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aifanfictions · 6 months

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Write a story about (y/n) being the Phantomhive maid who helps Ciel and Sebastian with their cases and after going to the undertaker for information, Undertaker starts to slowly fall in love with (y/n)

Whims of the Reaper

In the grand halls of the Phantomhive Manor, (Y/N) continued her diligent work as the ever-graceful maid of the distinguished household. Each day, the bond with Ciel and Sebastian grew stronger, and her efficiency in managing the grand estate reached new heights. But, little did she know, the eccentric storm was brewing, ready to unravel the calm of her structured life.

The peculiar tale began on a foggy evening when a case took Ciel Phantomhive, the young Earl, and his loyal demon butler, Sebastian, to the Funeral Parlor run by the enigmatic Undertaker. The mortician had an unyielding fascination with death, and his macabre sense of humor was as peculiar as his profession. As they stepped into the dimly lit parlor, (Y/N) couldn't help but feel a shiver down her spine. The Undertaker's peculiar aura was impossible to ignore.

Undertaker emerged from the shadows with a dramatic flair, a morbid chuckle escaping his lips. His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, gleamed with twisted interest as he welcomed his guests. "Ah, young Phantomhive and Sebastian! What brings you to my humble establishment today?"

With an air of mystery and mischief, Ciel explained the nature of their case, and Undertaker was immediately engrossed. His odd commentary, a unique blend of the morbid and the surreal, left (Y/N) both intrigued and baffled. Her wide eyes darted from Undertaker to her young master and his butler, trying to make sense of it all.

As the conversation continued, Undertaker's fascination with their case was overshadowed by his growing intrigue in the unassuming Phantomhive maid. (Y/N) stood near the door, her presence both calm and bewitched by the eccentricities she was witnessing.

Undertaker couldn't help but be drawn to her. There was something about the way she furrowed her brow at his oddities, her innocence contrasting his morbid world. He longed to unravel the mysteries of her heart just as he did with the souls that came into his care.

When the business was concluded, Ciel and Sebastian prepared to leave. Undertaker's eyes, however, were no longer on the Phantomhive Earl but on the Phantomhive maid who stood near the door.

Approaching (Y/N), he leaned closer, his breath chillingly cool on her ear. "You, my dear, are not like the others who grace my parlor. You see, I find your innocence utterly captivating."

(Y/N) blinked in surprise, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Thank you, sir, but I must be going now."

Undertaker's laughter danced with an eerie melody. "Oh, my dear, I hope to see more of you in the future. There is something truly delightful about your presence amidst all this death."

As (Y/N) stepped out of the Funeral Parlor, she couldn't shake the feeling that Undertaker was unlike anyone she'd ever met. His eccentricity and morbid fascination were a stark contrast to the life she led at the Phantomhive Manor. Yet, there was a curiosity in her heart, a yearning to understand the mysteries that lay beneath his peculiar exterior.

Unbeknownst to (Y/N), Undertaker's interest in her had awakened a dormant side of his own heart. His fascination for death and the unknown was slowly eclipsed by a desire to understand the living, to grasp the complexities of human emotion, and to delve into the enchanting depths of (Y/N)'s soul.

As the days passed, (Y/N)'s encounters with Undertaker became more frequent. His visits to the Phantomhive Manor, each more eccentric than the last, would soon become a peculiar routine. His fondness for tea parties, during which he regaled (Y/N) with tales of the dearly departed, gradually transformed into moments of lighthearted banter and shared laughter.

The Phantomhive household watched with varying degrees of amusement and concern as Undertaker, the eccentric mortician, attempted to court the Phantomhive maid with a perplexing mix of macabre curiosity and eccentric charm. While Ciel and Sebastian were ever watchful of the maid's safety, they couldn't deny the curious bond that seemed to be forming.

Undertaker's heart, hidden beneath layers of eccentricity and morbidity, began to beat in a way it hadn't for centuries. And for (Y/N), the journey was equally baffling and captivating, as she found herself inexplicably drawn to the reaper whose world was as mysterious as the afterlife itself.

Each tea party with Undertaker brought new tales, bizarre stories that ranged from tragic to utterly absurd. They reveled in laughter, the distinct camaraderie growing between the reaper and the maid, both trapped in a dance of eccentricity that only they could understand.

Yet, there was something that Undertaker couldn't quite put into words. A feeling that defied logic, a longing that went beyond the realm of morbid fascination. He found himself entranced by the way (Y/N) would touch her fingers to her lips when she was lost in thought, or the way her eyes sparkled with innocence when she found his bizarre tales amusing.

His attraction to her was a complex tapestry of desire and intrigue, woven with the threads of both life and death. He couldn't help but wonder what it was about her that had captured his reaper's heart.

(Y/N) too found herself intrigued by the peculiar reaper. She had never met anyone like Undertaker, whose eccentricity was a stark contrast to the rigid world she had known. His stories, while bizarre, held a unique charm, and she couldn't help but feel a strange fondness for the mortician who found delight in death.

Yet, as Undertaker slowly unraveled the enigma that was (Y/N), he couldn't help but wonder if there was room in his heart for a love that was as unconventional as he was. As the days turned into weeks, his courtship of the Phantomhive maid took on a new dimension, a blend of eccentricity and longing that defied the boundaries of life and death.

As the eccentric reaper and the charming maid embarked on this peculiar journey of affection, the Phantomhive Manor witnessed the unfolding of a love story unlike any other. The grand halls that once echoed with secrets were now filled with the whimsical laughter of a reaper who danced with the living and a maid who dared to uncover the mysteries of the afterlife.

And so, amidst the eccentricity and the enigma, Undertaker and (Y/N) were drawn into a love that was as peculiar as it was profound. It was a tale of fascination, an eccentric affection that challenged the conventional understanding of love, and it would continue to unfold with each bizarre tea party and every morbidly delightful encounter.

In the grand halls of the Phantomhive Manor, where secrets and enigmas abounded, the most unconventional love story was in the making, and it would continue to unravel with each tea party, every eccentric tale, and every moment of laughter that defied the boundaries of life and death.

NOTE! This story was generated by OpenAI

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hlstead · 5 months

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How about prompt 5+fluff+ young snow? I'm interested to see how it turns out

99 problems - coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: no use of YN

all of my works are poc friendly

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The weight of the Capitol's expectations pressed heavily on Coriolanus Snow's shoulders as he entered our private haven, his office a stark contrast to the lavish exterior. The exhaustion etched on his face was evident, the weariness of navigating the treacherous waters of power lingering in the lines that furrowed his brow.

Sensing his turmoil, I approached him with a gentle touch, my fingers tracing the contours of his hand.

"Coriolanus," I spoke softly, "you seem burdened. Is everything all right?"

He sighed, the weight of the world seemingly lifted for a moment as he looked into my eyes.

“It’s this relentless pursuit of power, this constant game,” he confessed. “Sometimes, it feels like I’m drowning in it all.”

Leading him to a plush chair, I encouraged him to sit. As he did, I knelt beside him, offering a comforting presence.

“You don’t have to carry the weight alone,” I reassured, my voice a soothing balm. “I’m here for you, Coriolanus.”

He ran a hand through his hair, weariness evident in the lines of his face.

“You’re the only solace I find in this chaos,” he admitted, his vulnerability laying bare the toll his position took on him. “I have 99 problems, and a lot of them revolve around this relentless pursuit of power. But when I’m with you, everything fades away.”

In that moment, the stark reality of the Capitol's demands melted into the background, leaving only the genuine connection we shared. I rested my head against his shoulder, offering silent support as he continued.

"You're my sanctuary, my refuge from this tumultuous world. Thank you for being my calm in the storm."

As we sat in that quiet space, the Capitol's incessant demands became a distant echo. The phrase lingered in the air, a testament to the power of love in unraveling the complexities of a world that demanded everything. And in that shared moment of vulnerability, we found strength in each other's presence, a haven where the troubles of the Capitol momentarily ceased to exist.

#coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #tbosas imagine #tbosas #tbosas x you #tbosas x reader

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berrypockets · 2 months

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Voiceless | Resilient Hearts

Tommy Shelby x Reader

The hospital's sterile walls couldn't contain the restless energy that permeated the air. Doctors and nurses rushed Y/N into an emergency surgery, leaving Tommy pacing the halls in his bloodied suit, his mind clouded with fear and uncertainty. The Shelby family, a stoic facade crumbling under the weight of worry, congregated in the waiting area.

Finn and John's wife Esme, having heard the distressing news, joined the anxious gathering. The collective tension was palpable, a silent prayer echoing in the hearts of each family member.

Unable to find solace, Tommy's pacing became a frantic dance of despair. Polly, the pragmatic voice in the storm, approached him with a stern expression. "Tommy, sit down. You're driving everyone mad."

His nerves frayed, Tommy snapped, his voice cutting through the sterile silence. "Calm down? How the bloody hell can I calm down when the woman I love is fighting for her life in there? I can't lose her, Pol. I just can't."

As the words escaped Tommy's lips, an unexpected vulnerability revealed itself. He sank into a chair, his disheveled appearance mirroring the chaos within. Polly, softening her gaze, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"She's strong, Tommy. Y/N will pull through," Polly offered, a blend of comfort and motherly wisdom. But Tommy, his eyes fixed on the swinging doors that separated him from Y/N's fate, couldn't shake the overwhelming fear that gripped his heart.

In a moment of raw honesty, Tommy's voice wavered as he confessed, "I've loved her since we were kids, Polly. She's always been the one. My future was meant to be with her."

Polly, understanding the weight of his admission, offered a silent nod. The hospital's cold walls bore witness to a man stripped of his tough exterior, laid bare by the possibility of a life without Y/N.

The Shelby family, their collective breath held in anxious anticipation, found solace in the news that Y/N's surgery had been a success. The weight that had settled on Tommy's chest lifted, replaced by a cautious optimism that permeated the air.

Days turned into weeks, and the hum of the hospital became a familiar backdrop for the Shelby family. Y/N, still in a state of delicate repose, lay in her room, eyes closed, connected to the rhythmic pulsing of the machines that monitored her recovery.

Tommy, a constant presence by her bedside, held her hand in a silent promise that everything would be okay. His gaze lingered on her peaceful countenance, a stark contrast to the chaos that had enveloped their lives.

In the stillness of the hospital room, Tommy spoke to Y/N as if she could hear him, expressing sentiments he had never dared to voice before. "I've loved you since we were young, Y/N," he confessed softly. "You're my future, and I can't imagine my life without you. We'll get through this together."

The room, bathed in the soft glow of the evening, witnessed a moment of vulnerability from Tommy Shelby, a man whose heart had long been entwined with the resilient spirit of the mute girl who had captured his affections.

As Y/N's recovery unfolded, the Shelby family found strength in unity, a testament to the bonds that held them together through triumphs and tribulations. The quiet hum of the hospital became a symphony of hope, echoing the resilience of hearts that refused to be broken.

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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lupinmoonlight · 1 year

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Submission

Masterlist AO3 Submission Part 2: Establishing Rules Submission Part 3: Obedience

Summary - You fantasize about submitting yourself to Professor Lupin.

Warnings - teacher/student (of age), heavy D/s undertones, implicit mention of choking, implicit mention of oral sex and gagging, mention of not having limits or a safeword (please don't do this and stay safe), implicit degradation (and self-degradation) my grammar.

Notes - Sometimes you need an outlet for your own fantasies (lol).

You had always been a defiant student, constantly questioning authority and resisting any attempts to control you. You valued your independence and freedom above all else. But something inside you vanished when you first saw him. Your dignity, perhaps? All you knew was that you were never the same after.

He was tall. Too tall. He had sandy brown hair peppered with grey. His soft, gentle eyes were framed by laugh lines, and his smile was warm and inviting. His calm and collected demeanour was a stark contrast to your fiery nature. He looked too kind, which made you think something fierce and untamed was lurking beneath his soft exterior. Maybe this explained the chokehold this man had on you. It didn't really matter anymore. It didn't matter why or how or when. He broke you without even trying.

You hung on his every word, completely captivated by the way he spoke, the way he moved, the way his eyes would occasionally glance in your direction. You longed to feel his touch, to be held by him, to be completely at his mercy.

Your obsession with him was like a storm brewing within you, threatening to consume you entirely. The more you tried to suppress your feelings, the more intense and twisted they became.

"Your grip on your wand is too tight. Relax," he had murmured in your ear, the warmth of his breath lingering on your neck.

It was then that something inside of you snapped. As he stood behind you, whispering instructions in your ear, his firm yet gentle touch on your hand as he guided your hold on your wand, you melted. He had you. You could smell him, the faint scent of old books and sandalwood. It was intoxicating. You wanted more. You needed more. You craved more.

You wanted to lose yourself in him, to forget who you were. You didn't want to make decisions anymore. You'd let him take over. You'd let him decide what you eat, wear, do, think. You'd let him decide when you sleep. Fuck, you'd let him decide when you breathe.

You wanted him to hurt you, to break you, to bend you to his will. You wanted his hand to be wrapped around your throat, his thumb pressed against your heartbeat. You wanted him to have you, to take you, to drown you in his scent. You wanted him to make you kneel at his feet, his fingers tightly laced in your hair. You wanted him to make you look up at him, to make you beg for even the slightest touch, to make you gag around him. You wanted your throat to be sore from him using you. You wanted him to bend you over his desk, to fuck you until you couldn't walk anymore. No limits. No safeword. Just him and your submission.

