#so the claws had the smallest focus here

[fallenangelkitten]

In The Moonlight

Synopsis: Things get hot and heavy while on a date with Henry, but he doesn’t know you’ve never been kissed, let alone touched like this.

Warnings: HenryxVirginReader, making out, grinding, LOTS of sexual tension, in public

Note: This is one of my personal favorites and I will link part two <3

His finger trailed along the side of my cheek and along my jaw. His thumb brushed my lower lip sending a chill through my body and a warm sensation deep in my lower belly. The hand he had against my back rubbed circles into the skin, over my thin top. His gaze was hot and full of intensity as it flickered between my eyes and lips.

I wasn’t even sure how I had gotten here- we had gotten here. The night was dark, but air crisp and full of scents of different types of flowers. I usually always took the time to admire them when in the gardens, especially the ones that bloomed at this time of night, but all I could focus on was his warm breath so close to my own.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you look?” He mumbled by my ear as he placed a kiss right below it. I shivered, hoping he didn’t notice. But the smirk that brought out one of his dimples informed me that he did. I would surely curse myself for it later, but in this moment it was pushed to the back of my mind.

He pulled me even closer to him, pressing my breasts against his lower chest. I couldn’t help but gasp at the action, the warm sensation churning again. How obviously will it be to him that I’d never been kissed? Never been touched? My hands began to tremble as his lips brushed against mine. It was only the smallest of touches, but I wanted, needed, more.

“Henry…” I warned, lust blown eyes staring into his own.

He hummed, but didn’t look up at me. He kept trailing warm, wet kisses down my neck. I could feel his sharp teeth drag along the skin, causing me to make a noise I didn’t even know I was capable of. I was almost embarrassed of it, but the growl that vibrated against my collarbone showed his reciprocation.

The hand he had on my back had stopped moving, but gripped against me, bunching the fabric of my shirt in his large fist. His other hand was tangled into my hair, pulling my head to the side while he worked back up my neck. He had me shuttering against his hard frame. “Henry, please.”

“Tell me what you want, (Y/N),” he didn’t stop his assault on my neck.

“I- Please kiss me- touch me,” I begged.

“God, I’d love to,” he wasted no further time. He attached his lips to mine. They were warm and soft, but also rough with need. Is this how I affected him? It was almost hard to believe. I didn’t know what to expect when I eventually had my first kiss, but it wasn’t this. It was harder than I expected, more demanding.

A moan slipped from me, allowing him the access to slip his tongue against mine. I followed my instincts, moving my mouth with his. I’d had my hands resting against his chest, but now they clawed at the fabric; the undeniable need to feel his skin overshadowing any sense of logic. I slipped a hand under his shirt and let it rest on the hair I couldn’t previously feel through the fabric. I felt the growl emerge from his chest before I felt it against my lips that he still clung to.

“Fuck, do you have any idea what you do to me? Your touch is a drug,” he snarled as he pressed his hips harder against mine. And I felt- oh my. I felt him. I’d gasped and he took the opportunity to claim my mouth again. The warmth was coiling and beginning to throb; even my body begged for him.

“Jump and wrap your legs around me,” he ordered. I tried to do so without stumbling, but it wasn’t exactly graceful. It didn’t matter as he caught me and backed me up against the greenhouse wall. My hips collided with his and-

OH.

The hardest parts of him pressed against the softest parts of me. My hips involuntarily twitched against his, sending a bolt of pleasure through my core. He stared down at me in awe as I threw my head back and moaned in relief. I had never felt anything like it before and I never wanted it to end.

My hips continued to shift against his- his length. His mouth hung agape as his hands held me stable, thumbs digging into the little crevice between my hips and thighs. He brought his lips back down to mine and pushed himself even harder against my center sending new waves of heat through my body.

The tightest grew stronger; I could feel it as my toes began to curl and my back formed an arch. I grew tighter and tighter and I-

I was placed back on the ground, but his arms still supported me. I whined in protest, about to lose it when he cut me off. “We have to stop. If we kept going I would have fucked you right here in the gardens where anyone could walk in; I don’t want anyone else seeing what’s mine. And to hell if I’m not taking my time with you.” His breath was heavy as I watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“O-Okay,” my mind was spinning, my body still throbbing, pulsing. As he backed away from me I could see him through his pants, large and left with a decent sized wet spot on his trousers from- wait… was that from me? He caught my gaze and tilted his head to see where I was looking. The chuckle on his lips only made the blush coating my cheeks deepen.

He smirked as he pulled me into a hug, stroking the back of my head with his palm, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I didn’t think it was possible, but I think I’m even more turned on now.” I don’t know if his words were meant to ease my mind, but the blush deepened even further. His chest rose and fell, “I can’t wait to claim you one day. One day very very soon.”

[anxiousnerdwritings]

How is the family and everyone else coping after Joanna!Reader's poisoning and death? (Just a hunch but i dont think that they have healthy coping mechanisms)

Tw: Mentions of character death and unhealthy behavior/yandere tendencies

Cersei is the worst out of the lot. She is absolutely and utterly gutted, not only did she lose a child, her most beloved child at that, but also her second chance at having a piece of her mother back in her life once more. She would be much more heavily dependent on wine than she already was, rarely seen without a glass full in hand. It would take months at the very least for Cersei to even bring herself to try and feign some semblance of having pulled herself together. She’s distraught, she feels both numb and completely riddled with pain at her loss. She can’t unsee the image of holding her dying child in her arms and just being left to watch helplessly as they were torn away from her forever. Her hatred for Tyrion would be unmatched, it’s even more intense and overflowing then ever before. She blames him wholeheartedly, she blames him for everything. He was the death of her mother and now he was the death of her child. To her, he killed her mother twice and this time he wasn’t going to get away with it, she wouldn’t allow it. Cersei would often spend whatever spare time she had in Joanna!Lookalike!Reader’s room, just needing to be surrounded with what was once their’s. Everyone would know not to disturb the queen during these times. This was her solace for the briefest of moments and you would need a damn good reason for interrupting her and taking her out of the only place that could give her even an ounce of comfort in her time of grieving. More often then not, Cersei could be found sleeping in her late child’s room, just wanting to be closer to them again. She would become incredibly territorial and overprotective of Joanna!Lookalike!Reader’s room and everything in it. When it came to the servants cleaning the room up and keeping things in order, Cersei would be right their overseeing it all ensuring they don’t mess anything up and everything is in the exact same place it had been before. And she’ll know if even the smallest thing is off by less than half a centimeter, she’s memorized the room to a T after all.

