer and stare the man down. He is completely slacked-jawed. Mutters a quick apology, grabs his half-empty beer back from the counter and walks away much faster than he arrived. You breathe out a sigh of relief. Turn back to Jane to find him looking deep in contemplation. Quickly look away and down the rest of your bottle of beer. Stings your throat and eyes. Ask for another one. Three beers is probably too much—when in the world did you become such a lightweight?—but whatever. Jane offered to pay. You aren’t one to squander an opportunity to get drunk on someone else’s dollar.

Jane waits until you’ve dragged a third of your beer. “Your turn.”

You almost sputter, but don’t. You knew what this was about. Grab your beer and stand and do your best impression of someone who isn’t you.

“Alright, sure. Who?,” you ask, looking around the bar. Not much to pick from. You catch the obnoxious Axe man from before shooting you furtive looks. You hope he doesn’t think he’s being subtle.

“That one,” Jane says, eyes on you but pulling your attention in the direction he nods his head.

It’s an older man, sitting alone under a window. Not entirely sure how many years he’s got on you. Something in you bristles at it; you wouldn’t have dared approach him sober. But inebriated, you can acknowledge that man is absolutely your type.

You don’t ask anything. Jane’s probably done the preliminary background check in his head already. You aren’t too worried. Take a deep breath. Another. Turn around and stride on forward.

You exit the Citroen more gracefully than you’d have thought possible. And also far more dramatically. Jane brought you back to the CBI office. Not sure why. You don’t question it; you don’t feel like going home anyways. You were hunted down before, you could be again. Feels like everyone is painting a bull’s eye on you. The thought doesn’t unnerve you as much as you think it probably should.

Swat away Jane’s hand when he offers to help you walk to the door. Mutter something about not being a goddamn child. You bump shoulders as you walk. More accurately, your shoulder bumps his bicep.

“You almost had him, you know,” Jane says airily. Trails off like he wants to say something else, but you know he won’t. All it does is burn your pride even more.

Shove him with your elbow. He barely moves. “Shut up. Okay? Shut—just, shut up.” Wait patiently to be let into the building. Someone from security nods at Jane. You try to remember to ask him if he actually lives here later.

You fall asleep on a leather couch covered by a knit blanket.

You wake up with the suggestion of a headache. The lights are too bright. Despite their deliberately hushed tones, you can hear Jane argue with someone. Sounds like Agent Lisbon. You pretend to still be sleeping. It isn’t hard. There’s a pause when Jane speaks that makes you think he noticed, thought.

“You can’t keep taking her back here, Jane!,” you hear Lisbon whisper. She doesn’t sound pleased. “This is the CBI, not your personal motel!”

Shame crawls under your skin and feels like molten metal in your veins. You weren’t sober enough last night to realize that crashing at the CBI, in plain sight, probably wasn’t a good idea. Especially not following their kind-of consultant.

Jane’s muttering is too quiet for you to understand anything he says. Sounds like he’s getting further away; taking Lisbon away from you? You appreciate the distance regardless of the reason. You aim to get up slowly, but you’re greeted with a glass of water and what you expect are aspirin. Practically jump out of your skin at the sight of someone holding them out to you.

You take the offered water and pills with a quiet thank you. Down them and chug the rest of the water. Hand the glass back, but don’t let go of it right away. You look at the man expectantly.

“...fine. I’m Agent Cho,” he concedes. You let go of the glass.

“Benraft,” you answer shortly. The look he gives you is confusing. You ultimately settle for feeling proud. Agent Cho gives you a nod before standing and going off somewhere out of sight.

A quick look around reveals that no one is at their desk. Good. You take the chance to escape. Make your way as best you can to the stairway that leads to Mr Jane’s hideout. You don’t expect the sliding steel door to be unlocked. And it isn’t; you tug a few times. No give.

You let yourself slide down against the door, sit on the ground in a huff. There isn’t much for you to do. You wait five minutes. Ten. Thirty. And no Jane to be found. You’re reluctant to use your phone battery more than necessary. It takes some debating, but ultimately a trip to any kind of store is probably preferable to waiting like a lost puppy.

You almost don’t get lost getting to and out the front door.

𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

@fucklife-or-me @yearningforsappho @mamacakeishereforfun

please let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future updates!

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visionarystoryteller · 6 months

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Moving Forward|| Love For Noella Levesque

*this is apart of ‘Love For Noella Levesque’ OC World*

Noella was sitting at production, looking at her phone as there was a commercial break, seeing a message from one of her friends with a link to WWE. They finally had released a statement. Noella let out a deep breath before opening the link.

Following the news of Noella Helmsley’s exit with WWE, Vince McMahon,CEO, offers a statement- “Noella Helmsley was quite the worker here within the WWE and her hard work will be missed. She had the heart of a leader and can make anyone proud, she would’ve been a great production runner here. she’ll always have a place here.” Good luck Noella!

Noella was flabbergasted beyond belief but had to snap out of it as she heard voices in her headset letting her know commercial was ending and they were back any second. She did her job as usual but harbored her emotions. She worked almost like a robot. Tony took notice and got Jerichos attention. Once Tony pointed to Noella, Chris looked at her and saw her state. He tried to think about what could have sent her into it. He’d known the girl since she was basically a baby. Chris pulled out his phone and saw news updates about WWE. Chris quickly looked at the articles and instantly knew what sent Noella into robotics mode. Chris put his phone down and excused himself and went to sit down next to Noella. Noella kept her eyes forward but felt someone sit next to her. She darted her eyes quickly and found Chris sitting next to her. He didn’t try to look at her, looking forward himself. The pair had been here many times before. It seemed to be a thing Chris and Noella did a lot. Chris was no idiot to how Vince treated her. Literally like the stepchild from hell, but one he employed. Vince constantly made her jump through hoops. Noella had confided in Chris a lot during his time there before he left, he knew Noella wanted to work in production, run show…Vince hated the idea of her running it.

“Feels like we’ve been here before huh” Chris offers. Noella stays quiet, wanting to smile but finding the words of the article stuck on repeat on her mind.