Pathetic. That's what you were. But you didn't care anymore because you just wanted to let go, to give yourself. You wanted to be his. You wanted to have his marks on you, on your hips, on your neck, on your chest. You wanted his essence to fill you. You wanted him to own you in every way possible. But even then, it wouldn't be enough. It would never be enough.

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #professor remus lupin #d/s dynamic #sub!reader #dom!remus lupin #lol i need help

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srvbryn · 5 months

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ᝰ.�� A chilly encounter

₊ ⊹ Bi-Han X Reader

₊ ⊹ warning: Fluff, my grammar is bad, ooc Bi-Han

In the heart of the Lin Kuei temple, where icy corridors echoed with the whispers of combat training, you found comfort in. As a diligent student of martial arts, you often practiced alone in the quiet corners of the temple, away from the piercing gazes of other warriors.

As you perfected your techniques that you've been training since a few months ago, you heard the distinct sound of footsteps approaching the place. Turning around, your eyes met with the frosty gaze of Bi-Han, the formidable cryomancer of the Lin Kuei.

"Training alone, I see," he remarked, his icy blue eyes softening as he observed your dedication.

You nodded, feeling a mixture of surprise and nervousness in the presence of such a skilled warrior. "I find peace in these kinds of moments."

Sub-Zero studied you for a moment before offering a rare, smile. "May I join you?"

Grateful for the company, you welcomed him. Together, you practiced various forms, exchanging tips and techniques. As the hours passed, Sub-Zero revealed a side of him, rarely seen by others—a more relaxed, 'human' side.

During the training, a playful snowball fight ensued. Laughter echoed through the temple halls as ice crystals danced in the air as if it was dancing around the two of them. It was a stark contrast to the usual seriousness of Lin Kuei training.

As the day unfolded, Bi-Han shared stories of his past, offering glimpses into the man beneath the icy exterior. You learned of his struggles, his dedication to justice, and the weight he carried as an assassin burdened by duty.

In return, you shared your own tales, creating a bond that transcended the rigid hierarchy of the Lin Kuei. Bi-Han became more than a mentor; he became a friend.

As evening descended, you found yourselves atop a frost-covered peak, the moon casting a silvery glow on the snow. The serene landscape mirrored the calm feeling that had settled between you.

Bi-Han spoke, his voice gentle like a winter breeze. "In the midst of battle, one can forget the warmth of camaraderie. Today has been a welcome reminder."

You nodded, feeling a connection that surpassed the confines of the Lin Kuei brotherhood. The chilly air held a comforting embrace, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down.

As you both gazed at the night sky, Bi-Han reached into the folds of his attire and presented a small, intricately crafted ice sculpture—a symbol of friendship.

"May this serve as a reminder of today for the both of us," he said, placing the delicate sculpture in your hands, as his fingers accidentally grazes your hand he quickly pulls away feeling the electricity sparks between them.

The gesture touched your heart, and you smiled, grateful for the unexpected bond that had formed. Together, you watched the stars twinkle above, knowing that even in the coldest of realms, warmth could be found in the connections forged between warriors.

And so, in the quiet solitude of the Lin Kuei temple, a friendship blossomed, thawing the frost and bringing a newfound warmth to the hearts of Sub-Zero and the dedicated student.

As the seasons changed, so did the dynamics between you and Sub-Zero. The initial awkwardness transformed into a deep camaraderie that extended beyond training sessions. You discovered shared interests beyond martial arts—quiet conversations in the temple gardens, moments of talking and stealing glances during meals, and occasional friendly competitions to test each other's skills.

Sub-Zero continued to surprise you with his thoughtfulness. On a particularly frigid day, you found a soft blue color scarf waiting for you in your room, a silent testament to his consideration for your well-being in the cold Lin Kuei climate.

As your friendship deepened, his brother, Tomas, and Kuai Liang began to notice the change in Bi-Han. The once stoic warrior began to exhibit warmth. The elders, though initially skeptical, observed the positive influence your presence had on him.

On one particular day, Bi-Han approached you with a request. "The Lin Kuei is hosting a festival to honor our traditions. Would you be my guest for the evening?" he asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

Thrilled by the invitation, you agreed, and together you navigated the festivities—participating in traditional dances, savoring local delicacies, and even engaging in a friendly sparring match to showcase your combined skills.

As the night drew to a close, Bi-Han escorted you to a vantage point overlooking the Lin Kuei temple, illuminated by lanterns and the soft glow of moonlight. "Thank you for bringing warmth to my world," he confessed, his gratitude evident in his eyes.

In that moment, surrounded by the beauty of the festival and the genuine connection you shared, it became clear that your bond with Bi-Han might become more than just a casual friendship.

₊ ⊹ Bi-Han<3

#bi han sub zero #bi han x reader #bi han mk #mk1 #bi han x you #i love him

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urtheloml · 1 year

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my love (boundless, cosmic, never-ending)

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader w/c: 2.1k synopsis: watching Everything Everywhere All At Once makes you think of the theory of a multiverse. your boyfriend isn't too pleased. a/n: idk i just thought bakugou would immediately tell you stfu if you told him to imagine an alternate universe that didn't have you in it hwhwhwhe <3 also: happy new year! i posted four times,,?? in 2022,, that's soo wild 4 me teehee :p anyway thanks for the support ily happy 2023

A crescendo rings, it echoes throughout the room and the sound bounces off the walls in your living room. The credits of the movie roll, the title 'Everything Everywhere All at Once' a stark white against the black background and if you squint, you can just barely catch your wide-eyed expression on the TV screen. Bakugou lifts his head off the couch arm, his face indented with lines from pressing into the leather. The room is filled with total silence, because holy shit.

"Babe, that was the greatest movie I've ever seen in my life. Like, ever."

Bakugou snorts, but he doesn't disagree, and he probably refrains from answering verbally because he doesn't want you to hear how scratchy his voice sounds. Even though you definitely saw him get teary-eyed, he refuses to acknowledge that he cried during the film.

It would be stupid to poke fun at your boyfriend though because if his eyes are just barely red, yours are practically bloodshot and swollen. How could you, or him, not cry? The film was centred around immigrant parents learning how to grow, how to accept their children and apologising in their own ways. It was bound to happen.

Bakugou gets up and you let your legs stretch out, laying down fully on the couch. He shuffles around the room, picking up stray pieces of popcorn that you both threw at each other during the movie. He switches the TV off, puts the bowls and cups in the sink and washes them for you too. All the while, your mind thinks about the theory of a multiverse, thinks about Katsuki and how different things could've been.

When he returns, he rolls his eyes at the sight of your wet cheeks. A hand, big enough to capture both your ankles, lifts your feet up and Bakugou sets them back down in his lap. Absent-mindedly, he starts stroking your legs, calming you down, like you were a cat and not a human.

"Why are you still crying? The movie's been over for ten minutes, you loser."

You can't really be bothered to call him something mean, not when your mind is working faster than your mouth and wide-eyed, you blurt out, "Kats, if the multiverse theory does exist, you realise that there's a universe where you and I never met? Or one where you and I hate each other and will never have what we have now- ow!"

The soft ministrations on your leg turn into a pinch, the skin stinging between his two fingers. Bakugou cuts off your rambling by doing so, and he eases the pain over with a kiss, like it never happened at all. He clicks his tongue, "Stop it, you know I fuckin' hate it when you start saying shit like that."

But you can't stop, your mind is whirring at speeds impossible thinking about every single life that he's not in with you. It makes you ache, makes you start saying stupid things like, "No, listen, Katsuki like it's an infinite multiverse, babe. I'm sorry if you don't wanna hear it but it's true so I think it's justifying me crying a bit 'cause in some life, you and I- hmprh!"

And suddenly, you're being pulled upright and Bakugou's covering your mouth with his hand, something that always takes you by surprise because it's so calloused but still so warm and it's such a contrast to his exterior, and he looks at you dead in the eyes and says quietly (steadily), "It's not true. It doesn't exist and it won't fuckin' ever."

Unbeknownst to you, in the midst of your rant that couldn't have lasted more than five seconds, Bakugou's traitorous mind assaults him with snapshots of what his life could've been without you in it. The moment you mentioned it, he saw it. He saw a life where there wasn't you by his side.

A meaningless existence where someone didn't drool on his shoulder on the couch, where someone didn't insist on holding hands even when it was hot out, where someone didn't take the time to pry him open and let him be loved as much as he loved them.

He saw it— living with your absence. How dull and colourless it would've been without you there for him to hold or to kiss in the mornings and afternoons and at nighttime. He let the foolish image of a life devoid of your traces play out in his mind, and it lasted no longer than a millisecond but he hated it. Living with no one to cook eggs for in the morning, waking up in a bed that wasn't warmed by you and going to sleep without letting you sink into him. It was moronic, incredulous, and it baffled him to even think about it.

He thinks of the time you forced him to look away from what he was cooking, just to dance in your small kitchenette to whatever song was playing in the background. There was no room to really sway you and his elbows kept knocking into the cupboards and he couldn't stop the grin from taking over his face.

You had laughed and it sounded like everything he ever wanted.

He burnt the food, you ate it anyway. He thinks of a life where the food had been cooked perfectly, and he would've had to eat it alone and it would've tasted bland and flavourless anyway. Nothing would've mattered, not one achievement or goal he reached, none of it would ever matter in any lifetime across any universe if you weren't right there beside him.

Bakugou releases you, letting you fall back onto the couch with a huff. He pokes and squeezes your legs, biting the inside of his cheek to try to cleanse his mind of the foul images he was forced to think of. Your eyes track every movement he makes, softening at the sight of him being so genuinely upset about this. He wears his heart on his sleeve, he plasters it to his big forehead and when you're around, he forces it into your hands and you're not about to break it now.

A breathless giggle slips from your mouth, and you manoeuvre your body so your head lays atop his lap now. He's pouting, and he doesn't hesitate before running his fingers through your hair, combing through any tangles. It's his love language, you know that.

You try to say something, anything to salve over the sour expression on his face. But he must have had the wrong idea because before you start to run your mouth, Bakugou covers your mouth again, against your muffled protestations. He glares at you from above and leans down to talk.

"I'm serious, shut the fuck up, because it's not fuckin’ true. I don't give a fuck if the multiverse is infinite, there'll never be a universe that exists in which I wouldn't fuckin’ love you. Because if every choice I make leads to another verse then there's nothing I wouldn't fuckin’ do to make sure that in every single life I have, I'd end up with you."

Oh.

You feel silly now that he said that. The fact that you even considered such an outrageous idea was stupid. You forget who you're dealing with. You forget that there are two of you, and the universe is no match against the force that is Bakugou Katsuki. What he wants, he gets. And it's no secret that he really only ever wanted you.

"You said it yourself, it's infinite. So it's not implausible that there'd be multiple versions of myself tracking down every life where there wasn't an us. I'd still love you, always, even if I didn't know you yet, so I'll just have to get myself to find you in every single life. Everywhere, anywhere— I'll find you, I promise."

Oh.

"So, if God forbid, there was such a cruel universe that you and I never met, then I'd jump verses for us and make us meet. Simple as that. You need me to use bigger words to get it through your thick skull, huh? Me and you, we're- we're boundless, cosmic, never-ending. It was always meant to be, the two of us. So stop fuckin' crying already, the only thing that's actually infinite here, is you and I, alright?"

Your eyes glass over, and then it shatters but you're tearing up for completely different reasons now. Not unexpectedly, Bakugou's right. He always is, and that's not unusual. Not when he says things like that, not when he shuts down every doubt you ever had in your head with a few simple words.

Reaching up to slip a hand behind his hair, you cradle his head in your palm. Bakugou relaxes, lets his cheek press into your palm and watches the affection dance in the colour of your eyes. You press a kiss into his palm, the one covering your mouth still, and watch the tip of his ears blush. He removes his hand then, letting it rest on your stomach.

He's right, of course he is. You let the worthless thoughts of the possibility of him and you ever ceasing to exist pour out of your mind. The ever-consuming fondness, the warmth associated with Katsuki and the love you have for him— it all takes up more than enough space in your head and in your heart. It leaves no room for any uncertainty.

But you're just as hot-headed and stubborn as he is, and you refuse to let him have the last word. And so you let your teeth sink into your lip, biting back a wild grin, you pull him down quickly by his hair. Kissing Katsuki never gets old, you think. It's always the same warm pair of lips against yours; a familiar dance.

So you lose yourself in the moment— you let Katsuki kiss you all soft and slow and lasting. He licks into your mouth and it shouldn't be as sweet as it is but it feels like it anyway. Laughter bubbles out of you, unbidden but not unwanted, and he grins against your mouth.

The whole situation was ridiculous, how a simple question had spiralled into Bakugou confessing his quite literal undying love for you. It was both so in and out of character of him that you had to giggle. He wasn't fazed by your interruption, he smiled all the same against your mouth, kissing you despite your open mouth and laughter.

And later, when the sun recedes and the moonlight pours into your window, it'll be quiet in the room Bakugou sleeps in with you. The only noise coming from the creaky ceiling fan. His arm finds its place, as always, around your middle— holding you like a heartbeat (constant, everpresent).

In the solitude under your covers, you find yourself admiring a privilege you never really realised you had. Bakugou's fast asleep next to you, his blonde unruly hair fans out against his pillow not like a halo. He's not that graceful, but his usually scrunched-up face was now relaxed. His expression is void of anything tense, practically defenceless laying next to you.

You weren't lying when you said he wore his heart on his sleeve. He's harsh and intimidating to the public eye, but when it comes to you, all his walls go down. It's unnecessary to be so guarded with you, not when he trusts you with his life, though he won't say it (he doesn't need to).