Tywin would be the second worst out of the Lannister family when it came to Joanna!Lookalike!Reader’s death. He would only be haunted with the remembrance of losing his precious Joanna all over again, the immense pain and grief flooding his entire being once more as he can do nothing but watch as his grandchild is writhing slowly and painfully, desperately clawing for some sense of relief from the pain and distress they’re in but to no avail. Tywin would completely shut himself off to anyone and everyone, even more so than usual. When it comes to Joanna!Lookalike’s funeral, Tywin would demand some time alone to say his goodbyes to send off his grandchild and in those moments he would allow himself to breakdown. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s cried, not since he lost his Joanna, and now here he is again just like deja vu. Tywin doesn’t lose himself in this moment though, he can’t let himself do that. He only gives himself the briefest of moments but it’s enough for him. After this he puts his venture focus on avenging Joanna!Lookalike and getting their justice against Tyrion. And similar to Cersei, Tywin puts his entire being into blaming Tyrion for tearing away his second chance at having a semblance of his precious Joanna again. He would do anything and everything in his power to see Tyrion punished to the fullest for the horrible fate that the Reader had to suffer through at his hands. Tywin was ruthless before but after losing his beloved grandchild he would only become all the more ruthless and apathetic. He can’t even bring himself to try and comfort Cersei as she grieves her own loss of the Reader, he doesn’t have it in him. He doesn’t have anything left in him to give to anyone, especially not now. Any small ounce of humanity that Joanna!Lookalike’s mere existence and influence had on Tywin was completely washed away after their death. He was left only colder and more heartless than ever before, any warmth that had mustered up within him was void now and nothing could bring it back. The only one who could was gone now.

Jaime feels absolutely useless and weak after the Reader’s death. Whether he was in attendance or not depending on which version of the Purple Wedding you want to go with, Jaime would blame himself for not being there or for not being able to do anything in the moment. He honestly can’t bring himself to fathom the thought that Tyrion really did poison Joanna!Lookalike, he knows his little brother more than enough to know he loved and cared for the Reader as much as they all did. He can’t bring himself to even try and force any kind of blame on Tyrion even if he wanted to. No matter how much Cersei and Tywin try to force their own intense hatred and wrath towards Tyrion onto him, Jaime won’t go with it. He can and will only blame himself for what happened. The loss of the Reader has him deep in regret and reevaluating himself and his place in the world as a whole. He can’t help but regret not being more involved in the Reader’s life when they were growing up, it’s not like he wasn’t there for them but Cersei definitely kept them close to her side even when he was right there and wanting to be a part of his child’s life as more than just an “uncle”. Unlike Cersei, Jaime wouldn’t be able to bring himself to go into the Reader’s room after their death. The most he can bring himself to do is stand outside their bedchamber door and just stare, to anyone passing by it would most certainly look like his intense and unwavering stare would burn straight through the sturdy wood of the door. That’s just how lost and in his head he was. After the loss of Joanna!Lookalike, Jaime would stray further and further from Cersei’s clutches. He wants to do right by his late child, he wants to be someone they would really be proud of. Someone they could be proud to call their father or at the very least acknowledge as their father. Jaime would vow to protect and care for both Tommen and Myrcella in particular after losing the Reader. Not only to make up for not protecting and keeping the Reader safe from their fate but also knowing that the Reader would have wanted Tommen and Myrcella safe above all else. And Jaime would do just that. That was an oath he would keep.

Tyrion would be a mess after the loss of the Reader. Not only is he being accused of it and is the direct target of his father and sister’s immense ire, all he could do while his niece lay dying, clawing and tearing at their throat seeking some kind of relief from not being able to breath was to just watch. He couldn’t hold them himself, he couldn’t even go near them. Tyrion never even got the chance to say goodbye, instead being thrown and left to rot in a cell until his father and sister could pin this whole thing on him. He hoped and wanted to believe that the Reader knew he didn’t hurt them, that he wasn’t the cause of their death. He would never do that, especially not to them. He loved them more than anything else. They were always good to him, loving and sweet, even defending him from their own mother. Why would he do anything to them when they were always on his side? How could he do such a thing to someone, no, to the only one who was truly ever on his side? He would never. He could never. He didn’t. To say Tyrion would not be in the best head space would be an understatement, I mean can you blame him? For a good amount of time after the Reader’s death he’s locked up for being the one who killed them even though that couldn’t be further from the truth. And with all that time, Tyrion is left alone with just his thoughts and feelings. And he’s going through it. He’s hurting from the loss of his niece, he’s angry with the predicament his father and sister have thrown him into. Tyrion can’t help but hate his father and sister for not allowing him to grieve Joanna!Lookalike, he couldn’t even say his goodbyes or be there to send the Reader off for their funeral. Now the whole realm is blaming him for their beloved princess’ demise, he’s become far more hated and loathed than ever before and all because his father and sister are so consumed with their own already festered hate for him that they want him gone for good now. But in a way he can’t blame them too much, sure he hates them for what they’re doing to him now but he does feel guilt for the Reader’s death. He knows he didn’t do it but he can’t help but feel like he had some part in it. He should have done something, surely there was something he could have done to save Joanna!Lookalike or maybe even prevent the ordeal from taking place at all. He knows it’s pointless to dwell on it but he can’t help but to do just that. After all he’s got nothing but his thoughts to keep him company while he’s in his cell. Whether Oberyn still ends up being Tyrion’s champion would depend but either way Jaime would still end up freeing him anyway. By the time that happens though, Tyrion is far from who he use to be. He’s closed in on himself, there’s no more mirth in his eyes or playfulness/sarcasm dripping from his tongue, he’s cold and hollow. I’m 50/50 whether Tyrion would tell Jaime that he did indeed kill Joanna!Lookalike just to hurt his brother and especially Cersei later on when/if she gets word of it. And in a way Tyrion at this point might believe to some degree that he actually did kill Joanna!Lookalike, even though he of course didn’t but that’s how his guilt is eating at him. He would still go through with killing Shae and his father before he leaves King’s Landing for good though. After everything since the Reader’s death, Tyrion feels like a little bit of revenge is the least he deserves. He may not have actually taken Joanna!Lookalike away from his father and sister but he would take his father way from Cersei and Jaime. After all, he wanted to hurt them. Once Tyrion is out of King’s Landing and on the run, he doesn’t care who he hurts or uses. He doesn’t want to feel anything, he can’t really feel anything. He’s numb and he wants to stay that way but every so often he gets a sudden wave of guilt and remorse. Tyrion would drink even more excessively than usual, he would whore around even more than normal just to escape from everything. He doesn’t want to think about or feel anything anymore. He couldn’t careless whether he lived or died at this point.

#anxious answers #yandere cersei lannister #yandere tywin lannister #yandere jaime lannister #yandere tyrion lannister #yandere game of thrones #yandere game of thrones concept #yandere concept

[clangenrising]

Month 11 - Leafbare

The snow had been falling all morning. The drifts piled up over the course of the afternoon, higher than Floodpaw had ever seen before, and he and the other apprentices had to clear out the den entrances once or twice to keep the dens from being completely sealed off. They’d also spent a good few hours fishing at Goldenstar’s request but Floodpaw hadn’t been able to focus much.

That morning, she had told the three of them that if they wanted to join the war party she would let them. He had been thrilled, to say the least. The assessments had been tough but the hardest part had been the lack of a reaction from Goldenstar and the silence on the matter she had maintained for the last few days. The anticipation had nearly eaten him alive. Now, all of that energy had been turned into excitement. He had immediately asked to go and Goldenstar had agreed. Even Sparrowpaw was going. 