“Right forgot you won’t talk for about 5 minutes, I’ll be quiet” Chris says leaning back in his chair. Noella rolled her eyes. As she watched the screen she saw Max was having an interview in the ring with Tony Shivone. Noella watched max wanting nothin more than to just run to him and hug him. He always made her feel better.

“So you and Friedman” Chris says. Noella sighs.

“Shut up Chris.” Noella says. Chris chuckles.

“Right…” he begins to tap his fingers on the table. Noella looks over at him and Chris can see it in her eyes she’s so confused and hurt. Chris sighs and gives her a sympathetic look.

“You’re better here anyway.” Chris says. Noella shrugs.

“I’m just so…he’s such an asshole” Noella says.

“One who knows how to capitalize off bullshit” Chris agrees. Noella nods in agreement. Noella takes a deep breath.

“Hey Tony” she calls down the table to him.

“Yea Noe?” He asks.

“Can I go take some time, I shouldn’t be longer than maybe 30 minutes” Noella says.

“Yea go ahead, me and the others got it for right now” Tony says. Noella nods and removes her headset and grabs her phone, standing up and leaving.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

Max got to production after his segment in the ring and looked for Noella. He didn’t see her sitting there. Maxs eyes scan the production team and lock with Chris’s.

“She’s around here somewhere. She needed some time out” Chris shakes his head with sad eyes.

“Fuck…what happened” Max asks Chris walking closer to him. He crosses his arms at his chest as Chris sits at the monitors.

“Vince McMahon…” Chris says. Maxs closes his eyes and clenches his jaw. Max stiffly nods his head and turns to leave.

“Thanks Jericho” he says as he leaves. Max walks down the halls looking for Noella. When he couldn’t find her he was starting to panic a little. He eventually spotted Britt and stopped her.

“Hey Britt!” He calls. Britt turns around and sees max, she walks over to him.

“What’s up?” She asks.

“Have you seen Noella?” He asks. Britt thinks for a second.

“No sorry” she says. Max huffs and speeds away. Max walked everywhere before he finally saw her coming back into the arena. Max took a deep relieved breath and sped over to Noella. Other patrons were milling around but not paying attention to anything, that’s when Noella heard heavy and fast steps coming towards her. Noella looked up more and saw Max walking pretty fast to her. He must’ve seen it or heard. Noella stayed in place and briefly closed her eyes as she took a breath. When she opened her eyes, Max had just got to her. He looks her over before picking her up, her legs automatically wrapping around him. Noella took a second to respond with her upper body before she wrapped the rest of herself around Max. He held her head down on his shoulder as he turned to walk back to the locker rooms. Noella just stayed wrapped in his arms, tired and sad. Once they got to Maxs locker room, he sat them on the couch, her still wrapped around Max. Max rubbed up and down her back.

“He’s making it look like I would have the production job at WWE. He’s mocking me with the dream position and now that I have it somewhere else he thinks I’m worth it or some shit? What kind of shit is that?” Noella speaks into the air.

“He wants to get to you”

“If people actually knew” Noella says irate.

“You could always say something but you don’t owe him anything Noella. I will tell you this all the time, you owe no one nothing. Well except me because well I’m like I’m your mush” Max says, his cheeks reddening at the end of his statement. Noella had called him her mush because of him admitting he was only mushy feeling toward her. Noella pulled back from his shoulder and looked at him, a small smile trying to break on her lips.

“MJF deserves everything right” Noella chuckles out rolling her eyes. Maxwell chuckles.

“Your funny sweetheart” max laughs. Noella gives a small laugh back.

“I try” she shrugs with a small smile. Max chuckles.

“There’s my girl” max says as he puts his fingers on her chin to pull her closer to him. Noellas cheeks redden before max pulls her into a kiss. His facial hair kissing her cheeks. Maxs hand wraps around in a hold on Noellas hair and tips her head back, giving him access to her neck. He trailed kisses along her neck, traveling to her ear.

“My pretty kissed out girl” Max whispers into her ear before kissing back to her lips. Noella hummed in agreement, her hands gripped onto his shoulders. Max pulled back.

“If I don’t stop kissing you now, I don’t think I’ll stop” Max says quietly, running his thumb along her lips. Noella looked at max with soft eyes.

“Maybe I like the idea of you not stopping” Noella says quietly back. Max groans and leans his forehead on Noellas.

“Sweetheart, you have a show to run” Max strains himself to say. Noella sighs and nods.

“Right, I should probably get back” she says. Max nods and helps her off his lap. Max stand up and pulls her into a hug before she leaves.

“I’ll see you later Mush” she says kissing his cheek. Max shakes his head chuckling with red cheeks.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚. ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.

In the weeks following Vince’s rebuttal, Noella released a statement.

@NoellaALev: do not take Vince’s words seriously. I worked my ass off for years meeting every goal and expectation to be told I wasn’t going to get the job, or I wasn’t ready.

The wrestling world was set back. Some people thought Noella to be lying and that she’s mad she didn’t get it. Truth was Noellas glad now she didn’t get the job there. Everyone here is caring and fun. Tony likes to keep up his employees morale, often inviting them to barbecues and jags games. It was a whole change of pace from what it was like at WWE. Of course after her follow-up statement was released, it took about maybe a half an hour for her dad to start blowing up her phone. She had been helping some of the crew clean up when her dad’s theme music played. She took a breath and decided to answer it.

“Hello” she says, walking away from the almost cleaned up production area.

“Finally. Hi Noella.” Her dad says.

“Again hello.” She says staring down at her finger nails.

“Vince is pissed.” Her dad says.

“Cool. Don’t care” Noella responds. Paul takes a deep breath.

“Noella…you have to be careful. He can sue you” Paul says.

“Yea and I will sue him for the same thing. Defamation of my work. He needs off his pedestal. If you just called to tell me shit about Vince, I’m uninterested and busy.” Noella says.

“Noella I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks.” Paul says.

“Okay and?”