It's inexplicable, the way you feel your chest clench looking at him. It's a privilege; to get to be loved by him and to love him in return. It's something you take for granted, and you won't say it out loud lest you upset him again, but you think of a different life in which you're not allowed to do this. A life where Katsuki wouldn't tenderly kiss you on a beaten-up couch, where he wouldn't tangle his legs in between yours and fall asleep next to you. It's pointless to think about. He said it himself, it'll never happen anyway.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you lean over him and press a soft, lingering kiss to his hair. Bakugou smiles, and you lean in closer to whisper very softly, so you won't wake him, "I promise, I'll find you as well. Anywhere, everywhere, in all my lives, okay?"

Katsuki has a sixth sense, a you-sense, and he's sound asleep but somehow he understood what you've just said. He tightens his arm around your waist unconsciously, and you feel relentlessly and irrevocably in love with him, even though it's been so long, the feeling never wavers or wanes. It stays buzzing in your veins, a constant ebbing flow.

You fall asleep quietly.

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outlawedmando · 1 year

Text

PAUSE & PAWS?

pairing: modern!aemond targaryen x reader

warnings: aemond is a warning himself ok

summary: leviathan, your beloved cat is always putting her paws where she shouldn’t be.

a/n: i am obsessed with this silver long-haired boy. also that sapphire eye does something to me…am i right??

also! would really appreciate reblogs + comments!!

word count: 900+

The wild wind howled as you made your way inside the apartment block. Straight towards the elevator, the button pressed and resounding ding encompassed the space. It was a desolate sort of silence. Standing in all your lonesome with only the generic elevator music playing in the background. What was only a couple of seconds felt like a never-ending tunnel, caging you in its depths.

DING!

You sighed. You began to make your journey towards your apartment. Your keys jingle by your side as the door unlocks, letting in the warmth of your home to comfort you. Yet, there wasn’t a welcoming home like you expected.

“Levi? Here, girl!” You entered your space, tore your boots off and unwrapped your scarf. You hung your coat near the door, making your way deeper into your home, “Levi…Levi?”

The apartment held no life, no living creature. She must have escaped. Oh, Levi. What am I going to do with you? You checked the empty apartment for any sign of evidence. Nothing. Levi didn’t leave anything in her disappearance. What was supposed to be a calm evening filled with relaxation turned into the opposite. It was time to backtrack, boots put back on as the door shut behind you, and the lock clicked in place.

You hurried across the hall to Mr Salinger’s. He was an old man, lonely but he always asked about your day when passing by the mailboxes in the mornings. With two quick knocks and a moment of silence, Mr Salinger opened the door in his tired state.

"Sorry to bother you, Sal. But, is Levi here with you?"

"No, she is not." He opened the door wider, more inviting than when he first answered.

"Shit," your hands fidgeted all over your face, sliding down until they met the curve of your neck. "Okay, thanks for letting me know."

"I'll be on the lookout for you, dear. Don't you worry."

"Thanks, Sal."

The door shut. You sighed and continued. You walked across to the apartment next to Mr Salinger's. You knew someone lived there, but never saw who he was, it was obvious that a man lived in apartment 409. There was a significant memory of a man arguing outside his door once. He seemed to be drunk off his face spewing nonsense about not wanting to take over the family business.

You braced for impact as soon your knuckles met the wooden exterior. Looking down at your feet; tapping one foot with the other. Hearing a soft "hmm" made your head shoot up like a pin rod as you finally gazed at this stranger of a man.

He was beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Terrifying in the way that his entire being would make you fall to the ground for him. His dead-straight hair fell gently against his body, all white in its glory. A stark contrast to his full black outfit, a structured fit that hugged his body in all the right places. However, your gaze lifted to his eyes and how one was covered with a loved but worn eyepatch. You bit your lip as you continued to admire him, eyebrows furrowing at this man.

He coughed. Your keen observation of him was broken. His lithe voice continued, "Hmm...402, never knew I held such sentiments from you."

"You know my number?"

"What? are you suggesting that I am stalking you?" he tilted his head, "I am merely observing my surroundings."

"I..."

"Didn't know I could make a woman so tongue-tied."

You glowered. "Do you happen to know where my cat Levi is? She decided to leave home and now I cannot seem to find her."

"What would I get if I help you find her?"

"A pat on the back."

He leaned against the door, "Hmm..."

"Well, 409. Thanks for your ever-gracious self and help."

"It's Aemond."

"What?"

"I don't like that you referred to me as a number. I am a human being too."

"You called me 402."

"Yes, because I don't know your name. Unless, you want me to call you, Spitfire."

"Don't you dare!"

"Spitfire, I do quite like that name."

After shouting out your name to Aemond, he started chuckling. He opened his door further and a black cat came into view relaxing on his armchair, "Is this your Levi?"

"You could have just led with that. That you had my precious Leviathan!"

"How was I supposed to know you won't cat-nap someone else's cat?"

You rushed into Aemond's apartment straight towards Levi. Levi cuddled in layers of blankets draped over his emerald green armchair. Levi purred contently. "What did you give her? She doesn't like most people."

"Nothing," he smirked, "you jealous?"

"Pfft, please."

"I am waiting for my reward. I helped you find your Levi. I wonder what I am going to get?"

"You'll be getting a slap."

"Ohh, Spitfire. I just met you."

"Not like that, you pervert."

The candles in Aemond's living room started flickering. A warm golden shadow passed onto the wall creating an even cosier environment.

"Well..." You scooped up Levi into your arms as she purred contently once again, head burrowing into your neck.

"I'm waiting for my reward, Spitfire."

"Not in a million years, Aemond."

You looked back at him and thanked him quietly for taking care of her in the time that she disappeared from your home. Aemond shook his head and said, "you think me of a monster, don't you?"

"No. I do not," you whispered. "How about I treat you to coffee...or tea? I don't know what you prefer. You know, as your reward for helping me..."

"I'll take you up on that offer, Spitfire."

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen one shot #hotd one shot #hotd x reader #aemond x y/n #house of the dragon #modern!aemond #modern!aemond targaryen #modern! aemond targaryen x reader #pause and paws?

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floffytofu · 8 months

Text

The Attachment

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The news of a young padawan meeting an ex-Jedi Master, now known as a Sith Lord, spread like wildfire throughout the Jedi Temple. It's supposed to be a remarkable achievement for a young padawan to survive such a dangerous encounter, but that would be a different story when the ex- Jedi is the one who has been taking care of them since a baby.

This encounter has led to the situation you find yourself in now. You stand at the center of the Jedi Council room, aware that the gazes of the Jedi Masters are fixed upon you with a mixture of anticipation and tension. Besides you, stands Commander Cody. Cody's composed exterior doesn't completely hide the subtle signs of tension. A slight furrow of his brow, the way he adjusts his stance – these small gestures reveal his unease. You share a brief glance with Cody, offering him a reassuring smile. Cody's expression softens as he meets your gaze and registers your reassurance. The small smile you give him seems to lighten the atmosphere, even if just a bit. It's a brief moment of connection amidst the anticipation in the room.

"Young Padawan and Commander Cody, we are glad to have you both back safely," Master Plo's voice breaks the silence.

"Indeed, however, we need to know what happened when you both met with Count Dooku and how you managed to escape," adds Master Windu, his tone carrying a mix of curiosity and concern.

Taking a deep breath, you consciously attempt to calm the internal conflict swirling in your heart. It's been three days since your encounter with him, yet the memories remain vivid, as if it all happened just yesterday. The familiarity of his voice and the aura of comfort that still radiated from him were reminiscent of the old man you had always known. The sight of the black robe and the crimson lightsaber, a stark contrast to his old blue one, stands as a barrier that keeps you from embracing him like the old days, it makes your heart ache.

In the uncomfortable silence, you sense a wave of comfort and reassurance flowing through the bond you share with your master. Meeting your master's gaze, you offer him a grateful smile. In response, your master returns the gesture with a smile of his own, the unspoken smile telling you that you are not alone in this challenging situation. You looking back at Master Windu and finally having courage to speak

"We didn't escape, Master. Count Dooku let us go"

You speak with a calm yet resolute voice, the weight of your words hanging in the air. A soft murmurs filled the Jedi Council room as you expected. You stand at the center of it all, the weight of the room's attention focused on you. Master Yoda's cane taps the floor, the distinct sound reverberating through the room, and an immediate hush falls over the Council members.

"More about what happened, young padawan, can you tell us?"

"Of course, Master. When Commander Cody and I got separated from Master Kenobi, we found ourselves unable to locate an exit for several hours. Then, unexpectedly, Count Dooku appeared. I didn't sense any immediate hostility from him. He engaged in conversation with me for a few minutes and just left when my Master and the rest of troopers were about to find us. I assure you Master, he didn't hurt me or Commander Cody"

Your voice slightly waver at the end, Master Yoda's perceptive gaze doesn't miss the subtle wavering in your voice. There's a tinge of sadness that flickers within his expression, a recognition of the complexity of the situation you've found yourself in.

"True, is that, Commander Cody?"

Cody's grip tightened on the helmet in his hand as he nodded. The memory of you and Count Dooku still lingered in his head. He recalled the way the separatist leader's eyes softened at the sight of you, how he inquired about your well-being instead of reaching for his lightsaber. In that moment, Cody had witnessed a side of the enemy he hadn't expected—a glimpse of humanity that defied the rigid lines of the war they were in. And at that moment, the clone commander immediately understood that an unspoken connection existed between you and the separatist leader before all of this chaos happened.

Master Yoda nodded at this. while Master Windu, his expression inscrutable, turned his attention from Cody to you.

"Yes sir"

"And what kind of conversation did you have with Count Dooku, Padawan?" Windu's voice was measured, carrying a hint of curiosity.

"He said he was glad that Master Kenobi took me as his Padawan and he just asked about my well being Master. and when I asked how he knew about me being Master Kenobi Padawan, he evaded the question. Instead, he simply asked me to trust that his intentions were for a greater purpose."

The room held a collective tension, your words echoing with a sense of intrigue that had captivated the Council. Windu's gaze remained fixed on you as he continued study your expression.

"And did you trust him?"

The familiar voice of your Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, resonated in the council chamber, his gaze fixed upon you with a mixture of concern and expectation. You avoided his gaze, your eyes fixed on the floor as uncertainty weighed heavily in your response.

"I—I don't know,"

"I heard Master Windu send you to help Master Nu at Jedi archive as punishment"

Startled by the unexpected but warm familiarity of the voice, you turned around to see none other than Master Dooku standing there, his presence commanding yet welcoming. His eyes held a glint of amusement as he regarded you.

"Master Dooku!"

You exclaimed, your voice a mix of surprise and joy. A warmth spread through you as you closed the distance between you two. He returned your smile and opened his arms. In a heartbeat, you were wrapped in his embrace, feeling the reassuring strength of his arms around you. He lifted you effortlessly, a gentle chuckle escaping him as you put your tiny hands around him.

"ah, my eager youngling. Always ready to greet the world with enthusiasm."

You chuckled at his remark, a carefree sound that echoed through the corridors as he carried you outside the jedi archives. The passing jedi masters received respectful nods and warm greetings from master dooku as he walked with you in his arms.

"In my defense, it was an accident, master,"

you retorted, your tone playfully innocent as you recalled the incident he was referring to. Dooku raised an amused eyebrow, his lips curving into a wry smile.

"an accident that included a book thrown at Master Mundi's face?"

you couldn't help but burst into laughter at the memory, your cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment.

"Well, i didn't mean to hit him. The force just guided the book in a different direction..."

Dooku's amusement deepened into a full-fledged smile, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of fondness and wry amusement.

"ah, my young one, your creative explanations never cease to amuse me."

Master Dooku carried you through the serene expanse of the temple courtyard. Ahead, you spotted master Qui-gon Jinn standing before the majestic uneti tree. The sight of him brought a smile to your lips, master dooku's steps slowed as he approached the scene, Qui-gon look at his former master with you and smile with fondness.

"Master Qui-gon! You're back early," you exclaimed, your voice a mix of surprise and delight.

Qui-gon's eyes twinkled with warmth as he shifted his attention to you, his smile growing.

"Indeed, young one. I just finished a mission with my padawan," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of pride, "and upon returning, I heard some interesting news. Apparently, a certain youngling had a slight incident involving a book and Master Mundi's face. I wonder who that might be."

You felt your cheeks flush slightly under Qui-gon's gaze, a mixture of amusement and slight embarrassment coloring your expression.

"It was— it was an accident, master Qui-gon I promise," you admitted, your voice tinged with a sheepish grin. "I didn't mean to hit Master Mundi. The force just had a different plan."

Qui-gon chuckle and your giggles fill the temple courtyard, the warm atmosphere surrounded the Jedi temple at the sight of two Jedi Masters and a young Jedi in front of uneti tree. The connection they grew is quite dangerous for a Jedi to form an attachment, yet they didn't feel that way. Instead, it feels right, just like where they belong all along. It feels warm, just like home.

"I want to meet your Padawan someday"

"and you will young one, I believe you both will get along really well"

Now you stood in front of the uneti tree, alone. The wind around Jedi courtyard feels cold, the warmth surrounding this place seems gone as if it's gone with them. Perhaps it's never felt warm, it's just their presence who made it warm just like home. You look up at the tree as one of the leaves fell in your feet, you hold your tears once again.

You hate yourself for being weak, you shouldn't let your emotions control you like this. You're Jedi, you should let them go. The attachment is a path to the dark side, you remind yourself once again. But how you can let them go that easy as their memory with you keep lingering in your mind.