Barleypaw was staying behind, as expected, but she had specifically asked to stay and protect Smokyrose and the kittens. 

“You won’t need to,” Floodpaw had said, “We’re going to beat the rogues, easy. The prophecy said so.” 

“It never hurts to be safe,” Yarrowshade had said. 

Floodpaw wasn’t sure how much he agreed with that but he’d forgotten about it easily enough when the other Clans started gathering in their camp. EarthClan was first. Floodpaw scrambled out of the apprentices’ den when he heard them. Orangestar and Darkmoon were there, along with three warriors he had met before on patrols. He also spotted Fishpaw and Boldpaw among the crowd and he hurried across the clearing to talk with them. Fishpaw wasn’t interested in conversation but Boldpaw sat and humored him which made Floodpaw swell with pride. 

Shortly after, FallenClan arrived with Flightstar, his deputy Pigeoncover, and three other warriors. Flightstar immediately ducked into Goldenstar’s den to talk with the other leaders but unlike the EarthClan cats, FallenClan didn’t mingle at all with RisingClan’s warriors. Floodpaw frowned. 

“Can you believe they almost didn’t show up?” he asked Boldpaw. 

Fishpaw looked over and said, “I can. FallenClan are a bunch of heartless snakes.” 

“They are?” he asked, squinting at the cluster of cats, two of which looked very similar to himself. 

“Flightstar at least is bad news,” Boldpaw said. “Darkmoon says the patrols have only gotten more standoffish since he took over.” 

“Huh,” Floodpaw said. He used to think that Flightstar was a strong and admirable warrior but now he wasn’t sure. What was a warrior without concern for others? Even he knew how important that was! 

Soon after, Snowstar, Tangletooth, Coyotechaser, and four other SkyClan warriors arrived along with Fernpaw who bounded over when Floodpaw waved at him. 

“Hey!” he grinned, joining them. “You guys ready to tear some rogue pelts?” 

“Definitely!” Floodpaw nodded, kneading the ground with his claws. 

“Shouldn’t be long now,” Boldpaw said. “Everyone’s here.”

“Who all from RisingClan is coming?” asked Fernpaw, looking around.

“Um,” Floodpaw tried to remember. “Me, Sparrowpaw… Goldenstar and Russetfrond, of course, and then Ospreymask, Branchbark, and I think Pantherhaze?” 

“Okay, not bad,” Fernpaw said, looking around.

“So everyone is bringing more warriors than FallenClan, then,” Fishpaw scoffed. 

“I heard they’re the smallest Clan there is,” Fernpaw said. “They don’t even have any apprentices or anything.” 

Floodpaw flicked an ear dismissively. “Who cares,” he said, “We’re all going to battle together! I can’t wait.” They didn’t have to wait long, which was a good thing, given the snow. After a few more minutes, the leaders emerged and Goldenstar jumped onto the Stoneperch to call a meeting. 

“Warriors!” she cried, and everyone fell silent. “We’re finally ready to drive these city rogues from our territory once and for all!” The cats cheered and Floodpaw joined in as loudly as he could. The energy was intoxicating, all of their bodies gathered in the little camp, hearts beating in time, their purpose aligned. He felt like a part of something bigger than himself and it was amazing. 

Goldenstar continued, “StarClan is with us today and our victory has been foreseen! All we need to do is follow through. Thank you all for joining us in this endeavor. It would not be possible without you and for that Orangestar and I are grateful.” Flightstar and Snowstar puffed up a little, looking proud of themselves, although Flightstar was the only one wearing a smirk. 

“Here’s the plan:” said Goldenstar. “We attack in two waves. The first wave will be led by Snowstar and made up of cats with pale coats. We’ll call them the Stoat Group. They’ll blend into the snow and advance stealthily, making way for the rest of us to follow. The second group, who we’ll call Eagle Group, will follow in their pawsteps about four fox-lengths behind.”

Snowstar lifted her voice and said, “Stoat Group will make the first approach, assess the rogue camp, and then attack. Once Eagle Group hears signs of combat, they’ll move in as well.”

Goldenstar nodded, looking a little perturbed. “Stoat Group will be Snowstar, Charredbranch, Pebblefall, Fernpaw, Bogmist, Fishpaw, Pigeoncover, Tumblefang, and Floodpaw.” Floodpaw gasped. He was going to be a part of the first attack? And without anyone else from RisingClan with him? He couldn’t believe it. “Everyone else, you’re with Eagle Group. Are there any questions?” 

No one spoke up, instead looking around to identify the cats they would be fighting side by side with. Floodpaw bumped shoulders with Fernpaw excitedly and Fernpaw grinned back. 

“Alright then,” said Flightstar, standing up. “Let’s form up and move out. Good hunting!” A few of the cats cheered but Floodpaw noticed Goldenstar frown. 

“I’m gonna check in with my mentor,” he said, “and then I’ll be right back, okay?” 

“Okay!” Fernpaw nodded. Floodpaw jumped up and bounded over to the food of the Stoneperch just as Goldenstar jumped down. 

“Hey,” he said, “Thanks for letting me go with Stoat Group!” 

Goldenstar looked down at him and a smile spread over her worried expression. “They need all the cats they can get and you’ve got the right coloring,” she said. “Just be careful. Stay close to the other warriors and don’t let the rogues overwhelm you. We’ll be right behind you but there’s probably going to be a good few seconds where you’re outnumbered.” 

“Got it,” he said, nodding. “I’ll see you there then.” 

“Good luck, kid,” Goldenstar purred, butting her head against his. He pressed up into her touch and then turned to go find Stoat Group. Before he got too far, he ran into Sparrowpaw. 

“Hey,” Sparrowpaw said, stepping in front of him, “Be safe out there, okay?” 

“Yeah,” Floodpaw said, “you too.” 

Sparrowpaw smiled. “Will do.” Floodpaw rubbed up against his brother fondly, then hurried towards Stoat Group. Luckily, nothing else got in his way and soon enough he was standing in a circle of mostly white cats, belly deep in the snow. It was almost surreal. He didn’t think he’d seen this many cats like him in one place all his life. 

“Alright,” said Snowstar, as he and Bogmist joined the huddle, “that’s everyone. Let’s move out. Stay within sight of at least two other cats at all times. Once we get there, watch me for the signal to attack, understood?”

“Affirmative,” said Pigeoncover with an obedient nod. Most of the others nodded or voiced agreement. Floodpaw puffed his chest up and nodded. What an honor to be among such a capable group of warriors!

“Good,” said Snowstar. “May StarClan guide our claws!” She looked across the camp to Goldenstar and the others and made eye contact before nodding and heading up the slope and into the thicker snow. 

“Good luck!” Floodpaw heard Oddstripe calling after them. He looked back at the healers’ den to shoot a grin at his papa who seemed worried. Don’t worry, Papa, he tried to say with his smile, I’ll come back a hero! Just watch!