“Noella please just talk to me.” Paul begs.

“I am right now.”

“Don’t be a smartass Noella.” Paul chides. Noella rolls her eyes but stays quiet.

“Are you liking the job?” He asks. Noella chewed on her lip for a moment.

“Yes a lot” Noella responds.

“That’s good. I am proud of you Noella” Paul says. Noella closes her eyes to keep the tears at bay.

“Look, I have to finish with some things. I’ll talk soon….bye” Noella says a bit choked up before hanging up. She put her phone in her pocket and leaned against the wall taking a deep breath.

#visionarystoryteller #storytellingg #storyteller writes #story teller g #storytellerguniverse #wrestling imagines #aew #all elite wrestling #aew imagines #wwe #AEW fic #wwe fic #wrestling fic #love for noella levesque #MJF #Chris Jericho

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ranalatus · 2 years

Note

IM SCREAMING AND ON MY KNEES RN LITERALLY THANK TOU SO MUCH childe suffer challenge 🤗🤗

funny but do you think like hydro users could produce mist? and images onto the mist?? because if so imagine that + signora. im deviously laughing rn. OR OR imagine stupid scaramouche drowning in indescribable emptiness because of him realizing theres nothing he can do in this position, he cant even throw his hissy fits 😭😭

OR THEM HAVING A LITTLE MEETING TALKIJG SHIT. "rhey are so annoying." "ihate them." then jts just "hate who?" HAHAHAHA farts

NAHHH I LOVE THE MEETING IDEA LMFOAAJDBDB IMAGINE SCARAMOUCHE JUST STARING INTO NOTHING, FEELING LIKE A HOLLOWED OUT DOLL WHILE THE OTHERS TALK SHIT ABOUT YOU BCS YET AGAIN YOU MANAGED TO GAIN THE RIGHTS TO THE PLANS THE HARBINGERS THEMSELVES SUGGESTED TO THE TSARITSA

I hope you don't mind me taking creative liberties of your harbinger torture methods bcs I LOVE them sm

spoilers - Signora's backstory (??), Scaramouche's backstory

warnings: mentions of war, blood, manipulative reader, reader is the bad guy, reader is very much the bad guy

There's nothing but the smell of blood filling her nose, nothing but the remains of war flooding her vision. Signora feels nothing but dread as she relives the times of war from back when she was still a normal, regular maiden of Mondstadt

She hates it. She hates it so, so much

A faint chuckle echoes from beyond all the yells of other people, people who were rescuing the dead bodies. It was a cold laugh, not fitting the cries of family members who lost their loved one in the war

Her hand gently grazes the face of her beloved, the face bloodied and unrecognizable thanks to the battle he fought

Her hand passed through the mist

Mist. Of course

How could she forget? You have hydro vision users on your side. Hell, you have everyone on your side

She clenches her fist. A long time ago, you had her on your side as well

This is but another attempt at taming her, another attempt at getting her back on your side after she, in your words, went berserk

“My dear ember, do you see it now?” The illusion of her husband melts away, and she has to hold herself back from clutching it close to her chest. Her re-opened wounds burns in your hands, as you grab her chin and make her look at you. As you force her to look into your cold, dead eyes under the facade of comfort and warmth

“You are nothing without me. I gave you everything, and I can so easily take it all away too. Now let's stop being defiant, you'd look so much better under my control anyway, ember.”

You're smiling. You're smiling and everything is going your way. You're smiling and you have everyone and their weaknesses wrapped around your fingers like you're holding a marionette's strings

Scaramouche isn't anticipating the moment you find out his identity. His weakness

Because at this point, it's no longer a matter of if, but of when

He can't even shake in fear, he can't even cry. No, he can only sit still like a good doll and wait until you finally find the secret he's hiding. Wait until you untangle his puppet strings and bring him back to life

He doesn't want to. Back then, he used to wish for someone to use him, for him to have a purpose

He doesn't want you to give him that purpose

He's always been stubborn, easily angered and easy to tease. That's what you made him to be, after all. Even without you controlling him, you wrote out his fate and destiny with your tongue

He let you control his image. He let you control his favor

“Balladeer,” A familiar voice. He looks to the side, finding the grinning face of your servant. He can't remember his name, all he remembers is that he stuck faithfully and loyally to your side even from back when you had no power in the palace. “My master is calling for your presence.”

His heart, he doesn't even have one, pounds roughly against his chest. There is a knowing glint in your servant's eyes, and he swears he can see your foggy figure behind your servant with the same knowing grin on your face

He let you control his everything but he can't, he doesn't want you to control his life

But it's no longer his choice, is it? The moment you stepped foot into this castle all those years ago, shivering and begging for help, the lives of it's inhabitants ended up in your hands

Now, they have to live exactly how he has all these years. Empty, hollow puppets

— Ehe fatui!reader lore

#genshin impact fanfiction #yandere genshin impact #genshin fatui #genshin impact fatui #fatui #fatui!reader #genshin impact signora #genshin impact scaramouche #fatui harbingers #☁️.brainrots

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larry-the-demon · 10 months

Text

The first thing I can remember, if I’m being completely honest with myself, is not my father. Not the one that sired me, nor the one who raised me. But I don’t feel like that’s particularly unusual--I simply feel a bit bad about it, that is all. Guilt. A son’s guilt. How often in a century does that come around, and only after everything has gone to shit! But that is how it always is.

No--the first thing I can remember, before it all went to shit, before anything, before everything, is the mud. I remember rolling in it, twisting my spine over and digging my shoulders into it so that I would dissolve into nothing but that holy earth. I would trot home, fur covered in the muck of the woods, and I remember someone shaking their head at me, laughing, telling me I was to grow so big and strong one day! The earth loved me so. The earth loved me, as the earth loved all its children, even my mother, even my fathers. The second thing I remember is when I was given my name.

Fenrir, I remember my father--the sire, that is--calling, Fenrir. Marsh-dweller. Come up out of the muck, would you? One would think you were a frog, not a wolf!