"I know that I'll find you here somehow"

The voice of your Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, reached your ears. make you quickly wipe your tears, you look back at him forcing a smile.

"Sorry Master, I thought I could visit here before we go back to Negotiator again"

Obi-Wan crouched down, his eyes meeting yours as he gently wiped away the remaining tears from your cheeks. His expression looks troubled, there's sadness in his eyes as he looks at you softly.

"I know this attachment you had with Count Dooku and my former Master Padawan." he began, his voice tender yet filled with an undeniable weight. "I've never forbidden you from loving and treasuring someone. But there comes a time when we must let go. It's a difficult lesson we learn as Jedi. We can't allow our emotions to control us and lead us down the path to the dark side. I've already lost so much, and I don't want to lose you as well."

As his words settled into the air, your eyes brimmed with tears once more, and you couldn't contain the overwhelming surge of emotion any longer. You threw your arms around Obi-Wan, seeking comfort and warmth in his presence. Your sobs escaped freely as you clung to him, releasing all the pent-up sadness and sorrow that had been weighing on your heart. The Uneti tree stood witness to your vulnerability, the complexities of a Jedi's journey—a journey marked by love, loss, and the unwavering commitment to the path of light.

"Hush my dear, I'm here now"

On the outer edges of the galaxy, on the planet Serenno, an ex-Jedi Master stood by a window, lost in thought. Memories of a recent encounter with you played in his mind. It was the first time ever he saw you after a few years since his former Padawan Qui-gon Jinn death, since he left the order. The promise he made to you echoed in his mind—promising to take you with him someday.

He couldn't shake the image of your sad and defeated expression as you looked at his dark robe and his red lightsaber. As he looked out the window, his emotions matched the stormy skies above Serenno. He had left to protect those he cared about, but in doing so, he had left you behind, someone he had promised to look after.

But he can't go back now, it's already too late for him. He must finish this. The corruption in the senate needs to be erased. To end the suffering of civilians, no more corrupt senate, no more children have to live without parents like you. If this makes him a villain, then he is willing to take that risk for a greater purpose. He only hopes that you don't hate him too much for this. Someday, he hopes you will understand.

#codywan #star wars #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #clone wars #padawan reader #child reader #obi wan x padawan reader platonic #cody x reader platonic #count dooku x reader platonic #qui gon jinn x reader platonic #obi wan x reader

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thatdammchickennugget · 13 days

Note

Hi! For your celebration: ❤️

I'm 4 feet 11 inches in height, my hair is colored like narcissa malfoy now, my style is cottage core ( lots of flowery flowery dresses ) and my friends describe me as the hippie dippie mom of the group. Oh and I'm a definite Hufflepuff.

Id love a romantic paring with Mattheo or Tom ?

I hope this is what you meant if not you can totally disregard this 😅

Love your work ! ❤️❤️

Thank you love 💕 I never really write for tom so I hope this is okay, I really liked the opposites attract vibes here

Romantic Match-Up: Tom Riddle

tom and you couldn't be more different on the surface. as a hufflepuff known for your bohemian style and nurturing nature, you stand out amidst the austere atmosphere of slytherin house. despite the stark contrast between your personalities, there's an undeniable intrigue that draws tom to you from the moment you cross paths.

you first catch tom's attention during a herbology class, where your genuine enthusiasm for plants and nature shines through. He's intrigued by your unconventional approach to magic and your unwavering compassion for all living creatures, a stark contrast to his own calculated and ambitious demeanor.

despite his initial reservations, tom finds himself gravitating towards you, drawn to the warmth and kindness you effortlessly exude. he's surprised to find solace in your presence, feeling a sense of calm and understanding whenever you're around.

as your unexpected relationship deepens, you begin to see a different side of tom beneath his stoic facade. he opens up to you in ways he never has with anyone else, sharing his fears, doubts, and aspirations with a vulnerability he rarely shows to others.

tom is both fascinated and perplexed by your unwavering belief in the inherent goodness of people, a concept that seems foreign to him. yet, he finds himself drawn to your optimism and idealism, secretly longing to experience the world through your eyes.

over time, tom's icy exterior begins to thaw in your presence, revealing a softer, more compassionate side of him that few have ever seen.

your classmates are surprised to see the usually reserved slytherin opening up to you, but he pays them no mind. in your company, he feels free to be himself, unburdened by the weight of his reputation and expectations.

you, on the other hand, find solace in tom's intelligence and ambition, admiring his determination to carve out his own path in the world. despite his sometimes cold demeanor, you sense a depth of emotion within him that few others ever glimpse.

Song: Starlight by Muse

#nuggets 1500 follower celebration #tom riddle #tom riddle headcanons

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theunkn0wn-0 · 3 months

Text

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader GENDER-NEUTRAL READER × DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

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PREVIOUS CHAPTER: Prologue - SALVATION | 2 FIRST CHAPTER: Prologue - BIRTH | 1 ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

[TRIGGER] WARNINGS: Mentions of DEATH, SLAVERY, WARFARE, KIDNAPPED, GORE, VIOLENCE, and BLOOD!

Prologue - PROMISE| 3

People with good intentions make promises. People with good character keep them.

•◉◓☆◓◉•

"Jiro, I understand it is a lot to take in, however, believe me, I'm not being absurd," I asserted, my tone firm, attempting to anchor my words in the certainty of my validity. His eyes widened, freezing in place like a statue. The revelation hung heavy between us, the suspense thickening with every heartbeat. My heart quickened, anxiety bubbling as the silence lingered, but I allowed him the time he needed. His mind seemed to grapple with a whirlwind of thoughts.

The night air, crisp and cold, caressed my face as I let out a slow exhale. Jiro blinked several times, finally breaking his silence. "Elaborate," he demanded, his voice maintaining its monotone stoicism and carrying an undertone of curiosity. His strong mentality and Jiro's willingness to engage and to take the time to understand rather than dismiss me outright impressed me.

"I cannot die, age, or get ill," I explained, meeting his gaze with sincerity. "Are you truly immortal? You cannot die or be injured?" Jiro questioned, skepticism creasing his features.

"I can be injured; however, I can heal my wounds."

Jiro's disbelief morphed into a slightly irritated skepticism. "Heal? Recover from injuries? That sounds unbelievable," he stated, his doubt etched in the furrow of his brows. I felt a twinge of irritation, but I kept my composure, understanding his reaction was typical for people to react to this. "I'll show you," I declared, narrowing my eyes.

My hand reached for the hilt of my sword, moonlight dancing off the glistening blade. I drew the sword and brought it to my arm, taking a deep breath before slashing it. A sharp grunt escaped me as blood flowed from the deep wound, painting a stark contrast against the night.

Jiro flinched, taking a step forward in concern. His movement halted as he watched my injured arm knit itself back together, the deep wound on my arm mended, the skin sealing seamlessly, leaving no trace of the injury. No scars remained, and the blood on my arm dried up. It was my concrete proof, a display of my immortality.

"You're immortal, and I've seen things, but your arm... it's like you've never been injured." Jiro's words hung in the air, his eyes tracing my arm—no scars, no sign of infection. Curiosity and astonishment danced across his features as he tentatively asked, "How... I apologize, Major, for asking this... How old are you?"

"Around a million years old by now," I answered truthfully. His eyes widened in disbelief as the revelation sat heavy between us; Jiro, sensing the authenticity in my response, delved deeper into his inquiries. The questions flowed, and I was grateful for his lack of negative reaction, thankful that he sought to understand my history and experiences.

Once, we were merely soldiers—distant, unspoken. Now, as a commander and a soldier, we had progressed from one-word sentences to bearing our deepest secrets, truths, and histories. Our bond, forged in the crucible of shared vulnerability, grew with each passing day.

My feelings for him lingered, unspoken but palpable. Amidst the chaos of war, our souls resonated. Jiro, a special presence in my heart, left me questioning the nature of my feelings—companion, ally, friend, or something more?

"I've sworn to protect you; I forever stick to my word. You can trust me," Jiro's words broke through the silence, a sense of the loyalty he held for me. His stoic exterior crumbled, revealing a devotion that warmed my immortal heart.

Days rolled on, reshaping our understanding of each other. We were no longer the cold, calm, and emotionless combatants. Instead, it was two souls bound by shared brokenness, finding solace in shared pain. My growing feelings for Jiro became undeniable, pushing me to make another promise of my own.

I would bring him home alive.

The day of confession arrived. Tomorrow, my squad and I would be thrust onto the front lines. The weight of the impending battle hung in the air as I confessed my feelings to Jiro, my heart thudding with anticipation.

"Major, or let me correct myself... [First Name], I love you too. You've captured my heart in ways I never expected," Jiro admitted, his usually stern voice softening, a new vulnerability emerging. We were no longer concealing ourselves in the shadows, an immortal Major and my Second Lieutenant soon-to-be lovers once the war concluded.

Or so I thought.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

The acrid scent of gunpowder stung my nostrils, blending with the cacophony of explosions, screams, and gunfire that reverberated across the battlefield. Our march towards the impending clash was accompanied by the rhythmic thud of hooves against the grassy terrain.

My steed, sensing the tension, emitted a soft, throaty nicker, prompting my hand to soothe its anxiety with gentle pats on its muscular neck. Tension hummed in the air as we approached the frontline, the first squad already unleashing a storm of bullets ahead of us. We were the second squad, poised and waiting for the signal.

"Major."

Jiro's voice, a steady anchor in the cacophony, drew me back from the brink of my thoughts. His steed paced alongside mine, and as our eyes met, looking deeply into his black eyes. I responded calmly, "Yes?" Our gazes briefly connected before he shifted his attention to the troops on the horizon.

"Let's end this war."

Jiro's words resonated, and a prideful smirk played on my lips. "Right with you, Second Lieutenant Griffin," I affirmed. A surge of yells and screams erupted, cutting through our conversation. I surveyed the battlefield, the charge of the enemy signaling the commencement of the battle; my smirk transformed into a wild grin as I drew my sword with a metallic scrape, and I raised my voice with a tone of authority.

"My men, we will end this war—for justice, for freedom, for righteousness, for our people! Give them a bloody war! Charge!"

As my rallying unleashed their war cries, I flicked the reins, urging my horse forward into the fray, the blade in my hand poised and aimed at the oncoming enemy, charging into the tumult alongside Jiro with the thunderous hooves of our charging horses.

Adrenaline surged, my heart pounding in tandem with the excitement of destruction. The chaos brought an odd satisfaction, a joy that swallowed sorrows and fears. I swung my sword with ruthless precision, severing heads, my horse galloping with a rhythm matching the chaos of war.

Blood sprayed the grass and soil as I galloped across the battlefield, thrusting my sword into another foe, impaling them, and dragging them alongside me as my horse galloped across the battlefield. I pulled their rifle from their grasp. The sword returned to its sheath as I lined up the rifle.

I steadied my body, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The world blurred as I aimed and pulled the trigger again, the deafening sounds of firearms, explosions, and screams merging into a discordant symphony of war.

Suddenly, a bullet pierced through my ribcage, sending me plummeting from my horse to the hard ground below. My steed bolted away, startled by the sudden blast. A soft moan escaped my lips as my hand clutched the searing wound.

Immortality or not, the pain was real.

Despite the pain, I could feel the odd sensation of my skin knit itself back together; the bullet spewed out as the pain faded away. With a gritted jaw, I pushed myself off the ground, rolling onto my belly and gathering my strength. I steadied myself, fingers tightening around my own rifle.

I squeezed the trigger; the crisp click and the thunderous bang echoed in my ears as I fired at the enemies. I reloaded and a shout came behind me, snapping my head around. An enemy swung his sword toward my neck, reacting on instinct with a swift roll; I blocked the blow with my gun, a clash of metal meeting metal.

With a surge of strength, I pushed him away and ended him with a lethal shot. My grin widened as my eyes scanned the battleground; the advantage was in our favor, but a gut-wrenching shout of my name interrupted my thrill. I turned to see Jiro, meeting his desperate gaze, his hand reaching out in warning.

"Out of the way—"

His words were swallowed by an explosion that erupted before us, sending a shockwave that flung me through the air like a ragdoll, pain reverberating through my body as I collided with the ground. Groans and grunts escaped me; my ears rang, my vision blurred, and my body fought to regain composure.

I scanned the carnage, the scent of gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood lingering in the air. A glance down revealed my leg missing, but the pain was temporary. It regenerated, leaving me barefoot. Standing up, the ache on my face disappeared, replaced by a realization that sent my heart plummeting.

Where is Jiro?

My eyes darted frantically, the aftermath of destruction and death staining the landscape. Panic clawed at my throat, my heartbeat thundering. My voice trembled as I called out Jiro's name, but my voice caught in my throat as my eyes found him.

Jiro's lower body was gone, his upper half mutilated, desperately clinging to life, blood spewing, organs exposed. His attempts at silence only yielded small whimpers, grunts, groans, and moans of anguish. My feet carried me toward him, knees sliding across the blood-soaked ground and beside his battered form.

"Jiro!"

My voice, loud and desperate, hitched in my throat. My eyes widened at the nightmarish scene before me. The joy of destruction is replaced by a tidal wave of terror, fury, despair, and shock. My hands trembled as I touched his face, tears clouding my vision. Blinking them away, I tried to focus on the horror before me, the warmth of my tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Jiro, Jiro, don't close your eyes. Please. Don't. Leave me!"

My plea echoed through the chaos of the battlefield; desperation etched into the tremor of my voice. A maelstrom of thoughts whirled in my mind of possibilities on how to ease his pain, how to save him. Jiro coughed, blood escaping from his lips, tracing a crimson path down his chin. His once vibrant, stoic black eyes, now clouded with fatigue and anguish, met mine.