Stoat Group fell into a small arrow shape with the apprentices in the middle, directly behind Snowstar and Pigeoncover. Floodpaw made sure to check regularly that he could still see Fernpaw and Fishpaw on either side of him as they made the long and silent journey to the border, or rather, to where the rogues had pushed the border. Despite the biting cold, he felt like he was burning with anticipation. It felt like at any moment they would suddenly be in the thick of battle. 

Eventually, Snowstar lifted her tail to stop them, and Floodpaw craned his neck to see the tracks ahead of them, covered heavily with freshly fallen snow. He wanted to ask if they were close but managed to keep a hold on his tongue. Snowstar looked at Pigeoncover and seemed to convey a message without a word. The FallenClan deputy nodded, glanced at Tumblefang, and then the two cats peeled off to the East, making a wide circle. Snowstar glanced at Charredbranch and he grinned, then flicked his tail at Fernpaw and the two of them split off to the West. 

Floodpaw started to vibrate in excitement. This must be it, he thought, we’re about to attack! He opened his mouth to try and catch any scent but the snow had muffled all of it. If the city cats were here, he had no idea where. 

A tense moment passed. Then another. Floodpaw strained his ears for any sound. He couldn’t hear anything above the blood pounding in his own ears. He spotted Charredbranch’s ears poking out of a snow bank to their right. He couldn’t see Pigeoncover anywhere.

Snowstar chirped, like a chattering bird, and all of the cats surged forward in an instant. Floodpaw moved as soon as he realized what was happening, flowing through Snowstar’s pawprints like rain water finding the fastest way down a hill. She bounded down a small slope then turned sharply right. Floodpaw blinked and suddenly there were dens in the snow in front of them. Snowstar crashed through into one and one of the cats inside screamed. 

“What’s going on?!” he heard a stranger cry out.

“We’re under attack!” another voice shouted, “Get up! Everyone up!” 

Pebblefall was in front of him and a rogue rose up to meet him, barring the entrance. Floodpaw shifted from foot to foot and glanced at Fishpaw. She growled in frustration and glanced around so he did the same. There was a second den where the two offshoots had converged and were being held at bay by a big ginger tabby with a jingling collar. There didn’t seem to be another den to attack. 

“Back up!” he heard Pebblefall hiss and the rest of the group hurried back to allow Pebblefall and Snowstar back out into the snow. Floodpaw gaped in disbelief. Had they been driven out so easily?! Then, he saw the genius in their plan. As they retreated, the city cats inside followed, leading them out where the other warriors could more easily attack them. 

A silver speckled tabby dashed out of the den and was tackled by Bogmist before she knew what was happening. A pale ginger she-cat with bengal spots lunged for Pebblefall only to have Fishpaw pounce on her from the other side. Snowstar arched her back in a hiss and a pale silver tabby tom, bleeding from a nasty claw wound above his eye, leapt to meet her. The tom looked just like Fogkit and Floodpaw realized suddenly that he must be Ghost.

Spitting furiously, Floodpaw darted in and grabbed Ghost’s back leg in his teeth. He gave a tug and Ghost stumbled, crying out. Snowstar took the opportunity to lunge for his neck but Ghost managed to roll out of the way. 

“What do we do?” a ginger tom cried from inside the den. More cats huddled behind him, reeking of fear scent. Floodpaw frowned. That wasn’t right.

“Get out of here!” Ghost barked, backing away from Floodpaw as he desperately tried to blink the blood from his right eye. Snowstar pursued him with a hiss but something unnerving twisted in Floodpaw’s gut.

“You will stay and fight!” shouted the ginger kittypet from across the way where he had Charredbranch pinned. “That’s an order!” Several kittypets had poured out of the den to join the fight. Pigeoncover and Tumblefang were trading back and forth between a black and white tom and a brown and white tabby she-cat. Fernpaw danced in circles, avoiding the swipes of two more kittypet rogues. 

Floodpaw immediately sprinted to his friend’s rescue. Snowstar would handle Ghost. Fernpaw needed him. 

He sprang at the bigger of the two, a scarred black smoke tabby tom and landed on his back. He clung for dear life, biting at the tom’s neck, but the kittypet rolled over and he wasn’t quick enough to avoid being crushed under the heavier cat’s weight. 

Still, he had drawn one of the cats off of Fernpaw who called out, “Thanks!” as he finally turned to attack his pursuer. 

Floodpaw rolled to his paws just in time. Right where he had been, the scarred kittypet slammed his paws down with enough force to crack Floodpaw’s sternum in half, he thought. Floodpaw darted to nip at his hind legs and followed the movement to circle the tom as he tried to round on Floodpaw. 

“Big-eared brat!” the rogue hissed, snapping for Floodpaw’s tail. Floodpaw squeaked but managed to leap out of the way just in time. 

A roar sounded on the hill, a dozen cats crying out. Eagle Group descended into the circle of trampled snow and crashed into the rogues. Russetfrond barreled into the tom Floodpaw was fighting and took him to the ground. Floodpaw panted heavily, glad that he’d been saved but unsure how to help now. 

He backed up to try and get a better look at the battlefield. The noise was suddenly overwhelming, a cacophony of yowling, writhing bodies. Now that the second wave had arrived, the Clans outnumbered the city cats more than two to one. All at once, the smell of blood became overwhelming. It wasn’t a tantalizing smell like prey blood. No, it was all wrong, like a sinister corruption of the taste. Floodpaw instinctively crouched low to the ground, trying to get his bearings against the tide of sensory information. 

“We need to go!” shrilled the silver speckled tabby, bleeding heavily from her shoulder. 

“Do not break rank!” bellowed the black and white kittypet, dodging blows from Tumblefang and Branchbark. 

“Kill the damn pests already!” hissed a voice behind Floodpaw and he twisted suddenly to see the ginger tabby kittypet bearing down on him. 

“Floodpaw, look out!” shouted Ospreymask as she heaved herself back onto her feet, a gash on her leg spraying blood over the snow. Floodpaw twisted to try and get out of the way but the kittypet slammed into him, pushing him onto his back in the snow. Floodpaw kicked with his hind legs, felt them connect with the soft flesh of the tom’s belly, and tried to dig his claws deep into it. Meanwhile, teeth snapped at his neck, grazed the skin, then made contact, tearing into the loose skin there. Floodpaw shrieked in pain. 

The tom’s head twisted suddenly, pulled off course by Ospreymask’s claws hooked into one of his eyes. The kittypet roared, spun around, and swiped at her. Floodpaw acted on instinct and lunged, grabbing the skin beneath the tom’s arm in his teeth. He pulled hard. Blood gushed over his face, hot and sour. 

Ospreymask slammed the tom face first into the snow, pulling him out of Floodpaw’s grip. He backed up and pressed a paw against the wound in his neck. 

“Floodpaw!” suddenly Goldenstar was beside him. “Are you alright?” He nodded silently, reeling.

He couldn’t look away from Ospreymask. Fury burning in her eyes, she rolled on top of the rogue, ignored his claws swiping at her face, and sank her teeth into his neck. Floodpaw had never seen such ferocity. The tom twisted his hind legs to strike at her. His claws tore at her belly, blood spattered the ground. She adjusted her grip on his neck and tore. 