I AM a frog! I would call back. Ribbit! Ribbit! I can’t come out of it, this is my home! This is my name! It is a part of me!

…Well. I’m probably more dramatic reminiscing on it than I was as a small boy, but whatever. It’s true, isn’t it? You can’t deny it. It is a part of me, for better or for worse. And oh, how it often seemed worse, later on. How it seems worse now. But that’s irrelevant at this point, if I’m going to tell this properly, and I feel that you deserve to hear this properly. You, out of anyone. So I must take my time about it.

Anyway. After my first few memories--well, I remember my mother, she would echo my name after blood-father called, and the waters would tremble against my furs, sorrow, sorrow. It was suffocating. I did not want to be near it. My father, then, I’d stay near him--but he was a unit with her, they worked together. She was inescapable, unavoidable. I imagine all mothers are.

She had her moments, though. Sometimes, she would pull me onto her lap and stroke my fur how I liked it, rough so that I could feel it in my bones. It was on my mother’s lap that I learned the news of my sister’s leaving.

My sister--she’s another memory. She was rather melancholy, her hair long and lank, shying away from everything that dared breathe life at her. “Scaredy-cat!” I used to taunt her, nip at her heels, but she would only trudge on, as if she did not understand the most intimate language of siblings. I don’t think she ever once turned around to look at me. The mud terrified her.

I’d only last seen her a few days prior, as I sat there on my mother’s lap, as I felt her knuckles drag over each individual ridge of my vertebrae. It was my father, of course, who brought the news.

“She’s left us!” He cried, a little more distressed than you’d expect from the likes of him. “She’s gone.”

My mother stood suddenly; I dropped off her lap like a stone and rolled under the table. “Who.”

And suddenly, my father was himself again. He laughed, his hand slipped behind his head to scratch at the wild shock of red hair that grew upon it. “...Well,” he said.

“You--you!” My mother spat. “You rotten--you trickster god, you, you! You sold her! You sold her to them!” She shook in her fury, her devastation, and the house trembled, I could hear the water calling, sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!

My father only laughed again, and you could tell a little too quick that it was genuine. “Dear,” he said to her, “They would have killed her otherwise.”

My mother went still at that. “What do you know,” she murmured, low and dangerous, “that I do not?”

And my father was all too happy to oblige. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he told her. “Nothing, really. Just precautions. Listen--they gave her an entire kingdom! She rules in a palace, she has riches beyond what you can imagine!”

“And I bet you can imagine nine times as much,” my mother spat.

Here, I thought she was being unfair. My sister--she would have been killed, and now she had a domain to herself! This put her on par with the gods, I thought.

But I stayed under the table. I did not want to be picked up by my mother again. When she touched me too often, I could feel the sorrow seep out of the water and through my skin, until I drowned in it. I think that’s why my father loved her.

Perhaps it's why my brother always hated her more. Not--not to say I ever hated my mother! It’s just--she got to be a bit much, sometimes. We were not the same sort of people. And my brother--well, he was even less her sort of people, though he’d been birthed by her just the same as my sister and I. He was my father’s son, through and through. Same laugh. Same look in his eye. He would tear down the world one day, I was sure of it. He used to chase me, in the marshlands, slipping through the water as if it were all he’d ever known, the only hint that he was stalking me being the glints of sun on his scales. It was great fun. I would gnaw on his fins in retaliation, and he would thrash, thrash about, until we both lay panting and laughing on the shore, until he would finally clam up and wander off for the day, and then I was left to gallivant in my marshes all alone.

He was born hearing my mother’s sorrow in his scales, he told me once. That’s his first memory--my mother’s wails, echoing cries, he told me they bit into his fins the same way I did. Only they didn’t let go. It must’ve been hard for him, especially one born so fit for the water, to hear her, hear her everywhere he went--I know I wouldn’t be able to stand it. I loved my mother, I loved her, but she was--she was all-encompassing, and young beasts do not take well to being trapped.

Eventually, they came for him, too, you know. My mother was less torn up about that one--after all, they dumped him in the ocean, and she could hear him, she could see him, she could call to him. She still didn’t like that he had to leave, though. Shockingly, that was the first time I ever saw my father get hit on the face. These days, I wish I’d seen it more often. He fucking deserved it.

It was on this night that I crept up to him, as the world lay dark and still, and asked why my siblings had been forced to go.

“They chose to,” he told me, then. “It was their will. And someday, it will be yours as well! That’s how these things go, little Fenrir.”

I took that explanation without much complaint, despite knowing that my sister could have been killed. My father wouldn’t lie to me. And so I moved on happily with my life for the next few months, sitting nose-deep in marsh water, burying myself in marsh grass, snapping up every marsh bug my young jaws could find. Fenrir! My father called, sometimes. Fenrir, Marsh-Dweller! Come out of your mud. And always, always, I would run to him, body soaked, chest heaving.

“Fenrir!” He exclaimed once, after I’d raced my way to him. “Child, come with me! We’re going exploring!”

Well--I’d sure as shit never gone properly exploring before, certainly not with my father, of course I was going to go! And so I trotted alongside him happily, stopping here and there to explore this new territory.

“Fenrir!” My father called after me, “Come here!”

And so I bounded to him, great leaps, tongue lolling, only to stop short at his side. “Father,” I asked him, “Who are these?”

“These,” my father told me, “Are the Aesir.”

“Ah,” I said. I did not know what the hell an Aesir was. “I see.”

The group of people stared back at me as I stared at them, a strange curiosity building between us. Once--only once--had a deer not run away at first catching my scent. This encounter reminded me of that.

“Rather big, isn’t he,” someone said, and my father laughed and laughed. By this time, I was as tall as his waist at the shoulder, and still hadn’t grown into my oversized paws. I turned my head away, feeling they were mocking my glaringly obvious lack of maturity. If only they fucking had been, really.

But no--whoever had spoken was dead serious. “Look at the thing’s claws,” he spat, from the back of the group. “You oughta just kill it, Loki. You know damn well how we feel about you and your family.”