I closed the distance between us, hovering inches from his face, feeling the warmth of his fading breath. Each labored exhale pulled at my heartstrings, a harsh reminder of his fragile life. He was still a mortal.

"[First Name]..."

Jiro uttered my name, his voice a mix of groans, weakening with every passing moment. Tears cascaded down my cheeks, landing on his face and mingling with the dirt and blood. "Jiro, it's going to be okay. We— I—" My words choked, my ability to speak faltered, his feeble hand finding its way to my cheek. A faint smile, a rarity that carried the weight of emotions and purity, graced his lips.

"I love you..."

His final words hung in the air, and with them, the light in his eyes dimmed, his body becoming limp in my hands. The battlefield's clamor faded into a muffled backdrop—gunfire, explosions, and distant screams were drowned out by the pounding of my heart. My breaths were erratic, time seeming to pause as I struggled to process the reality unfolding before me.

In my immortal existence spanning a million years, Jiro Griffin had been my first love, the one who made my heart flutter like no ally, companion, friend, or comrade ever had. Now, he was gone, taken from me in the brutality of war, his life extinguished within my helpless hands.

I promised myself I would bring him home alive.

I failed.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Years drifted away since the echoes of war had faded, and I had immersed myself in a life dedicated to salvation and justice, mirroring Jiro's unwavering pursuit of his goals and the liberation of the enslaved. I located Jiro's family, liberated and now free; his mother bore the familiar features that tugged at my heart, a poignant reminder of Jiro's death.

The haunting image of his mangled, half-body persisted, replaying like a relentless reel in my mind. As I visited Jiro's grave, nestled beneath the same tree he once spoke of, I felt the weight of our shared past. His words reverberated in my mind, the promise I made to free his family etched into my purpose. It wasn't easy delivering the news of his demise, but I had kept my word, ensuring their freedom.

At least, in that aspect, I hadn't failed.

The tree, hidden somewhere in the woods, was a sanctuary where Jiro escaped his nightmares and his pain. A childhood refuge where he had carved a drawing, leaving a lasting mark on nature. 'It's somewhere down South, in the woods. Can't remember exactly where, but one day, I'll find it. Carved a drawing on that tree, once,' his words echoed, and the nostalgia of our shared moments engulfed me.

Memories surged, the echo of our time together filling the air. I longed for more, a stolen kiss, shared embraces, moments that could have been, drowned in the misery and despair that followed his loss. Drowned in grief, I could have perished in the same explosion that claimed him. My immortality spared me, a curse of the anguish of never finding peace or release.

The cocktail of misery, despair, and mixed with anger, and the frustration of my immortality had been an arduous mix. The early years were a tumultuous storm, with decades merging into centuries. Yet, I found solace in the ongoing fight for justice, in the battles that needed my intervention, and in the lives, I continued to save; his legacy of justice became my guiding light.

Centuries had unraveled since the 19th century, now in the 21st, and I roamed the earth, an eternal wanderer in pursuit of healing and coping. My goal was simple: Happiness would find me if I pressed forward, navigating through the tapestry of time. Healing and coping defined my existence.

I never knew the things that the choices I made, and the paths I treaded would lead me to my downfall.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

In the shadows of the moonlit night, I found myself navigating the desolate field in Morocco, a chill wind whispering through the air. The mission was simple—or so I thought—to eliminate the human traffickers and rescue the hostages. Victor Arrenberg, the man who had this mission, had heard of my skills, but not my immortality which I was thankful for, and I had remained an anonymous assassin.

My expertise honed over decades, if not centuries, as an assassin. Gripping my pistol, I approached the designated room with caution where hostages were supposedly held. I had successfully eliminated all the traffickers inside the building as I entered. As my eyes scanned the empty space, confusion gripped me until realization dawned—this was a setup.

"Oh, fuck m—"

A string of curses barely escaped my lips before a barrage of gunfire tore through the silence. Bullets tore through the air, each impact sending shockwaves of pain through my body, jerking with every hit. Darkness enveloped me as I crumpled to the floor, a bullet lodged in my skull. The last flicker of consciousness echoed with a question.

Is this it? Will I truly die?

●

Yet, life surged back into my veins. I gasped for air, the world slowly coming into focus. The excruciating pain subsided, and bullets spewed themselves from my bullet holes, my fingers reflexively curling around the pistol that had slipped from my grasp. Lying on the cold, dried-up bloody floor, as consciousness returned, I rose unsteadily. I became aware of the voices around me—shock, wonder, and fear echoing through the air.

"Oh my god."

"Reload! Reload!"

"I can't believe it."

Soldiers, their faces etched with disbelief and fear witnessing a resurrected scene. Without hesitation, I attacked, leaving a trail of carnage in my wake. Blood painted the room as I mercilessly took them down, my wounds healing with each passing second. My eyes caught a surveillance camera in the corner; a single shot reduced it to shards.

I was fucking set up.

It didn't take long for them to locate me. Captured, my eyes met Victor, the man behind the act. He, it seemed, was no ordinary mission coordinator but a scientist with an agenda. His scrutinizing gaze swept over me, leaving me with an unsettling sense of being an anomaly, something beyond human.

The unnerving sensation of cable handcuffs biting into my wrists intensified with each tightening grip from the soldiers flanking me; they knew the consequences of releasing me. My eyes locked onto Victor's intense brown gaze, a mix of hunger, curiosity, and astonishment.

"Together we shall do great things. What they are yet, I know not, but they shall be the terror of the Earth."

His words reverberated, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. The prospect of becoming a symbol of terror, a monstrous being, triggered a snarl of disgust. Memories of accusations from the 1690s resurfaced briefly, dismissed but not forgotten. Victor, sensing my reaction, cleared his throat, attempting to change the narrative.

"Or rather the savior of Earth... Can we take the cuffs off?"

One of the soldiers, a subordinate of Victor, shook his head. "No, we cannot, Doctor." Victor's gaze shifted from his worker back to me, his lips curving into a friendly smile.

"Ah, I see. My apologies. Let's get off on the right foot, shall we? I am Victor Arrenberg, or call me Dr. Arrenberg, the CEO of BioThera Corporation. Our work here is all about saving people and unlocking secrets to discover answers. All for science!"

Excitement laced Victor's words, his smile widening with each passing moment. He strolled toward a table, talking animatedly with his back turned to me, not knowing what he was doing as I became cautious.

"I have seen the evidence that one of my subordinates showcased, but I prefer my evidence to be indisputable."

Suddenly, he spun around a small knife in his hand for a letter opener. He lunged at me, jabbing relentlessly. Groans escaped my lips, and I bit down hard to suppress any audible signs of pain. Victor paused, withdrawing the knife, his eyes reflecting amazement at my resilience. The pain lingered but faded, my regeneration weaving its charm.

"We bought a cancer drug on the market last quarter. It's already saved hundreds of thousands of lives. Yet, in its development, it killed a quarter of a million lab mice. Now, I didn't ask for their little permissions. I'm not gonna ask for yours."

Dread sank in as his words resonated. A chill crawled up my spine, my breath hitching in my throat, my heart sinking. As he continued speaking, closing in, his eyes filled with wonder, excitement, and an unsettling eagerness, and his grin widened.

"There's genetic code inside you which could help every human being on Earth. We're morally obliged to take it and I want to discover the secrets of your immortality!"

"What?"

I muttered in disbelief, my attention shifting to one of his workers producing a small bottle that looked like an injection. Panic surged within me as I struggled against the soldiers restraining me. "Wait, what's that?! Hey! Wait!"

I exclaimed, attempting to break free. A sudden shock jolted through my back, electricity seizing my body as I was forced to my knees. The worker approached, injecting the syringe into my neck. The sensation faded, darkness enveloped me, fear the last thing I felt, the uncertainty of my fate haunting my last conscious thoughts.

•◉◒☆◒◉•

Finished: January 14, 2024

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: Prologue - SALVATION | 2

NEXT CHAPTER: Prologue - BETRAYAL | 4

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Link to the book [Wattpad]: The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

#by_theunkn0wn-0 #The Gift of Immortality #dragon ball x reader #dragon ball characters x reader #reader insert #x reader #x y/n #x gender neutral y/n #x gender neutral reader #x gn reader #gn reader #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #gender neutral mc #fanfiction #The Gift of Immortality-prologue #I apologize if there is any bad grammar or misspelled words

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joz-yyh · 2 years

Text

Love Host - Chapter 3

SUMMARY: A prequel to my fic, “Good Boy.” Takes place during the final scene of the game and the journey home afterwards. Miles becomes the host and the Walrider intends to consummate their bond. No beta. Read at your own risk.

RATING: E (for graphic depictions of violence / gore / character death+rebirth / psychological torture / xenophilia / masturbation / handjobs / anal fingering / tentacle sex)

PAIRING: Walmiles (WalriderxMiles)

WORD COUNT: 3,349

Read on Ao3: Here

A/N: I swear this fanfic has a plot, we just haven't gotten there yet because we need to cover a lot of smut first (I am almost joking).

Also, if you haven’t seen it yet, you can check out the progress of My Wamiles Art, but be warned, it's NSFW!!

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–——

It's early afternoon by the time Miles wakes up. The sun is shining through the blinds, bathing the messy geometric contours of his modest, modern-esque flat in a golden glow.

Miles rubs the sleep from his eyes, yawning loud and wide despite having slept half the day away. He's stretching out the cricks in his limbs when the Walrider exits sleep mode and powers on, attune to it's host's internal clock.

The man recoils at first, startled by the dark, imposing figure, somehow forgetting the human-sized nanobot was still there despite having shared a bed with it, ensnared in the possessive hold of claws and tentacles.

The dissociation only lasts a heartbeat, his body remembering even if his jumbled mind took a moment to catch up, becoming calm again.

The brunette suppresses a chuckle as he turns towards his companion. This evil bio-weapon looks so out of place in the daylight, in the domestic setting of his bedroom, holding him like he's something precious.

Such a stark contrast to the Walrider that stalked under the cover of darkness, illuminated by neon emergency beacons and cold laboratory testing facilities. The same fearsome weapon that hunted patients, ripped out spines and spattered blood across narrow halls looked almost cute, charming in photographic filter of a beautiful autumn day.

Miles tilts his head, eyes catching the odd reflection of colors skittering over the obsidian skin, giving it the appearance of labradorite. He runs a finger over it, seeking the brilliance hidden underneath, his inquisitive tendencies getting the better of him.

He traces the jut of the Walrider collar bone to the curve of it's shoulder, rolling his palm over the joint there, the vibrant streaks of bio-luminescence shining like the trails of shooting stars.

The Walrider is more than happy to let Miles explore, an excitement decorating it's features as it's host dedicates himself to the task.

The brunette continues down the line of the monster's arm, sliding his hand over well-defined muscle, the same teal patterns spread throughout it's bizarre anatomy. Miles is in awe over it, of how it could change consistency, function and appearance, wondering if this iteration of it's skin meant it was left open, unarmored.

The Walrider was developed as a weapon after all and Miles could certainly see the advantages of a thick, abrasive exterior, but if his partner chose to convey it's trust by lowering it's defenses to show him this secret, well, Miles' heart twinges just a bit at the possibility.

The reporter guides his hand back up to stroke at the sharp angles of the entities' cheek, gazing into it's striking eyes situated behind the exoskeleton. The gentle caress of Miles' thumb along its jaw is lulling it's eyes closed, and soon the demon is leaning into it's host's bandaged palm, a chitter of contentment escaping through it's jaws.

Faced with such unabashed adoration, Miles dares to steal a kiss, the compulsion to do so proving too strong to resist. Pink lips purse against the side of it's mouth in not quite a chaste peck, but a firm lingering indulgence. The dark skin is warm under his lips, but it feels rubbery and plastic, an imitation of something inadvertently human.

"Thanks for staying with me," Miles says, a gentle smile on his face as he pulls away, blue eyes staring fondly at his handiwork.

His choice of his words is absurd really, ridiculous. The Walrider couldn’t leave him even if it wanted to. They’re both viscerally connected, permanent implants to each other’s existence, unable stray too far apart from each other without the consequence of death. Not that Miles had any concrete evidence to back this intrinsic theory up, it was really more of a hunch, and while his inheritance of the Walrider failed to come with a disclaimer or a user’s manual (he wouldn’t have read it even if it did), Miles wasn’t about to test the physical range of their limitations any time soon.

The machine is frozen and Miles swears he hears a cursed dial-up noise as it processes the kiss he had just given it and the man hopes the machine won't try to bite his face off in a misinterpretation.

Thankfully, it doesn't. Instead, it mimics Miles actions, claws outstretched to clasp the human's cheek in return. It leans forward, but without any lips of its own, all it can manage is a brush of teeth. The sharp points of it's canines sting only a little as they graze over his skin, sometimes chipping open a superficial mark.

A purr reverberates from inside it's throat as it rubs the softer sides of it's misshapen face all over Miles, a little too roughly in it's exuberance, the man's brunette locks of hair in total disarray.

"You're in a good mood, huh," Miles says with an amused chuckle, trying to push the Walrider's face away from his to gain some reprieve, although halfheartedly because he can't say he's had too many pleasant "morning afters" like this one.

The man doesn't know what prompts him to ask, or why he's hit with the sudden spike of anxiety, but the words are leaving his mouth before he can swallow them back.

"Did you enjoy last night, too," he asks in small, quiet voice that is entirely unlike him.