Blood, more blood than Floodpaw had ever seen, spurted rhythmically from the kittypet’s neck and bathed the snow red. The tom gurgled and fell over, eyes staring blankly as he shuddered in the throes of death. 

Ospreymask looked at Floodpaw with an intense stare. “Are you alright?” Her whole chin and a good portion of her chest were drenched in blood.

“Uh, yeah-” he said, trying to meet her eyes, but he couldn’t help looking back at the kittypet - at his body.

“Sycamore!” screamed the kittypet she-cat. Suddenly she was tearing across the clearing towards Ospreymask. “You little bitch! I’ll tear you apart!” Robinswoop was behind the kittypet and hooked his claws into her tail, causing her to tumble into the snow. Then Ryestripe was on her, raining down blows. 

“Shit!” cursed Ghost. When he turned around to look, Snowstar swiped out and deepened the wound above his eye. Sparrowpaw leapt onto his back and sank his claws in, forcing him to refocus on the fight in front of him. 

“Sycamore’s dead!” cried the cat who had been fighting Fernpaw. “Retreat!” 

“Retreat!” chorused the street cats. There was a pause as everyone took a step back and the rogues started to flee. Some of the warriors cheered or spat insults at their backs. The brown tabby she-cat snarled furiously and lunged for Ospreymask again, but the black and white tom caught her by her scruff and pulled her back. 

“We have to go, Bella!” he snapped. Tears in her eyes, the she-cat looked at the horde of warriors hovering at the ready around them. They were the only two city cats left. Floodpaw watched the gravity of the situation sink in on her face. 

Backing up against the other kittypet, she glared at Ospreymask and said, “This isn’t over! You’ll pay for what you’ve done! All of you degenerates will pay!” 

“Yeah, yeah!” laughed Tumblefang.

“Beat it, flea bag!” jeered Fishpaw. 

Seething through gritted teeth, the kittypets turned and fled after their compatriots. 

“We are victorious!” shouted Flightstar and the crowd whooped and hollered in response. Cries of triumph went up throughout the group as cats turned to each other with wide smiles and bloody pelts. 

“Sparrowpaw!” Russetfrond barked above the noise, “Go fetch your father!”

“Yes, sir!” cried Sparrowpaw and he bounded over the hill the way they had come. Snowstar started moving among the cats, checking for serious injuries. Goldenstar rasped her tongue over Floodpaw’s neck, cleaning away the blood, and he suddenly came back to his body. 

“Are you alright, kid?” she asked, making eye contact with him. 

“Yeah,” he said, “I think. Is it bad?” He tried to look down at his wound. 

“It’s not that bad,” said Goldenstar, licking over his ears fondly. “We’ll get some cobwebs on it and you’ll be right as rain.” 

“Who got the kill?” shouted Tumblefang, moving through the crowd.

“Ospreymask!” said Robinswoop. A few cats called their congratulations and Ospreymask blushed, running her tongue over her dripping red muzzle. 

“As prophesied!” declared Snowstar with a dawning wonder. “Behold, the raptor that crushed the snake in its beak!” Floodpaw’s eyes widened. That had been a part of the prophecy? Cheers went up among the group. Branchbark appeared to try and lift Ospreymask onto his shoulders and the two of them laughed and began to wrestle. Floodpaw found himself staring at the body again, at the blood coagulating in the cavity she had made in its throat. That had been a person before but now it was just a stiff thing lying in the snow. Floodpaw couldn’t even remember its name. 

“Hey,” Goldenstar said, nudging him. “Maybe we should head back to camp, yeah?” 

“Oh,” he said, tearing his gaze away. “Yeah, maybe.” He looked back at the body. “Is it always so… scary?” 

Goldenstar laid her tail over his back and mumbled. “The first time is the hardest. It gets easier. But it’s a good reminder. Warriors try not to kill to win their battles.” 

“Because it’s scary like that?” he asked, looking back at her.

“And because the dead never get to see their loved ones again. You remember how much it hurt people when Nightfrost died, right?” He nodded. “When possible, you should try not to cause that much hurt. Nothing good ever comes from it.” 

“But we won,” he said. “We won because she killed him.” 

“We did,” Goldenstar said, lips pursed. “We probably could have won without killing anyone. But what happened happened. Sometimes you try your hardest and it still happens like that. We can’t change the past. We can only try and make a better future.” 

“Gotcha…” he said, swallowing as he looked at the bloodstained snow. 

“Floodpaw!” Oddstripe cried, rushing down the slope in front of Sparrowpaw. “Oh, StarClan, are you alright?” He reached them and took Floodpaw’s face in his paws to angle him this way and that. 

“The wound isn’t serious,” Goldenstar said reassuringly. “He fought well.” 

“They both did,” said Russetfrond, coming to join them. Sparrowpaw beamed at his brother but Floodpaw was too busy trying to break free. 

“Papa, stop! I’m fine!” he protested, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. 

“Oh, I was so worried about you, is-” Oddstripe stopped as he looked up and saw the body. “Oh- Stars above!” 

“It’s alright,” Goldenstar said, “He’s one of the rogues.” 

“There aren’t any other casualties,” said Coyotechaser, approaching, “but Pebblefall has a lot of wounds and Furrowleap can’t move his leg properly.” 

“And I should probably get my belly seen too,” said Ospreymask, stumbling over, leaning on Branchbark.

“Oh,” Oddstripe seemed suddenly overwhelmed. “Right, yes, let me look at your belly. If you could fetch Pebblefall…”

“Will do,” said Coyotechaser, moving away. 

Goldenstar reared up on her hind legs and called out, “Everyone who can should start heading back to RisingClan’s camp! Sagetooth and Tangletooth will be waiting to tend to your wounds and there’s a feast of fish waiting for all of you!” The war band cheered uproariously and began to meander back in the direction they had come. 

“Russetfrond,” Goldenstar said, dropping back to all four paws, “take the body over the Thunderpath please. Take whoever you need with you.”

“You got it,” he said, then looked at Branchbark. “Come on, you.” 

“Wh- me?!” protested the warrior. 

“Yes, you,” grumbled Russetfrond, “now hop to it. The faster we get this done the faster you can go back to doing whatever you wanted.” 

“Can I come?” Sparrowpaw asked. 

Russetfrond hummed then shrugged. “Alright. You can be our look out.” Sparrowpaw nodded seriously and moved with them as they went over to the body and began to drag it through the snow. 

Fernpaw appeared and butted heads with Floodpaw. “Was that awesome or what?!” he cried. 

“Yeah,” Floodpaw said, letting the other apprentice’s energy infect him. “You were amazing! When you were fighting those two cats at once-?!”

“Don’t forget when you saved me!” Fernpaw beamed. “I can’t believe you’re younger than I am!” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t eat death berries and spend a moon in the healers’ den,” Floodpaw joked, swiping playfully at his ear. 

“Hey! I told you that in confidence!” Fernpaw laughed, looking around to see if anyone had heard. 

Floodpaw gave him another shove and said, “I’ll race you back to camp!” 

“Okay, readysetgo!”  Fernpaw blurted quickly and then tore off through the snow.