My father became a little more serious, though he never stopped laughing, laughing, laughing. “We had a deal, Frey,” he said, “Me and the Aesir. Get your Vanir ass out of our business.”

Well, Frey didn’t take that all too kindly, and he lunged, but someone caught him, pulled him back. Frey thrashed and thrashed, but he couldn't really get anywhere. My father was bent at the waist, he was laughing so hard. I decided I didn’t really get this adult humour.

When the man who had caught Frey finally calmed him, he stepped out of the pack, stood right in front of my father. It was not an intimidation tactic. I was fascinated.

“I only ask that you and your lover stay out of trouble, now,” he said. “I will take care of the rest.”

And my father, he just laughed, and laughed and laughed.

That was the first time I’d ever met Tyr.

The first thing I could say about him with confidence was that he was alright. That day, my father traded me to the Aesir for a little bit of luck, and a little bit of time, all of which he kept to himself. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why they wanted me. They all despised me. I’d say ‘at first,’ but really, that never changed. The Aesir are simply like that. Very immovable, no matter what the stories you hear may be. Set in their ways.

So, I was taken to Asgard. I know, I know, how exciting, the promised land, the holy house of the gods, et cetera, et cetera. Honestly? I never thought it was worth shit. Couldn't find a marsh to save your life. I was stuck with the sun. At the very least, I couldn't hear my mother’s incessant worry. It’s an everyday thought for me, wondering if it’s driven my brother to madness yet. If it hasn’t by now, he’s got the strongest will in all the world.

Anyway. Asgard. They dumped me in a corral, of all places, like I was some sort of livestock--which, really, to them, I probably was--and then they left.

And that was that.

Later on, I learned it’d been someone’s duty to take care of me, but that whoever the fuck had pulled the short stick had simply been too scared, too much of a coward to follow through, and then allegedly they circled through the rest of the gods, who were all--you guessed it--fucking pussies. Anyway. Somehow, some way, I was stuck in that pen for I daresay a week before someone dropped by, and by then, I was starving, pathetic, and miserable, which, in a young wolf, is an understandable thing to be afraid of, but whose fault was that!? But the man who dropped by, he took one look at my pen and said, he said to me, “I’m letting you out.”

When I tell you I would’ve killed my entire birth family and laid their heads at his feet for him just saying that one sentence--well, to be fair, it’s not like I have much remaining care for them, so I suppose that’s not much of a stretch--but he opened the gate. And he beckoned me out. I could barely believe this as it was happening, as I trotted out to stand beside him, my tail pumping faster than it had in years. When he ruffled the hair at the crown of my head, his touch did not shout sorrow! at me, it spoke to me of the joy of a well-won victory.

“What is your name, child,” he asked, and he grinned down at me. Father, I thought, the only person I’d ever seen grin before, but he did not laugh, and besides, his hair wasn’t very red. I cocked my head.

“You held the Vanir Frey back when he would kill my father,” I said.

Here, he did laugh, but it was not the hoarse cackle that my father bellowed, it lacked the depravity, that wicked sparkle he would get whenever my mother’s sorrow leaked a little too harsh into the world.

“So I did,” he said.

“Why.” I asked.

Here, he turned away from me, began to walk. When I did not follow, he glanced back at me. Squinted.

“Well, come along now,” he said, simple as all that, and I crow-hopped after him out of excitement. “What is your name, child,” he asked of me again, and this time I could not resist the desire to tell him.

“I am Fenrir,” I answered, “Marsh-Dweller!”

He hummed, and looked down at me out of the corner of his eye. “I am Tyr,” he told me.

He was like this for most things, in the years I truly knew him--strong, simple statements of fact that drove home rather than dance around the point. A man of action rather than word, but then again, this could be said about many of the Aesir, yes? Tyr turned to me, back then, after revealing to me his name-- "I held Frey back,” he said, and here he paused. I saw his eyes drift from one direction slowly to the other, not afraid, not wary, but simply taking in all that was. Existing.

“I held Frey back because Loki’s death would have been over small insult.” he said. “And if Frey had challenged him with a duel, he surely would have used trickery to slide out of it. Honorless,” he said simply, “honorless death, honorless battle. What law is there if not the law of the sword, Fenrir?” He posed the question to me seriously, as if I had not known only the mud and marshes all my life. I watched him, hypnotized. You cannot understand if you have not met him--it is as with all natural-born leaders. There is simply a draw, a magnetic pull, something within that calls to you; something within you that knows: the desperation will be quelled, with this. He was a man who, in his mere existence, seemed to promise and exude the sort of sanctuary I had craved; here the influence of my heritage seemed to fall silent.

Finally, I answered: “I know no law.”

It was not a proud statement.

Tyr only smiled down at me, his not-Loki smile. “Well,” he said, “Would you like to learn, then?”

And of course my answer was yes; how could I ever turn him down? He walked, and I walked at his shoulder, and he told me all he knew of the battlefield. These were things that Loki had not bothered to tell me, for all I owned were fangs--and yet, Tyr did not seem to care.

“At the very least,” he told me, when I asked him why he spoke to me, “Know the opposition. Simply because the paw cannot hold the sword, the axe, does not mean that you will not cross it, you see?”

“...I see,” I claimed. He nodded. He knew I did not.

“Well,” he said, “then you see that if I didn’t know how the fang bit, I would not know to muzzle it before it did? So you must know to disable the hand before it strikes you down.”

Now, that made marginally more sense to me; it seemed logical.

Well--whatever impression I had made upon Tyr in that moment, in that afternoon, it seemed to have worked in some way or another, and he gathered me out of my solitude in the next afternoon; in this way he would teach me for the majority of my younger years. As time passed--and as I am sure I have told you before--it was Tyr that replaced Loki as the father of my mind, and of my heart. We took our meals together, trained together, he spent the better part of his days with me, back then. It was he who led me out of Loki’s accursed tricks, it was he who taught me the meaning of honour, of the law of this land--it was he who showed me how to skillfully cross my fangs against his sword.