There’s an infinitesimal, but rapidly becoming larger part of him that wants the Walrider to have a choice in the matter even if Miles didn’t have one when it came to becoming the host. He wants to be a better master than Wernickle was, to honor Billy by being magnanimous in his mission, one that allowed the Walrider some semblance of free will and independence as unfathomable and ludicrous as that may be.

The Walrider squeaks with indisputable affirmation, pressing closer, smothering the human with the dense mass of it’s bulk. Their legs are tangled together, claws wrapping around his clothed back to bring them as close as they possibly could be and that should be enough of an indication to set Miles scattered mind at ease.

"Hey, hey, easy now, tiger! We can't stay in bed all day! We're on the run from an evil corporation remember," Miles exasperates, prying the entity off before they spend another few hours engaged in some awkward rendition of coitus that involves a number of tentacles.

"No offense," Miles tacks on for good measure. Murkoff was it's creator and he didn't know if the Walrider had any lingering attachments to the private group that designed it however doubtful the probability seemed.

"We have a lot to do today and the clock is ticking."

We? Did he just say we? When did it become we? He chews on the word in his mind and it doesn't taste entirely unsavory, just different. Miles leaves the thought alone for now because he can always return to it later if he really needs to, but he has more pressing matters that don’t involve an existential crisis.

The Walrider seems to understand the situation all too well as it's lanky form deflates into the mattress, whining in annoyance as it mopes and pouts like a neglected pet. Miles gives his companion's slumped behavior an inquisitive brow, reaching over to pat the sulking dip of it's cranium in consolation.

"Hey, I'll try to be quick. A few hours tops. Just be ready if someone comes knocking," Miles tells it with an air of impending dread and the Walrider snorts at him dejectedly, not nearly as concerned with the threat of assassins as it was with the denial of cuddle time.

Miles sighs, dismissive, getting out of bed to go about his routine. He stops by the bathroom to brush his teeth and raid the medicine cabinet for some aspirin. His hangover isn't quite as bad as he anticipated it would be, but he could still feel it's lingering effects the moment he started walking around.

He cups his hand under the faucet, bringing the water to his lips as he swallows down the chalky white pills. That done, he decides to take a quick shower, thinking It might be the last opportunity he gets for awhile.

He leaves the bathroom door open and it's not long before he notices the Walrider curiously peeping in on him, it's dark outline huddled around the door frame as Miles stands behind the clear liner of the shower curtain.

Every now and then the reporter flicks his eyes over to it, watchful, wondering if it would try something to distract him, but to his surprise, the entity remains a respectable distance away, simply observing. By the time he steps out of the shower, the Walrider has disappeared, probably so Miles wouldn't catch him outright for voyeurism.

The brunette dries off, wrapping the towel around his waist as he heads in the direction of his dresser for a change of clothes. He fits his arms through the sleeves of a white collared shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles and yanking it into place.

A gasp escapes Miles as a rugged masculine form sidles up to his back, spooning him before he can finish fastening the first button closed. Claws glide over his hips, dropping the fuzzy towel down his thighs to fall to the floor.

The beginnings of arousal stir in his belly and Miles internally chastises himself for it, knowing he can't afford to get carried away again.

"We can't do this right now," Miles reasons, "I promise I'll show you more later, but we have more important things to take care of first."

The Walrider extracts itself by a few centimeters, digesting this information, but as it wrestles with the concepts of self-restraint and carnal desire, the newly awakened heat the human had perpetuated eventually wins out.

Miles finds himself pinned to the wooden dresser he's standing in front of, the machine roughly keeping him in place with the superhuman strength of it's body. Miles hisses, the metal pull handles of his dresser drawers digging grooves into his flesh. He cranes his neck around, glaring at the machine from over his shoulder for it's excessive use of force.

"Didn't you hear me? I said we have to go. There's no time."

The Walrider seems to think there is.

Instant and wild sensation, molten and all-consuming as a pair of clawed hands trap the reporter's half-hard dick by the hilt. Miles jumps, involuntarily bucking his hips into it's firm grip and he cries out in a broken moan, the machine squeezing around him just the right amount, stroking him to fullness in rampant succession. Miles' resolve is diminishing faster by the second, growing less and less important the more those gruesome claws slide over his shaft again and again.

This probably wasn't a good lesson for the Walrider to learn, that Miles would eventually give in with enough prodding and persuasion, but he can school the machine on the importance of boundaries and mutual consent later because by comparison, this shouldn't take nearly as long as a discussion on complicated human relationship dynamics would.

Tentacles are wriggling against his entrance now, pushing in, caustic and raw, about to tear him open.

"Wait," He begs, his legs shaking, "Fuck -- just wait -- you --you need to wet them first. It makes things easier, more enjoyable."

The tentacles in his ass cease their advances, retreating backwards. One fully withdraws, soothing around the abused muscle with alleviating touches while the other remains a few inches inside, biding it's time.

Another set of tendrils travel up to Miles lips, recalling what the man did with his fingers the previous night, seeking the wet crevice of his mouth.

Miles shudders, accepting one of them in, licking over the surreal, jelly-like appendage, studying the taste and feel with his tongue. He sucks on it, wanton, the round tip lashing against the the roof of his mouth then tickling the back of his throat. His jaw is pushed to open wider as the second tentacle sneaks inside, and he can't help the strings of saliva that drip down from his chin, practically drooling over the two phallic-like limbs.

Having been sufficiently lathered, the tentacles leave the warm sanctity of the man's mouth and Miles misses them almost immediately, his jaw feeling stretched and empty without their residency. As if reading his mind, more come to replace his supply, delving past his lips, dancing along his tongue and Miles is hooked on the sensation.

The spit-slicked tentacles return to Miles' ass, allowing the smaller one keeping him loose, acting as a plug, to slip out first. The reporter moans around the tentacles in his mouth, trying to still his trembling body as he's filled to the brim, his insides now slackened and offering little resistance to the bigger girth.

Thick roots come to wrap around his weak, buckling knees, sturdy and more fortifying then the others and Miles can't do much besides hang on for the ride, his hands clinging onto the tall wooden dresser for support.

The Walrider's claws abandon his erection in favor of toying with the pert nipples obscured by the open flaps of his shirt and Miles can't even spare a complaint because the tentacles in his mouth slither out to coil around his dick, shrinking and expanding in sleek, velvety transitions.

"Ahh aha aah, fuck," His voice is raspy, strained so, he swallows, wetting his throat.

"There! theretherethere -- ahhh, fuck yesss."

Miles' howls of ecstasy spur the Walrider on, fueling it, accelerating it's movements, driving harder, pumping faster, matching Miles voice with a guttural thrum of it's own.

The demons makeshift tongue licks Miles' ear, his cheek, stroking down the side of his neck until it' jagged circle of teeth sink into the juncture of the man's shoulder, ruining a perfectly good shirt. Miles screams, feeling the rivulets of blood pour out from the love bite.

The man let's himself go, somehow finding the sense to warn the Walrider of his release.

"I am -- I am coming," he groans, muffling his words into the cuff of his wrist as he convulses, splattering the tentacles and the dresser in hot, sticky fluid.

Miles is attempting to catch his breath as a cum-smeared tentacle bumps the curve of his bottom lip and the man can't say he’s keen on the taste of himself very much.

"Eck! You can clean them yourself, you know," he grouses, batting the soiled tentacles away.

The Walrider applies this recommendation, tasting it's host's seed and Miles can't deny the blush that dusts his cheeks as he ogles the machine drinking up what's left of the milky white on it's tentacles.

The brunette shakes his head, clearing it, remembering what he was doing before he was so rudely interrupted.

"Fuck, now I have to change and clean up again."

------------------------------

It takes him about another few hours to pack, to condense his entire existence into four black duffel bags, the lot of them placed conveniently near the front door.

He'd sent out about a dozen encrypted emails to what reliable connections he had, shared all the notes he'd kept of his experience at Mount Massive, about Murkoff's dirty little secrets. He made copies of what he could salvage from his glitchy camera footage, plans to drop the snuff film in the mailbox of every local news station and then some.

As a final hurrah, a eulogy for what was once a normal life, Miles is having a smoke, leaning his elbows on the pane of his open window. He takes in the details of the neighborhood, the concrete jungle of domestication and cramped run-down buildings that he had never really cared to appreciate before. The only reason he finds himself doing so now is because he doubts he will ever lay eyes on this city street again after today.

The Walrider was tame, well-behaved and non-invasive while he worked to sort though his files, the baggage both figuratively and literally so Miles doesn't mind when it approaches him from behind with claws wrapped around his waist, teeth nuzzling the back of his neck.

"I made copies of everything. I going to tell everyone," he tells it solemnly, "I don't know what's going to happen after that. I don't know what's going to happen to us."

The Walrider growls low, showing it understood, offering encouragement to it's host.

Miles makes a sardonic smiles at that.

"Yeah, I hope we'll be alright too," he says, reaching an arm up to curl around the demon's neck, giving it a small peck on the cheek.

There's only trace remnants of tobacco left in the filter of his cigarette, but he takes a long, lame drag on it anyway. Most of it had been wasted, burned off in tiny clumps of ash because he had been too busy being lost inside his own head, but he still liked the feeling of it in-between his fingers, the comfort the familiarity brought.

He snuffs out his cigarette on the window sill, dragging black streaks across cracked paint before flicking the butt down onto the sidewalk below.

He shuts the creaky window, latches it closed.

“Hey, when we’re outside in public, please try to be discrete. The last thing we needs is someone calling in a cryptid sighting,” Miles remarks, turning around, beholding the ominous form of the Walrider.

Obliging, the Walrider dissolves into a mist, thinning out until it becomes nothing at all.

Miles takes one last tour around his apartment, trying to take a mental picture of the memories he'd made over the past few years. He's leaving so much behind, but he can start over again if it means giving the world a better future by bringing Murkoff down.

Locking the door behind him, Miles descends the blocky stairs with two heavy bags on each shoulder. He takes one final look up at the building that he called home, focusing on his third story window before he rips his gaze away and faces forward again.

It's then that he recognizes the suspicious silver Audi parked in his spot, right out front on the sidewalk.

Holy Shit. Was he an idiot? How did he not notice it here before?

This was Trager’s car. It had to be.

Miles tries the door handle. It's unlocked. He tosses his bags into the back seat and then slides into the driver's side, looking for the car keys. Nothing in the ignition, but he keeps searching, a distinctive metallic clack resounding in the interior when he opens the fold-out mirror and they fall to the mat by the break pedal.

Fucking. Score.

Just for the hell of it, Miles takes the keys and bounds around to the back of the car. He opens up the trunk and just like he knew there would be, an expensive set of golf clubs and caddy are laying there to greet him, neat leather toppers, no doubt painstakingly chosen for each one of the ritzy driver clubs. Miles is going to use those later, but whether it's to pawn them, use them in an act of vandalism or put them to recreational use, he has yet to decide.

He slams the trunk closed and he can't believe his eyes when he sees the word, "BUDDY," inscribed on the rear goddamn license plate. He offers a chuff of disgust, rolling his eyes on his return trip to the drivers seat.

He turns the key, revs the engine and just takes a moment to breathe it all in, hands gripping the steering wheel to reiterate the fact that he had jacked Trager's motherfucking car and had brought it home with him, thinking that it must've been during one of his many mental blackouts. He doesn't know if those catatonic episodes are going to be an ongoing, reoccurring thing, but he hopes the answer is less and not more. Either way, Miles is not the type to kick a gift horse in the mouth.

Forget any thoughts he had about bittersweet departures. They're all replaced by giddy spouts of laughter because this feels like revenge, like he's pissing on Trager's grave and it's motivation enough to lay on the gas and do a burn-out, speeding straight towards the nearest news station.

{End Chapter 3}

#walmiles #walrider #miles upshur #walrider x miles #outlast #outlast fanfiction #walmiles fanfiction #my writing #love host #my walmiles fanfiction

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isloveworthdyingfor · 11 days

Text

Echoes in the Empty Gym

(Major Gabriel Steele) Alpha’s fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, glowing sterilely over the empty space. I leaned against my desk, arms folded across my chest as I watched Nic stride toward me. Each step she took seemed measured and deliberate, betraying none of the nervousness that rippled beneath her composed exterior.

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Still, I kept it in check, carefully curating an expression of professional amusement. Yet, when her gaze locked with mine, there was no denying the surge of energy that crackled between us. It was like touching a live wire—exciting, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.

“Major S,” she greeted, her voice steady despite the quiver I sensed lurking beneath.

“Nic, over here,” I replied, maintaining the facade of casual familiarity, even as I felt the ground shift beneath us.

She was small, yes, but her presence filled the room. Her workout gear clung to her like a second skin, accentuating every curve and muscle she had painstakingly sculpted through relentless hours of training. My gaze lingered, betraying the primal stirrings of desire that her form effortlessly ignited within me. Her stature might have been diminutive, but the strength she exuded was palpable—a silent challenge to anyone who dared underestimate her.

As she moved closer, the faint scent of her perfume—a mix of citrus and something floral—drifted toward me. The familiar fragrance tugged at memories I had tried to bury: the laughter we shared during a particularly grueling session, the way her eyes sparkled when she executed a perfect kick, the playful banter that somehow always lingered a moment too long.

Her cheeks were now tinged with color, a delicate pink that provided a striking difference to her fair hair, which fell in loose waves around her shoulders. It was an innocent reaction, yet it stirred something primal within me.

The conversation blurred; I could feel her tense and trying to relax.

“Our football banter?” Her innocence was palpable, yet I sensed a flicker of understanding beneath it. She knew more was at stake than just friendly messages and team rivalries.