“Hey! No fair!” Floodpaw laughed and chased after him. Already, the shock of what he had seen was fading away, replaced by the sound of cheerful voices and the promise of a fish dinner with friends. The Clans had won, and he had helped! Thanks to tonight, their home was safe and he was eager to celebrate it.

#tw character death #tw graphic injury #clan gen #clangen #warrior cats #warriors #warrior cats oc #warriors oc #clangen oc #clan gen oc #Floodpaw #Sparrowpaw #Goldenstar #Snowstar #Flightstar #EarthClan #SkyClan #FallenClan #Fernpaw #Boldpaw #Fishpaw #Tumblefang #Ghost #Sycamore #Bella #Oreo #Pigeoncover #Russetfrond #ospreymask #Oddstripe

[seventhcallisto]

Prologue — "so overwhelmed"

Happy House. 2.7k wc.

Everything is so very overwhelming. Your clothes are overwhelming. Your hair is overwhelming. Your skin is overwhelming. Your makeup is overwhelming. The bustling makeup artist and the photographers and the light crew- everything really, is overwhelming. You've got hours of this left and you feel like you might pass out from the heat of the annoyingly cut up heavy jeans that are so inaccurate and so extremely 90s. But you have to power through or else you're making it everyone else's problem.

They're here to take photos of you for a concept you don't get told about. You are the muse and the artists are at work flashing lights and directing your movements. You've got to put your solid six hours of pose training to use, for some reason you don't think it's working like it should be. You feel awkward and weird in your own body. When you shuffle the press of the extremely tight denim skirt digs into your waist. Your feet feel heavy from the platform shoes. Your head is sweating from the amount of hairspray in it.

“Take five!”

You have to breathe. You can't breathe. But you're pushing through the feeling of needing to sob and wail at the overstimulation that's beating down on your senses. You're pushing through. You're always pushing through. Your temporary manager, a strict man- pulls at your arm as you stand so still in the middle of the set. Finally getting you to move after he called you many many times.

“Breathe” he whispers harshly and smiles to keep up the facade of happy-manager-man. Your face falls when you try to gulp back tears. “I'm trying” you hiss back, so tempted to just ruin your hair and stroke your hand over it. Your feet work against you as he continues his stomping rampage to the exit of the studio. The back alley is as close as you'll get to fresh air. You're somewhat grateful he noticed you struggling.

But facades are facades and you're supposed to not show how you're really feeling, and yet he noticed it. You bend, palm against your knees as you take harsh and panicked breaths into your painful lungs. Your makeup is expensive and you know the artists who did it will scold you like some child for getting tear streaks down your face. Cigarette smoke meets your nose. Harshly you cough and turn away from it. Hands on your hips as you pace away. “You'll get smoke on my clothes” you huff, five feet away at this point. It's true. Nic stains and leaves smell.

He takes one long drag, then stomps the ash out onto the sidewalk with a curse. He's got the decency, but you know he has been smoking the entire time you were getting poked and prodded like some doll. He reeks of it. You hate it, you hate how you work and how it's all so very uncomfortable. You hate having to walk on eggshells around him so he doesn't bark at you like an aggressive chihuahua. You hate this, you just became a trainee- like- a month ago. You hardly have any actual training under your belt.

Somehow you're already being thrown into the ring and given no clue how to fight. Panic is clawing your lungs and you think you might toss up the meal you had earlier in the day. You're already down to the smallest scale size you can manage without complete food restrictions and yet it was painfully hard to get there in the first place.

Everything is so very overwhelming.

“I can't do this,” you tell yourself, quiet compared to the city. “i can't.” you hiccup, heaving one hard breath out. Just breathe. The voice echos in your mind. Breathe. You take a shuddered breath in. One two three. Then out.

The day is long, but as long as you keep breathing and focus on why you're really there then you'll be okay. Soon night rolls around and you realize rent is a problem. Jiu can only pay so much for your side of it. Your hands slam down piles of paperwork and bills and written down studies that signal your last test is coming up so you can graduate. As soon as you're done you can put all your focus on training. One thing at a time. You've got to get hired part time somewhere. And luckily enough, a job that somewhat perfectly fits your schedule falls into your hands thanks to the orange haired woman who's your roommate.

“Your first paycheck has to go to rent”

“Who's going to feed me?”

“I'll feed you, just pay rent dammit”

Jiu has been feeding you for three weeks whilst you pay off your side of rent. You love her like a sister. She takes care of you like one. She's the only one you got close to when you came from your home country and began training. The only way you could communicate was through English. She was a trainee for a while. A solid 10 years. As soon as she turned 23 she quit being a trainee, moved out of the group house and began working. You felt anxious without her, she was the only one who bothered to help you the entire month you were there. So, like any younger sibling would do. You moved out and followed her. She convinced you to keep training, and took you in.

Now you're on the line of being an idol and being a trainee. You're in your most nerve-racking part of reaching your dream yet you still have so much more to train for.

It's weeks ago, you were standing in a line up of young women. Echoes of footsteps in the large practice room. Women the same as you, wishing to have their dream picked up so they can live their lives. A man dressed in all black, and a woman with a clipboard who stares through you like a ghost. They pace around you like predators stalking their prey. From the corner of your eyes, you can see each girl's expressions turning and twisting with anxiety. Some of them are younger, most of them older than you. A pair of the younger ones reach out to hold hands when the recruiters aren't looking. Attempting to ease each other's tension.

It's short- lived. Your attention is snapped back when fingers click right in front of your face. The clipboard holding woman looks you up and down with her emotions hiding behind a pair of heavy black bangs.

“Her” she says, as if you aren't there. Your eyes flicker back and forth. The man looks up from the paper he's holding. Staring you up and down. “Are you sure?” He asks, turning away from you to look the woman in her eyes. She continues to stare into your soul. You have to blink back to keep your eyes from watering. You are so very anxious.

The man doesn't ask a second time, nor does he look away from his companion. His hands clap together lightning quick. Whipping the paper back and forth. Half of the girls are startled, especially you. He joyously laughs under his black bucket hat. A false smile that pulls his aging cheeks. “You're going to debut kid, time to celebrate” he claps his hands against your shoulders. Evading your personal space and shaking you back and forth.

Since then, you've been told to go places, do things. Pretend you're happy and excited. And you are, you're debuting. Which is rare. You hardly have any training experience. It's a miracle. Plus- you haven't been told at all about what group you're being placed in. Or when. That's exactly where all of your anxiety comes from.

You fade back into existence. Trying to focus, you shake the sleepiness beating down on your eyelids. The car is silent, the radio turned down to the lowest it can go. Some indie song is playing smoothly. The highway is as quiet as it can get at 12 in the night. You're thankful for the music. If it was completely silent you'd have a hard time not succumbing to your worried thoughts. Your phone vibrates and pings in your pocket. Notifications that continuously pop up all day. You hadn't gotten your phone back until you left the jyp building. Too busy in a meeting, signing contracts and listening to legal discussions you hardly understood. You're still young. You're not very good with legal things. If you did, you're too tired to have anything registered in your brain.