It was this, in the end, I believe, that became the first catalyst, that became what destroyed the life we had built together, as father and son. You see--if your leader is fighting, even if it may simply be for sport, would it not be a spectacle? And so the Aesir preferred to watch as I pitted myself against him, again and again.

My father--Tyr, that is, not--not Loki--encouraged this, he believed it would make his fellow gods a bit less… afraid of me. That’s another thing, though--I understand, I understand being afraid of Loki’s son, but my father, my father was Tyr, I would swear by it! My father was Tyr. I meant them no harm, truly.

I suppose, however, that no harm is not what they saw. For though, in the beginning, Tyr beat me back again and again and again--so much so that I still have the scars across my body--eventually, inevitably, I began to win our little duels, and eventually, inevitably, the gods--well, the gods noticed. The gods noticed even moreso what they had seen all along, that is to say, I no longer only came up to their hips, but my shoulders matched heights with theirs. And unlike most canines, my paws had not been grown into, but rather grew with my body. And the implication here, you understand, was only that I’d grow taller. Stronger.

Pair that with my fangs, that had not chipped under Tyr’s sword, and my claws, which had not dulled across Tyr’s shield, and the Aesir had what they decided was a right proper issue on their hands.

But I wasn’t to know that until a fair bit later.

Well--it’d been quite a while after we’d started this sparring habit, and only a little since I’d started winning, when the gods--other than my heart and mind’s father, that is--decided to visit me--a little home visit, as I was in my pen. Now, this was an unprecedented event, this had never happened before, these gods taking an interest in my existence! And so I trotted right up to the gate, tail loosely wagging, and I asked them, I said, I said-- "You have never visited here before, Aesir, why must it only be my victory over Tyr that brings you? Have you not seen this wolf be lonely?”

Now, I thought I was mighty funny, back in the day. But nary a god laughed, the sick bastards. However, one did step forward; I recognized him as--well, he was very distinctive, wasn’t he, and Loki had spoken of him in passing, sometimes. His blood-brother, Odin. He only had one eye.

Nonetheless, he was still a very perceptive god. At the very least, he understood my greeting to be in jest. However, he still did not laugh, and for that I shan’t forgive him.

“Fenrir,” he said to me, “I propose… A challenge. A game, of sorts.”

“Ah,” I said.

“Do you accept this challenge?” Odin asked of me. And--

“Well,” I said, “I don’t see why not.”

I was rather cocky, back in the day. You know how being young is. Keeps you on top of the world, it does.

“Perfect,” Odin said to me, and beckoned behind him; one of them had been carrying a massive, heavy chain with them. It was now passed forward, and given to Odin, who presented it to me with a rather smug look on his face. “Test of strength. Break the chain you will be bound by.”

It was at this moment that Tyr decided to make his daily visit; he took one look at the congregation and frowned. “Why?” Tyr asked.

“Why not?” Odin asked of him. Tyr had no real response. “And besides, he has already agreed.”

And here, Odin had Tyr trapped--for me to not follow my word, to forfeit the challenge, was to destroy my name, my honour. Tyr frowned in my direction.

“I shall not resign,” I told him, for I should not. Odin hummed.

“Tyr,” he called, “Why not chain the beast? He is yours, after all.”

“Why not indeed,” Tyr muttered then, and took the chains out of Odin’s hands. Back then, I was still small enough for him to reach over my neck without me bending down, easily looping the chain and tethering it.

“Break it,” Odin challenged me. I rolled my shoulders, shifting the material, trying to assess its weakness--but the chain clattered to the ground in some cacophonous declaration of my glory. I frowned down at it.

“Ah,” I said. “I don’t suppose you have a better one? That one didn’t do much of anything, not--not really…”

Tyr looked down at the broken chain, and he looked over at the gathering of the Aesir standing witness. It took a long time for him to look back at me.

“No,” he said. “We don’t. That was our strongest.”

A lot of hushed muttering came after that, for what reason, I can’t say. Surely they’d already known that. Tyr, when he did look at me, would not look me in the eye. He kept giving these quick, furtive glances back to the gods, to his people.

“Tyr,” I said, but he did not respond. He walked over to the crowd of Aesir, he began talking to them, amongst them. Reassurances, I was convinced. Of my strength, of my honour. They did not have to fear me.

And yet they did fear me! And fear me so potently--in the next few days, all I could feel in the air was hostility, thick and heavy as humidity. No one bothered to watch the sparring matches between me and Tyr--which, to be honest, didn’t upset me in the slightest--and in the back of my mind there echoed a solid Clang! Clang! Clang! That while it seemed only a figment of my imagination, also seemed sure to drive me to the brink of insanity in its constant presence.

It felt as if, almost, the sorrow of my mother had come back to nip at my heels again. “Do you hear that?” I’d ask of Tyr, and he’d shake his head, confused, watching me cock my head, straining in vain to figure out what the problem was.

And this lasted for nine days and nine nights. However, on the tenth morning, the world rang silent, and somehow that bit more harshly at my ears than it had any right to.

Tyr came to me early, that day. “I’ve got something for you,” he told me, and I wagged my tail at him; he scritched behind my ears.

“Well, what is it, then?” I asked him.

“Come along,” he said, and as always, I went along; where he took me was closest to the centre of Asgard that I’d ever been. Here, one could touch parts of Yggdrasil, and here, the gods stood gathered once again. Some flinched, as Tyr led me into their midst, some stood still; all looked at me as if they wished he would turn on me, skin me alive as I followed him. But still, they parted for their leader.

In the centre of the gods, where Yggdrasil could be touched, a heavy chain lay tethered to its branch. I understood at once what the infernal noise I’d heard was.

“Ah,” I asked Tyr, “You have built me a better one?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “Twice as thick. Twice as heavy.”

I nodded, dipped my head so he may easily throw it over my neck. And this, this motion was the second catalyst to create destruction between my true father and myself. Indeed, I saw Odin frown at me from the corner of my eye, but then Tyr secured the chain and stepped back. I shook myself, as if to shed water, but the chain stayed secure around my throat. So I began to pull.