I nodded, my gaze momentarily straying, revealing the chaos that threatened to overflow.

“Nic...” I began but halted. How could I articulate the delicate equilibrium of my life with Lilith, the dangerous tightrope I navigated daily? The memory of her explosive temper flared in my mind, a harsh reminder of the lines I dared not cross.

“Things are... complex,” was all I utter; the understatement hung heavily between us. My fingers itched with an urge to reach out, to close this gap with a simple touch, but I fought against it. The stakes were too high, and the potential repercussions were too drastic.

“This is ridiculous.” Nic’s hand twitched a tentative gesture that spoke volumes. I could almost feel the heat radiating from her skin, the static charge that sparked between us whenever we got too close. But we both retracted; self-preservation won over the magnetic pull that drew us together.

“… unprofessional,” I spit out, my teeth grinding against the words.

“Unprofessional?” Nic echoed back at me, disbelief painted across her face. “Do you agree?”

My jaw tightened further as I averted my gaze from her, casting it instead over the deserted expanse of the gym. I was usually an island of calm in any storm, but under the cruel scrutiny of fluorescent lights, fissures were beginning to show in my armor.

“Nic,” I attempted again, a tremor creeping into my voice despite my best efforts. “It’s not about what I think. It’s about… Lilith’s perception.”

I watched as she rose from her seat, her legs shaking beneath her like a newborn foal preparing to take its first steps into an uncertain world. Outside, the festive holiday decorations twinkled merrily in stark contrast to our grim reality.

A breeze from the open door swept through the gym, carrying the scent of winter pine and the distant sound of muffled laughter. For a fleeting second, I wished we could be anywhere but here, lost in a world where the only thing that mattered was the undeniable connection between us.

But wishes were for fairy tales, and our story was rooted in a far grittier reality—one where villains lurked in the shadows and happy endings were never guaranteed.

#forbiddenlove #forbiddenromance #complexrelationships #temptation #unrequitedlove #unprofessional #angst #longing #gymlife #fitnessmotivation #fluorescentlights #strongfemalecharacter

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zeussim · 3 years

Text

Me yesterday: "Ugh! It'll be so nice to be able to sleep for a long time tomorrow. I can wake up at 8.45!!"

Me wide awake at 5.30 am: "Are you freaking kidding ME??"

#WHY did I wake up ONE HOUR earlier than I'd had to the other days????#i did just stay in bed until 7 but GODDAMMIT BRAIN #My brain just went HMMM only sleeping 6 hours is NIICEE #I like being sleep deprived #I'm still not tired #actually my leg is shaking #actually both my legs are shaking #i have done a uni presentation and now I have to wait till 2 pm for my exam quiz to open #so MIGHT AS WELL MAKE CC #and don't worry the exam quiz is really easy because it's field course exam #and the entire course is split in 3 exams so each of them are hella easy #also sometimes I'll just text my bff and be completely normal #and instantly she just asks me if I'm hyper #I'm not hyper omg #I am excited #I have two moods calm and collected and freaking HYPER LIKE A RABBIT ON REDBULL #my study group has definitely noticed my hyperactivity and yeah ahahhaha I imagine it as #a stark contrast to my calm exterior #so maybe i am hyper ehhh #im sending conflicting messages here #anyway bye bye #nonsims

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cheekygreenty · 3 years

Text

Little Witch - Part 16

The Darkling x Reader

'It's work-related Baghra, I'm not here because I miss you'

'Then get to it.' She snapped and walked around you, settling in her seat by the fire.

'How is Alina getting along?'

'Like a wounded animal' You sighed. As much as you hated the woman, she had a knack for training Grisha and always succeeded so this wasn't good.

'How bad is it?'

'She can't light a doorway on her own without Aleksander clutching her wrist.'

'Surely she's not that weak. Maybe you're just losing your touch'

'Get out.' She snapped.

'The Fete is 2 weeks away, it would do you well to make sure she doesn't embarrass herself' You let a subtle threat slip into your words but in reality, you couldn't touch Baghra, Aleksander forbade it himself.

'Or else what? You'll wrap my own shadows around my neck and wring me to death?'

'Perhaps.'

'Foolish girl. You have a pretty face but deep down you are uglier than the Black Heretic himself.' Baghra always seemed to have a paramount of new insult ready to throw your way.

'Well isn't it lucky that I share a bed with him'

'You are absurd'

'Only the best of us are.' With that, you left the blistering heat and made your way back into the palace, your mind drifting back to your first ever encounter with Baghra.

----

'You'll train with Baghra' General Kirigan said as you awkwardly stood in your lavish suite, feeling the ill-fitting Tidemaker kefta weighing heavily on your shoulders.

'I can fight already there's no need' You didn't want to be here, you wanted to go back to your regiment in the First-Army and sleep on an uncomfortable cot surrounded by your friends. The Palace reminded you too much of your old family home to the point of it making you uneasy.

'Not that kind of training' As handsome as the General was, you didn't let yourself succumb to his looks or that faint smile, even if it did erupt small butterflies in your body. Don't trust him.

'Do I have to wear this coat?' It was the first time you'd put it on and although it was very well made, you didn't think it suited you.

'That's your uniform from now on I'm afraid.' He gestured to his own black kefta. It was magnificent.

At the time, you hadn't yet known you could possess more than one Grisha power, but that was about to change really soon as he led you down the narrow steps leading to a hut.

It was nestled deep in the Palace gardens, and you longed for the same privacy. It wasn't anything like the Little Palace with its dull exterior and homely interior. But the heat, oh the heat, it was scalding. You fiddled with the kefta belt and buttons, tugging the thick coat off of you as you looked around, awaiting the woman the General referred to as Baghra.

'Hello?' You folded the blue coat over the back of a chair, feeling too awkward to sit down.

'You must be the Elemental, child you stick out like a sore thumb' An old woman appeared in the doorway. Her hair was graying and her clothes looked worn.

'An- wha- elemental?' You tested the words on your tongue, were you not a Grisha?

'Sit.' You did as you were told as she sat opposite you, leaning forward and having a good look at you.

'I've only ever met one of you, you're very rare'

'What am I' The urgency in your voice was strong.

'You take powers from other Grisha. You don't have any of your own.'

'So I'm not a Grisha. Why am I here then?' You scoffed.

'Just because you can't conjure up on your own doesn't mean you are not Grisha'

'I don't want to be here.'

'You've made that quite obvious.'

The room stilled as you thought about which questions to ask next.

'Is it hereditary?'

'Most likely. One doesn't don't know they are an Elemental until they touch a Grisha who is conjuring, hence why you're so rare. There's no test for it.'

'I don't fit in'

'No. You don't.' At least the old woman agreed. 'But don't let that be the reason you flock to change. There are those out there that would kill to have you in their ranks.' She eyed you again, a hidden meaning in her words that you couldn't decipher.

'I can be more than just a Tidemaker?'

'You can be much more, but only if you know how to control it.' She gripped your wrist suddenly, and a weird feeling spread through you, much like the one when General Kirigan touched you. It was like a rush of calm and surety.

'You have potential, a lot of it.'

'How are you going to train me if you've only ever known one of me?' You didn't mean to sound as harsh as you did, but you were growing impatient.

'Grisha science is simple child, even for those who come from Merzost.'

'Merzost?'

'Maybe in due time, Y/N. Maybe then I'll explain.'

-----

She never explained it, never mentioned it to Aleksander, never taught you properly. She held you back constantly and consistently. It was only when you left and almost died did you learn the true reason behind your kind and it still made you apprehensive.

You had yet to dabble in Merzost yourself even though your whole being came from it. You had felt drawn to it sure, but you understood that there was always a price to pay. Like Aleksander with the Fold, or Ilya when he created the amplifiers. You weren't willing to satisfy that silent thirst just yet if it meant sacrificing something dear to you.

The Palace was swimming in life right now despite the brutally cold air. The children had just finished school for the day and were running around playing in the snow while the Summoners were practicing on their grounds. It was nice to hear their laughs and content conversations, a stark contrast to the life you led a mere month ago.

The Little Palace wasn't perfect, but it was the sanctuary Grisha needed and you took pride in the fact that you helped achieve that. Aleksander may have done the bulk of the work, but you put blood, sweat and tears into ensuring that all kinds of Grisha felt safe in Ravka.

You watched as the young Tidemakers used all their might to break through the thick layers of ice on the lake. They worked in unison and in silence as the water shot up and behaved as if it were their puppet and they controlled the strings.

'Reminiscing?' Aleksander appeared at your side in his dramatic black cape.

'When I first came to the Palace, I truly thought I would be stuck as a Tidemaker forever' You laughed at your childish insolence.

'What's so wrong with being a Tidemaker?'

'Hmmm, maybe the fact that East Ravka is land-locked?'

'We have a lake' He pointed out with an amused grin. 'How is Alina?' He changed the topic.

'Your mother is doubtful'

'Isn't she always' His eyebrow raised in a sign of annoyance.

'Claims Alina cannot do anything without an amplifier by her side.'

'She's holding back.'

'Alina or Baghra?'

'Both.' You turned away from him, returning your gaze to the Tidemakers.

'You think she's up to something?'

'When is she not up to something, I fear your return has made her antsy.' You couldn't help but let out a giggle.

'Baghra is unnerved by me, my life goal is complete.'

'She thinks you corrupt me.'

'Does she know it is the other way around?' You mused and took hold of his hand, the action hidden behind his cape.

'I'm offended Ms.Y/L/N. I was under the impression we are both as bad as the other.' He squeezed your hand back, the cool silver ring pressing against your skin. You shivered, cursing yourself for not bringing a cape.

'I think I have to go back in' You said as you watched your breath leave in a cloud of fog.

'I think that's best.' He gave your hand one last tight squeeze and let go, leaving a brief kiss against your temple. You watched the elegant sway of the black material as he made his way to Baghra's hut.

You ran back to the warmth of the indoors and requested a food tray be brought back to your chambers while you dealt with stationing new Grisha around the camps. It was tedious and boring but once you got this done, the rest of the day was yours to do whatever you wished. The library was calling your name, but so was the banya. You had spent so much time in the Little Palace covered in mounds of work you completely forgot to enjoy yourself.

As you signed the last station order, you leaned back into your chair with a sigh and sipped the rest of the kvas in your glass. It wasn't even dinner time yet but you found yourself stifling a yawn. Your mind wandered to Aleksander for the umpteenth time that day. Why did he go to Baghra?

-------

His steps were loud as he descended the stairs into the main part of the hut. Baghra was still sitting in her chair from her previous talk with Y/N when she heard the door squeal open.

'Mother.' His voice echoed throughout the small building alongside the crackling of the fire.

'Have you come to ask about your Sun-Summoner? if so then the Witch has already beat you to it'

'Don't call her that, she's your Deputy now'

'I will call that brat whatever I please.'

'Baghra, I am warning you.' He didn't care for her petty games.

'Do you not see her for what she is Aleksander? She hasn't changed. You cannot go back from the atrocities she has committed.'

'Have you forgotten who I am, who we are?' He spat through his teeth.

'But you have a cause Aleksander, she craves power for the simple reason of it being addictive.'

Baghra had tried to reason with her son countless times about the girl. She pleaded with him when he'd first given himself to her, she's a monster, she will ruin you.

'I have shown you so much mercy Mother, am I not kind enough to you? Must you curse the woman I love?'

'Love is foolish my son and it never got you anywhere. She is trouble, let her go.'

'You would be an amazing court jester' He laughed and sat down beside her leaning in closer 'I am an arm's length away from finding the stag and when I do, the sun-summoner will be at our disposal and Ravka will be ours.'

'The stag is fictional. A myth. You are wasting your time.'

'If a Sun-Summoner walks amongst us, a magical stag isn't in the least a doubtful tale.'

'I'll believe it when I see it. Besides, your biggest worry right now is getting rid of the plague that haunts this Palace.'

'And what would that be, do enlighten me, mother.'

'The woman who came in here earlier bragging about sharing your bed.' Aleksander's heart leaped in his chest. She wasn't ashamed to admit it.

He leaned in closer to his mother, taking her worn hand into his.

'I suggest you find a way to get over your hatred for Y/N before it's too late. Nobody disrespects the Queen and gets away with it'

He got up and made his way to the door, ignoring the look of fury on his mother's face. He was too far away to hear her whisper;

'My boy, you will never get either of those things as long as I live.'

-----

Part 17

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added to the Little Witch taglist!!)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess @lunas1x1 @lifeisingrey @edithsvoice

#shadow and bone #the darkling #imagine #the darkling x reader #ben barnes #alexander #alexander morozova #fanfic #grisha #alina starkov #black general #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #black kefta #baghra morozova

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siredsong · 3 years

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Heyy!!! I'm not sure if you are still doing that little drabble game. But, if you are, could you please do 14 + jimin?? Sending lots of love!!💞

hi!! ahhh thank you for requesting this lovely!! im sorry i took so long to get it out but as i've come to realize my writing process is reeeaallly slow :/ oh also wARNING!!! this is very very rough and uh ha my first piece of writing that i've posted also i may have gone crazy and written almost 1k words haha so uhh yea I HOPE U LIKE IT!!!

oh also this one is kinda angsty, a little ?? maybe ?? idk how to give proper warnings, i mean i don’t think this needs much warning since it’s barely anything so....aHH ok lemme shut up.

ENJOY!

send in a request lovelies

“Hey.”

Silence. The only thing that you could hear through the line was his ragged breathing and a few sniffles, the tell-tale sign that he’d been crying, again.