“Stop here please sir” you tell the driver as soon as you realize he's passing the apartment complex you stay at with jiu. He nods his head in the rear view mirror, pulling off to the side. You thank him as you go. The door clicks behind you after you pull out your heavy duffle bag you use from practice. Your feet are sore. Your knees feel like they're cracking under your weight from the continuous strain on them. Heaviness settles along with the bag on your back. A plain white mask pulled over your mouth. Being a buzz in the media is crazy for you, ever since that photoshoot you took for your headshots as a trainee you've been on everyone's ‘will-she-debut’ list. The worst part is you're most recognizable now because your hair is pink. Yes, almost neon pink. It's not easy to hide pink hair.

And the woman in front of you on the led screen display has the same hair as you. Same baggy jeans. same strategic pose- its you. Oh god. Why are you on a display? Large letters above your head blink, ‘STRAY KIDS INTRODUCES..’ your name. An abbreviation of your name but it's your name nonetheless. Your new stage name.

Your hand fumbles, and sadly your phone slips right out and onto the rain covered sidewalk. Plop. It falls into a puddle and you're on your knees fishing it out as soon as it does. Shaking the water off and opening your camera to snap the quickest photo you can of the display. Your hands tremble and yes, it's a terribly shaky photo. But it's you. Shaky and blurry through your camera lense covered with sprinkles of water but it's you.

Ding, buzz. Your phone goes off as your picture shutters. The message popping onto the screen.

It's Jiu. A video message, you can see her face in the darkest angle as she jumps up the stairs to your shared apartment. Hair astray around her tan face. You pick up the video call immediately. Panic in your voice. “Jiu! My face” you flip the camera to showcase the led screen. Your phone adjusting to the light change. You must look crazy talking to yourself in public. Waving your arms frantically.

She's frantically pulling her keys out to twist open the door. Shadows follow in behind her. “I know, get back to the apartment as fast as you can. Don't stop for anything. There's press at the front. So take the back door-” “ji- what are you talking about!?” “what do you mean ‘what am I talking about’? You're on every news site that covers celebrities, kid! Don't you check the news! Ever!?” she raises her voice and it isn't as scary because she's just talking really loudly.

You don't. You're a trainee. Any news about kpop idols and such isn't allowed. Any social media isn't allowed. Anything of the sort isn't allowed. Your phone is regularly checked because of that fact. The only time you ever see the news is when jiu watches it early in the mornings before you leave for rehearsal. You never stick around for long because you feel guilty, as if you're breaking the rules.

“Get to the apartment! Get home!” the phone call ends abruptly.

Your run home is crazy, you've got your cardio in for the week. Your adrenaline pumped so much your heart doesn't beat normally even after you're taking a seat on the old rickety couch and drinking the oxygen in the room like a water bottle. Jiu has already sat you down. Told you as much as she knows.

She places two hands on you from behind your shoulder, squeezing them gently. ‘I'm here’ it tells you. You know it's hard for her to show affection, so you're thankful. She is there. Her phone is pressed between your fingers as you scroll on her timeline. Your name is everywhere, most popular tag above stray kids.

‘HERE'S EVERYTHING WE KNOW ABOUT STRAY KIDS’S NEWEST MEMBER SO FAR’ has already reached millions of likes and reports.

Your name, your trainee information. How long you've been training, most prominent. One month. Compared to the years stray kids has under their wings, you only have a month. Jiu snatches the phone before you get to the comments. You're a clammy and distraught mess. Crying to jiu as you scan through your hours and hours of written lyrics just to find that one paper you took from the meeting room about a week ago.

You're so overwhelmed.

The second the last few members —changbin and hyunjin specifically— step through their shared apartment, chan is calling a meeting. He assumes everyone must know because when he steps out of his shared room, minho is asking him “did you know?” And chan is shaking his head like a dog. Felix, jeongin, jisung, changbin, and even minho look completely put out and shocked by the news, all currently in their pajamas when they were supposed to be heading to sleep before they got the messages. The living room is a bustle of members, and complete shock hangs off everyone's words.

Chan has to rethink what he's going to say. And even though he's trying to figure it out. The living room is full of memories of all of them being together, something they haven't had in a while. Seungmin shoots up from his spot on couch, phone in hand. “She's a baby trainee!” He yells in shock, changbin stampeeds and practically leaps for the younger members phone. Staring down at the screen. Instead of crowding around bin jeongin is reaching for the remote. Flipping up youtube and searching up the most common topic on their minds.

And it's serious when changbins jaw drops. Lost for words. His eyes sparkling with different emotions. Gawking like a fish out of water. Hyunjin is a mimic. Whilst minhos face drop in some type of horror. Seungmin is thoroughly surprised and on the verge of a confused laugh.

Everyone's eyes flip to the wide-screen on the wall, music blaring loudly as some YouTube intro plays. Chan steps forward to grab the remote from a frozen jeongins hand. Just before he's about to turn it off. A new, fresh voice speaks through the speakers.

“hi! My name is __ . I'm currently auditioning for jyp. The song I'll be singing and rapping today is deja vu by beyoncé, I will be doing a freestyle dance aswell.” It's raw, and reminds chan of his audition video. You look just as young as chan was for his first audition, he has to advert his eyes just to ask changbin how old you are.

“She's 19” the black haired member says. Chans tense shoulder ease. “so she was nineteen when she did this audition-” chans jaw falls open and it feels as if its about to pop when your audition video ends. Your vocals keep playing as the next screen flickers lights across the living room. The list of things about you is displayed. Born in 2004. No. You're currently 19. You’re younger than jeongin! That can't be right. The eldest is chan, and he feels completely and utterly old. He's got seven years over you. It's a complete scandal as well because you're a girl pushed into an all male group. And as the youngest! Jeongin isn't the maknae anymore! It's like some type of fever-horror dream.

You did that video weeks ago, right before you got picked up as a trainee. Audible gasps resound in the room. Hyunjin speeding around minho. His finger raises to point at your headshot photos. “I remember her! One of my friends was telling me about her predebut photos, they're calling her the ace of trainees!” hyunjin yells and it's almost like a forced reaction as he spits out everything he knows about you. Pacing around the coffee table and bumping into jeongins shoulder.

You're a fresh new face to K-pop, and somehow unbeknownst to them, you're put in their company. In their group. How did that happen? Why did that happen?

Taglist: @sousydive @voicesinmyhead-rc @xerces00 @hanoobinie @ldysmfrst @skz-streamer @5starluvr

(If you wish to be tagged pls ask in the 'happy house' masterlist comment section! Also, if your tag isn't working, pls lmk- i'm still new to this and im crossing it out if it isn't popping up when i tag :C Mwuah. ♥︎ (p.s. happy thanksgiving if u celebrate.)