Though the chains creaked and groaned, they held fast, the shoulders of the Aesir surrounding me relaxing in a soft, universal motion. My claws dug deep into the soft earth, and though I could feel them wanting to tear out at the roots, still I pulled myself forward, in a sorry attempt at leveraging my own weight against that of the World Tree. The chain dug into my throat, choking and collaring me with a weight that I had never felt before, not even when my mother’s sorrow ate into the very marrow of my bones; this, I imagine still, is what my brother Jormungandr feels, every time he rolls in the waves. I worry for him.

And so I pitted myself against the chain for an hour or two, and the gods eventually became bored, and dispersed, one by one. Odin was the second-last to depart; just before he left I saw him whisper to my father. “He had to lower his head,” he said to Tyr, “He had to lower his head for you to place the chain. That was not the case nine days ago.”

“Young boys grow fast,” was Tyr’s response, “Young wolves, faster. This is not news.”

“Perhaps,” Odin replied, and left.

Tyr stayed, for a while longer. He said nothing more, simply allowed the silence to run rampant. When night fell, that was when he took his leave.

Despite being so close to the centre, where the gods had tethered me remained quiet throughout the day, the only sound being the wheezing of my breath tearing through my throat as I allowed the chain to choke me in my attempt to break free. For nine days I went on like this, paws desperately shoving back against the loose earth, and for nine nights, the chain dug through the thick layers of fur on my neck, the biting cold of its metal harsh against my skin. It was all right in the end, though. Not too bad. Eventually, on this ninth night, the weld of the chain finally tore itself apart with a shrieking groan, the sound echoing around Asgard until the gods came rushing from wherever they’d been before. I gingerly laid down, after that, tail heavily thumping against the ground; before me stood Odin with his hands on his hips.

“Well done, then,” he told me, and I took it at face value.

Well, then, Tyr came to collect me, and I followed him back to my corral. He was quiet on the way back, quiet in a way I’d never seen him before. And he, unlike Odin, did not congratulate me.

“...Did I not do well?” I asked of him. “Did I not bring honour to your name, as the one who raised me?”

“...You did,” he said, “You did.”

And he smiled at me, the same way he had on that first day he had taken me out of my pen years upon years ago. And the day after, when he made his daily visit of my small romping grounds, he did not take me out to play at battle.

Instead, he coaxed my jaw up to stitch back together the pieces of flesh the chain had torn apart, and told me to be careful of my claws.

“Why?” I bade him tell me; he did not answer. Shook his head.

“Have I taught you too well?” He asked me in turn, “or have I taught you nothing? Fenrir,” he said to me, “Fenrir. Careful of your fangs. Your claws.”

Well, then, I assured him I very well would be, what else could I do? But either way, it still took time for me to cajole him back into turning his sword on me. You know how it is.

Anyway. It was only a few days after I’d convinced him to spar again, if I remember correct, that Frey ran near into one of our matches to tell my father that he’d completed his task; it was only a few days after that incident--mostly terrifying for Frey, I assure you, for yet again I had grown; my shoulder now stood taller than Tyr’s head. But no matter--anyhow, only a few days after that, my father led me out of my pen yet again, hardly an extraordinary occurrence, but he led me out, and he told me, “We are going outside of Asgard, now.”

Well, I thought that was mighty fine, no complaints here, and so we travelled on over to--well, to be honest, I’m not rightly sure where, but it was marshland.

Marshland! I had not seen it for years upon years upon years, I had near forgotten its glory! I nearly ran away from him for good, before I remembered myself and came gallivanting back--Tyr was not one for unnecessary things. He had come here with purpose, had he not? And so I asked him.

“Yes,” he said simply, “Yes. We have.”

So I followed him along for a bit longer, until we came upon the rest of the Aesir, gathered in a herd. Now, by this time, I daresay it was a sight I was quite used to. I looked over at Tyr inquisitively.

“One last test,” he told me. “And if you manage to break free here, as well, then on that day you will be accepted into Asgard.”

“Ah!” I said. “This is a good thing! This is a good thing, yes?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Yes. It is. It is a good thing.”

And--well, though I did not want to admit it to myself, it looked as though he was attempting to convince himself of the fact. But I suppose that now that is irrelevant.

Either way--for the third time, I was stood before all the gods of Asgard, but though I searched the crowd, I could see no one holding the chain--but before I could ask, Tyr called for me to look down.

So I did. Frey passed forward--well, I could not rightfully tell what it was, at first, it lay so delicate in his palm. Tyr picked it up, at one end, letting it uncoil. It looked almost as if it were one continuous line of spider-silk, to me.

“This,” Tyr told me, “Is your last chain.”

“...Ah,” I said. “But I daresay it’s nary a chain at all.”

And here, Odin stepped forth, as Odin was wont to do. “Perhaps,” he said. “Still--it is your challenge. Are you one to step down from it?”

“Well--no,” I said, “Not if this is a challenge of honour,” I said, “But I must say, you present this to me in much the way Loki presented me to you,” I said, “With no warning and no understanding.”

“What is there to understand,” Odin asked of me, “Other than you are to be bound, and then to try and break free?”

“Well,” I said, “You told me to be bound by chain, yes? I see no chain here. I will not turn from being bound--but I will not let you win by dishonour; would this--well, would this not bring shame upon all of Asgard, as well, to win by the ways of Loki, rather than the ways of your leader, Tyr?”

“What do you propose, then.” Odin barked, short and curt.

Here, I paused. Honour, honour, honour, that which I had been raised with, that which I had been born without. What did I propose? What could I, that the gods would not deem unspeakable?

“...An oath-hand.” I told him. “I want an Aesir’s oath-hand, place it in my mouth so I may bite it off when you turn on me. I want the Aesir’s honour. Give it to me.”

So Odin turned to his fellow gods, though with wolf’s ears, one can hear clearly anything, so I do not know why he bothered to try to hide his words. Perhaps it was simply the clear disassociation--the exclusion. But that is no true matter to pause over. “Tyr.” he told them, hushed, “Did he not raise the beast? Did he not teach it our ways? Should he not take the downfall for his own foul creation? And besides--is he not Honour? Is he not what the Wolf demanded?”