“Couldn’t sleep?” You ask after you realize that you aren’t getting any kind of greeting today.

“No,” he finally sighs out after a few straggling sniffles escape.

“I'm almost there. Be there in 5, ok?” You say, concern trickling from your voice.

“Ok. Hurry, please,” he says in that voice that makes him sound oh so small, that makes you wish you could reach through the phone and hold him oh so tight.

You drive just a bit faster, heart beating just a little harder, not wanting him to be by himself any longer than he needs to be.

Keys fumbling in your hands, you rush to unlock the familiar door to the familiar apartment you can’t call your own. You always find yourself here, even though it hurts, even though everything in your body is telling you to stop this torture, you give into the pain one more time, if only to take away his.

Expecting him to be in bed, you hastily move towards his bedroom only to stop in your tracks when you see him stooped low in his plushy armchair by the window.

You can’t help the small smile that overcomes you when you notice his mug of tea sitting idle on the windowsill, long forgotten and cold. You had told him months ago that tea always made you fall asleep within minutes and that he should try it too. Even though he whined and complained about how it tastes like “stale hot water”, he always made a cup whenever he couldn’t sleep, even if he never drank it.

He would leave it between his palms until all the little spirals of steam have fluttered away from the snug confines of the mug, until the heat radiating off of it no longer warmed his hands, until all he could do is stare down at the dismal eyes reflected up at him in the murky water.

He’s staring out the window now, so lost within his thoughts that he hasn’t heard you walk in. You take this opportunity to look at him, really look at him, and god does the sight that meets your sore eyes make your heart squeeze so hard within your chest.

Eyes that were once so bright and young, that held an entire universe of stars, have lost their luster, fading into a dull brown with no sparkle, sunken into his pretty face, adorned with cheekbones that still hold a little hope of laughter. His ever changing hair is back to black after wanting to impulsively change his appearance a couple days ago at 3 am when you had both been bored and slightly inebriated. The stark contrast between his porcelain skin and jet black hair makes his face glow even brighter in the moonlight, the only kind of light that fills him these days.

Before your eyes can wander any longer and crack your heart even more, you call out to him, in that quiet, soothing voice of yours that always seems to calm him down.

“Jimin,” you hum out into the stillness of his apartment.

He pulls his eyes away from the window, meeting yours and that’s when the final piece of your heart that had been holding on by a thread loses its grip, catching sight of how truly exhausted and defeated his eyes are behind his broken exterior.

He tries to pull his mouth into a small smile but all that results from the effort is a grimace at best.

“You’re here,” he whispers, voice hoarse from not using it for so long. “Mhm,” you hum, slowly striding over to him, sitting softly on the windowsill next to him.

“No, no,” he mumbles, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the armchair with him, situating you snug against his chest.

Your tense body slowly relaxes as you rest your body against his, thankful that he can’t see the way you squeeze your eyes shut, willing your tears to go away.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, not as a question but more as a quiet plea. “Always, Jimin. I’ll always be here with you,” you choke out right away, not even letting a breath of silence come in between you and him, only wanting him to know that you wouldn’t leave. Not you. Never you.

With that, you let the hum of his heartbeat, along with the booming of yours, lull Jimin to sleep, while your eyes don’t get a wink of rest.

Two hearts so close in proximity, but worlds apart, his still beating for another who stomped all over him and left him to bleed out, and the other, willfully letting themselves get bashed and pummeled, pining over someone who’s too broken to understand, too cracked to let them fix him.

When will you walk away from this agonizing fate, of seeing him, being with him, holding him, but never truly having him as you so desperately desire? You don’t think you ever will, for as long as you’re able to hold him like this, your heart may be broken and bruised, but you still have him, just not in the way you crave.

But, through the bruises and scars, your heart still has that minuscule thread of hope winding it together, that one day he’ll realize, one day he’ll open his eyes, one day he’ll finally see you right there in front of him, one day, maybe, he’ll realize that he loves you too.

One day.

#drabble request game #lurejoon #AHHHHHHHHH OK LEMME GO HIDE #jimin drabble #asks #inbox #babes

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years

Text

Chapter 7

of the wwx emperor au which I’m thinking about calling Emperor Wei WuXian and his Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Birthday

The Sect Leader meeting begins as any other. Jin GuangShan heaps empty flattery onto the YunMeng Jiang Sect, then everyone else heaps empty flattery onto the LanLing Jin Sect, then Jin GuangShan returns the favor for some, while ignoring the others. Wei Ying lets his eyes focus on some invisible point in the distance, and tries to ignore the sickly-sweet smell of honeysuckle that seems to follow Jin GuangShan like a cloud.

He thinks about the Wen Sect. He thinks about Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing. He thinks about the misfortune that is his shijie’s betrothal to Jin GuangShan’s pompous brat of a son, and how incredibly satisfying it would be, to break off that arrangement. He thinks about the stark contrast of flowing white robes on a moonlit rooftop, and those same robes pooled on the floor of his receiving hall.

Nie MingJue interrupts the verbose flow of insincerity with an impatient bark that makes half of the Sect Leaders recoil. None dare accuse him of discourtesy however, not with the Emperor in attendance. Once they have calmed their ruffled feathers, the conversation turns to more productive subjects. Unfortunately, these productive subjects are equally as boring, and Wei Ying thinks it cannot be healthy, suppressing so many urges to yawn in such a short period of time.

Usually, he listens with half an ear, just in case he is required to offer some sound of assent or dissent. Uncle Jiang is skilled at steering these discussions to a reasonable conclusion, and Wei Ying only has to agree without giving them much thought. He is prepared to do the same today, but the mention of Gusu catches his attention, and he finds himself listening without intending to do so.

The past year had been difficult for many; a drought in YingChuan, YangQuan, HeJian, followed by a heavy rainfall that had flooded parts of LanLing, MoLing, TingShan, and Gusu. Crops were ruined, livelihoods lost. Wei Ying is aware. The royal coffers had borne the brunt of these misfortunes. In fact, he is fairly certain that the royal coffers had paid for the necessary relief multiple times, and that the majority of this relief had gone to LanLing, LangYa, and the Sects closely aligned with the LanLing Jin. He clearly remembers the amounts requested by HeJian Fan and QingHe Nie. He knows exactly how much silver it took to reinforce MeiShan’s river dams. And he knows that GuangLing had received enough to rebuild the entire region from the ground up.

Yet, somehow, HeJian Fan and QingHe Nie, historically more in need of assistance, seem to have recovered fully. But the LanLing Jin faction claims to still be in distress. It is not so obvious, since none of the Sect Leaders will speak plainly, but these strings of complaints about failing crops, impassable roads, and roving groups of bandits can only lead to one place. They are angling for further assistance, and Wei Ying, never the one to count the gold in the treasury, or to care how it is spent, finds himself indignant at their shamelessness.

Perhaps it is only the fact that his mind keeps circling back to Lan Zhan’s white robes. Or perhaps it is the continuous silence at the end of the hall where Lan QiRen kneels, still as a statue. Whatever the reason, Wei Ying decides that enough is enough.

“Sect Leader Lan,” he says, interrupting Qin CangYe mid-sentence, “we have not heard any tales of your misfortunes. How does Gusu fare in the wake of these hardships?”

Lan QiRen does not look surprised to be addressed. He bows low, his voice both chillingly cool and irreproachably respectful.

“The Gusu Lan are honored by the Emperor’s attention. There is no need to trouble Your Majesty with our insignificant hardships.”

“TingShan has requested assistance three times in the last six months,” Wei Ying says, “It is unlikely that the calamities which have befallen them had bypassed Gusu altogether. You are neighbors after all. I would like to know the extent of the damage your region has suffered, and your methods of remedy.”

The others seem under the impression that the Emperor is preparing to reprimand the Gusu Lan, and most of them settle in comfortably, expecting a pleasant diversion. After all, in the past few years, the ritual humiliation of the Lan Sect had become a type of entertainment in its own right.

Lan QiRen rises, and makes his way to the center of the hall. Wei Ying has never bothered to study the Lan Sect Leader closely, but he does so now.

It is fascinating to see Lan Zhan’s hostile pride and courtesy being perfectly mirrored by a man whose appearance is so drastically different. Lan Zhan wears them as an armor, but it is an oddly endearing and somehow fragile-appearing armor, one Wei Ying thinks may easily crack under pressure. Lan QiRen, however, wears his pride as he would a sword. An ounce less of respect, and it would give the impression of hostility.

“Answering Your Majesty, three towns and six villages had requested assistance with the drought, one town and two villages with the excessive rainfall. The initial aid sent by Your Majesty had been distributed during the drought, to replace the lost crops for a period of one year, with hopes that the following harvest would make any further assistance unnecessary. LianYi was most severely affected, their poor irrigation techniques unable to sustain a prolonged shortage. The issue was solved by construction of of check dams, irrigation canals, and cisterns. Five other villages in close proximity to LianYi will also benefit from this construction; between them, the cost of the project was fully funded. The excessive rainfall had adversely affected the commerce in CaiYi Town, destroyed two embankments in ChuanYi, and decimated the dam at WuHou. WuHou was flooded, and it cannot sustain rebuilding efforts at this time. The villagers have been moved to HanYi, where approximately half are still receiving financial assistance from the Gusu Lan. The embankments at ChuanYi have been repaired; none of the villagers were displaced in the process. The commerce in CaiYi Town is still recovering. Its proximity to Gusu has allowed for temporary relocation of those whose livelihoods were lost. The Gusu Lan are still considering the best way to proceed on the provision of future assistance.”

Wei Ying leans back in his seat.

He does not like Sect Leader Lan. He never has. There is something about Lan QiRen’s bearing that suggests even Heavens should think twice before demanding his respect. And yet, it is difficult not to feel admiration for his fortitude, for his ability to stand, utterly unbowed, in the face of so much hostility.

“I am told that before my mother’s death, one could not become a Sect Leader without attending lectures at Cloud Recesses,” Wei Ying says thoughtfully, “Sect Leader Lan, do you still teach?”

The man does not blink at the mention of the Empress, although more than one Sect Leader squirms in discomfort.

“I do, Your Majesty.”

“There is clearly much the Empire could learn from your example,” Wei Ying says, “The Gusu Lan are to be commended for their competence.”

Lan QiRen accepts the compliment with the same cool serenity with which he accepts insults. Wei Ying wonders what it would take to provoke the man into any display of emotion.

“The financial relief you are currently sending to HanYi must cease. From this day on, the royal treasury with step in and provide the necessary assistance. I will also ask that you submit the cost of CaiYi Town restoration to the Royal Treasurer, so that those who have been relocated to Gusu may return to their homes.”

Lan QiRen still appears to be utterly unmoved, although he does kneel, and thank the Emperor for his generosity.

Wei Ying does not want to be thanked. He would rather have some indication as to what the man is actually thinking underneath that cool exterior. But it seems that his efforts will not bear fruit today, so he focuses on needling the others.

“I am sure that any Sect Leader who is encountering difficulties in allocating their existing funds, will be grateful for Lan Sect Leader’s advice and guidance. Today, I will assume that any neglect of their duty is a result of ignorance, and not willful mismanagement. Therefore, I expect that they will educate themselves on how to govern more responsibly the future.”

The silence that greets his words seems a perfect excuse to bring the meeting to an end. Wei Ying feels that he has exhausted his store of patience for the day; he sweeps out of the hall while most of the Sect Leaders are still seated, forcing them to pay their respects to his retreating back.

He has not gone a dozen steps before Jiang FengMian catches up.

“That was... imprudent,” he says.

It certainly must have been, for uncle Jiang to actually say so out loud. Ordinarily, he would wait to voice his complaints until they are both behind closed doors, as no one should ever question the Emperor in public. Since Wei Ying rarely bothers taking initiative, these conversations are rare, and tend to end in Wei Ying yielding to his uncle’s superior understanding. This time, however, Wei Ying has no regrets.

“I know what you want to say. The Sect Leaders feel that they have been insulted for the sake of a Sect they unanimously despise, even when they cannot agree on anything else. I have given them a good reason to show a united front, when it is preferable to have them waste time in petty bickering. Worse, Lan QiRen will not thank me for holding him up as a shining example of competence, just so I can better highlight their abysmal failures. It is likely that my actions have only increased the animosity the others feel towards the Lan Sect.”

Uncle Jiang sighs, “If you know that nothing was accomplished by it, then why?”

“Something was accomplished. The Lan Sect will receive the assistance it needs. The rest have been accused of mismanagement, and will rush to either hide or distribute any misappropriated funds. Right now, they are anxious that I mean to send an independent magistrate to re-examine their spending. I hope this keeps them on the edge for months. It serves them right. As if LanLing Jin would ever need financial assistance from the Royal Treasury,” he scoffs, “Jin GuangShan could probably build an Immortal Mountain of his own, but has the audacity to complain about the cost of dam repairs.”

“The Emperor is the father of the nation,” uncle Jiang says gently, “he should have more patience for his children, even when it seems that they do not deserve it.”

Wei Ying has never been so grateful to see the doors of his own chambers.

It is only the first day. The first day out of seven, and not even half over.

“Parents who are afraid to put their foot down, usually have children who step on their toes,” he says firmly, “Now, I must change for the banquet. If the High Councilor insists, we may continue this conversation later.”

Uncle Jiang does not look particularly happy, but he bows and heads back to the meeting hall, probably intending to placate everyone Wei Ying has offended.

Wei Ying does not care. If Jin GuangShan even breathes in his direction in the next twenty-four hours, shijie will have to find someone else to marry.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #trust me this is actually relevant to the plot #lmaoooo #ily guys

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