“Aye,” the gods spoke in unison. “Let it be Tyr.”

Well, Tyr had not fallen back to speak amongst the rest of them, but still he agreed when they told him of their choice. Was he not their leader? Was he not the upholder of their honour? Their law? What other choice did a man such as he have?

But it is no matter, now.

And so, he beckoned me down to kneel before him, so that I may be bound, and he gave the thread to Odin. He placed his hand, he placed his right hand in my mouth, and it tasted like the pommel of his sword, and it was riddled with scars, with callouses. Who knows how many I’d given him myself.

The thread-chain, which I was told later they named Gleipnir--OPEN--Odin wound around my throat, around my chest, around my legs, before he passed it off to Thor, so that he may cast it deep into the mud upon which we stood.

So Thor tethered the chain. I worry for my brother--have I told you? You have told me he and Thor are destined adversaries. I worry for my brother, I do--and Thor stepped back, and Odin stepped back. Of course, when I shuddered my body, there was no shrieking of metal, no groaning of a weld about to crack under pressure. You know this--when you taught me, when I learned of Gleipnir’s name, much later, so too you told me of its contents; this chain had been built by the dwarves. Built by the dwarves, and of all that is un-encounterable in the world! I ask you, I ask you, who could break the un-encounterable?! Even then, I knew, somewhere in the back of my mind.

Tyr’s wrist snapped between my teeth like a little carrot, and his blood, it tasted like the rich copper of any a mortal man, and this, I believe, was the last catalyst--ignore the fact I’d already been bound, it is irrelevant. I lunged for him, beyond him, really, to where the Asgardians milled about, watching as I writhed in the dirt. Here is where I nearly bit Odin, as well, and here is where Odin then took Tyr’s sword from its scabbard and shoved it into my muzzle, into the dampness of the earth, so I would bite no more.

Here, I watched Odin herd the Aesir out of my sight, here I saw Tyr follow, here I saw Tyr follow, for the first time, did I see how he followed. I’d ask you, is that the role of a leader? Perhaps. But see Odin. Odin does not know how to follow. Odin, with all his knowledge, simply does not understand how to. Is that it, then--knowing when to follow, and when to walk ahead? I don’t know.

But the important thing is not that Tyr followed, not really. It is that--well, it is that Tyr left, you see, he left me, and he did not look back, not even as the blood from his ruined arm flowed into the very mud on which I now lay, not even as I called for him. To be fair--back then, I did not know how to speak around the sword, as I do so now--but still, even still--!

There are many things I do not know the answer to, you know, oh how you know; why did they chain me here? Why did they leave me? We both know, we knew always, I would not be let into Asgard. That is not where I am meant to be. So why leave me, other than fear, fear, fear of what, of my fangs? Fear of a crime I have not committed, even now? Please, I ask you--you have told me so many things, have you not. You have told me of Gleipnir’s creation, you have told me of how Tyr sent the Vanir Frey out to find these un-encounterable things, you told me of how Frey begged the dwarves for salvation, salvation from what? What have I done.

You have told me, you have told me of Odin’s rule, you have told me of my father’s fall, you have told me of how he is nothing but Law and Honor, now, nothing of what he was when I first knew him. He cannot--oh, he cannot even wield a sword, now, but whose fault is that? Is this why? For my taking of his being? Of his identity? But if so, why--why bind in the first place. What is the purpose--and if the purpose is fear, I ask, where is the honour. Tyr, Tyr, have I taken even this from you? Has this upholding of law against me taken that which you could not bear to live without? Why would he allow this, why would he allow this of me? I am no creature to carry a god’s oath. Why, why would he bind me?

And I know--you know--the only reason could be the oath of any leader--to protect his people, that which I am not one of.

But in the end, that is all irrelevant. Still, I am bound.

And yet--and yet, I tell you, as you have told me many things, I tell you, someday this world will end, and I will be allowed out of these binding threads. And then, when that time comes, I will take back all that which was taken from me, I will--I’ll start with my marshes.

I will, I will, I must, I must take back these marshes, I will swallow them whole if I have to. I will swallow all the blood in this water, in the mud, I will swallow whatever is leftover of my mother’s sorrow, and then I shall track that trail to the seas, and I will swallow them too, and maybe then my brother will run beside me in peace. I will swallow the trenches he must live in, and the Midgard that scorns his existence, I will swallow whatever kingdom my sister resides in, I will swallow the mountains the accursed Loki was born in, I will swallow the house I grew up in, I will swallow the forest I was traded in, I will swallow the splinters of the first shackles to bind me, and I will swallow the weight of the second. I will swallow the god’s realm, I will swallow Asgard, I will swallow those eternal and compliant gods, I will swallow Odin. I will swallow Yggdrasil, and everything that it holds within its branches. I will swallow the moon, the earth, the sun--!

And then, then I will eat the rest of Tyr, I will crunch his body between my molars, and I will return with him to the marshes, the marshes that bore me, and I will roll my shoulders in the mud again. I stand so tall that even my fang dwarfs him, now, do you see? I--

…But it is only a dream. A perhaps. I won’t break free of here, you and I both know. Even if my claw is long as Thor is tall, this thread still wraps around my neck, this sword still grinds my maw to the ground. I won’t break free again. I--I can’t.

#pov i uhh i have thoughts abt fenrir lol #YEAH IK TECHNICALLY SKOLL & HATI SWALLOW THE SUN & MOON #but thats irrelevant rn. so There #based off the myths i was told as a kid. & the myths i read now. & some other stuff #yeah its not 100% mythologically accurate but thats not the POINT so if anyone says shit. die.#um #norse #norse mythology #norse folklore #fenrir #tyr #jormungandr #loki #odin #original writing #writing tag #larrythedemonswriting #uh. anyway. slay #might post this to ao3 later but if i do. im not linking it

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