#stray kids x added member #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x reader #x reader #stray kids seungmin #stray kids felix #stray kids jeongin #stray kids hyunjin #stray kids #stray kids lee know #stray kids changbin #stray kids chris #idol au #happy house #seventhcallisto #stray kids ot8 #ot8 x reader #stray kids ff #skz x reader #skz #stray kids bang chan #bang chan #lee minho #changbin #han jisung #hyunjin #lee felix #stray kids han jisung #kim seungmin #jeongin

[acapelladitty]

Jonathan Crane/Reader - Captive: Part 2 (Kinktober #16)

Summary - Still help captive by Jonathan Crane, your life is little more than a series of tormets with wicked intentions. (Heavy tw's apply for noncon and various other abuses so beware).

Part 1 available HERE

“Hold still, little whore.” Crane grunted, his glasses perching precariously on the end of his nose as he remained bent on one knee before you. “If my hand should slip free then I will replace it with something you will enjoy even less.”

Chained to the wall, your neck held viciously in place by the thick metal collar which was bolted into the unyielding stone, the constant pressure on your windpipe made breathing difficult as you thrashed in place.

Enjoy.

As if you were enjoying a moment of this, a fact which were compounded as his hand flexed within your walls, cruelly stretching you out from the inside out as you wailed out your distress. It had been no easy feat, but when Crane had decided – almost casually – that he would like to test out how long it would take him to fit his thin fist within your terrified frame, he had decided that there was no time to be lost.

Pleading had been useless. Broken pleas and offers to suck his cock, to fuck him with any hole he wished, had fallen on deaf ears as he easily gripped your hair to force your head against the wall to secure the metal collar and prevent any escape. Your hands hung overhead, also pinned to the wall by a short length of rough rope which bit into the bruised skin of your wrists.

Feet only just able to lay flat on the floor, Crane had set about his task with sadistic precision.

With dry fingers, he had forcibly inserted himself to test the stretch which had already achieved with his daily lessons, and he was quick to add digits until he deemed the noises which were escaping your panicked mouth entertaining enough. Then, using a small bottle from his inner pocket, he had applied the smallest amount of lube to his fingers, enough to ensure that his own skin would remain unhurt by the friction while doing nothing to provide any real comfort.

“This may hurt.” Crane had warned, the visible tent of his slacks speaking his enjoyment of the utter cruelty of his plans. “Feel free to scream, sweetheart.”

The dry, rough stone wall against your back had given you something to focus on as he truly started his work but even that had its limits.

You had screamed.

And he had laughed.

The knuckles were the worst part. His fingers clawing against your walls as he forced himself deep within your hole were uncomfortable but familiar in a terrible way as each digit scratching along your walls in such a way that pleasure was impossible. The knuckles, the bones there unable to shift, formed the thickest part of his hand and the burn of your skin – your hole feeling as though it were tearing through the heat – had drawn a wail from you which was so guttural and miserable in its sincerity that Crane paused long enough to free his rock-hard cock with his other hand.

Still stroking along his length, the girth of his knuckles – now buried deep within you – sparked a deep discomfort which made the bile rise in the back of your throat.

“Just over seven minutes.” Crane mused, his gleeful expression only a few inches from your own. “That’s how long it took for you to open up for me like a common, fucked-out whore. Seven minutes to ruin you.” He shook his head as a twisted smirk settled on his lips. “That must be a record, sweetheart.”

x-x-x-x-x

Time moved slowly in your new life. With no calendar and scant lighting from a strip of window too high to be of any use, how much time had passed was a mystery which gnawed at your mind. Your hair had grown about an inch and that was the indicator which you chose to follow – measuring the strands against your palm to keep track.

The remnants of your dinner, overcooked rice topped with bland raw greens, lay off on a plastic plate to the side of your mattress. Having proven yourself willing to be sensible with your meals, Crane had settled into a routine of bringing meals designed to keep you from succumbing to any nutritional deficiency. Just enough to keep you going without ever truly allowing a comfortable fullness to settle. And it was the first thing to go at any perceived disobedience. Meals would be reduced to scraps which were barely fit for a dog and yet you were made to grovel for them as though they were a banquet.

Standing by the plate, Crane’s eyes grazed across the few grains of rice which your trembling fingers were not quite able to pick up and his features narrowed in obvious displeasure.

“Ungrateful creature. Is there a reason my meal has went unfinished?”

Cowering away in an instant, your eyes drop to the floor as your words stammer free.

“Apologies, Sir. I was unable to pick th-”

SLAP

The blow catches you unawares as you had not heard him move and your head snaps to the side as a pained yelp slips free of your mouth. A ringing settles in your left ear and you grunt as your head is pulled upwards by his free hand until you are forced to look Crane directly in the face.

“I do not appreciate excuses. If my meal was unsatisfactory then I will find you something to replace it.”

His hands drop your hair and quickly fumble with his belt. A sick hope alights in your chest. Sucking his cock would save you from so many other pains. In your time servicing him, you had grown to understand what he liked and, as much as he could draw it out with added cruelties, your throat was well-trained to get him to come as quickly as possible.

But your hope died out quickly as a sadistic chuckle rumbled overhead.

“I see that hopeful look in your eye,” Crane cooed, “and I know that you’re desperate to please me as a perfect little toy should. However, that’s not what I have in mind for you.” Stroking his cock, his free hand dipped once more to grip at your chin roughly. “I’m going to turn around and you will use that mouth to prove to me that you deserve another meal by my hands. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” You answer, revulsion at the implication rising in your throat.

“Hesitate, or refuse, and I’ll lock that door behind me and leave you here to rot away.”

Fear, genuine fear, pierces your heart as you don’t doubt his threat for a moment, and you nod as your knees lock in place against the cold stone of the floor.

He is quick to turn, balancing his forearm against the wall as he allowed his slacks to drop around his ankles, exposing his thin ass and even thinner legs to your blank expression. Shuffling forward on your knees, you bring your tied wrists together – the small length of rope only allowing a few inches of movement – and place them gently on his ass, afraid to cause him even the slightest discomfort as you know it’ll earn you a severe beating.

Pulling at his ass cheeks, the hair there sparse, a sigh of relief threatens to slip free of your lips as you take in his asshole and the cleanliness of the site. He was cruel, sadistic, and evil in ways you sometimes struggled to comprehend but he was at least clean.

You whimper as the harsh tread of Crane’s boots presses harshly against your upper leg as it remains forced into a kneeling position.

“Is that a hesitation?” He asks sternly, the threat clear. “Because it’s been a while since you required any true discipline, pet.”

“No, Sir. Sorry, Sir!”

Dipping your head forward, you swallow down the disgust which once again wells in your throat as your tongue paints a stripe across his asshole. Grimacing at the act, you push down those feelings as you settle into a steady, faux-enthusiastic rhythm which doesn’t hesitate – even as shameful tears threaten your eyes.

“That’s right you little whore.” Crane groans, pushing back slightly. “Service your master.”

Your tongue is insistent as it brushes along his hole while your hand remain gentle on his ass, your ragged nails nowhere near Crane’s skin as you devour him. He’s surprisingly active – his body shifting in place as you pleasure him as his ass pushes harder into your face, forcing you to work quicker at your task while he hums out his enjoyment.

After a few minutes, the length of which were closer to an eternity, he straightens up and whirls around and you are confronted by his rock-hard cock. His spindly hand jerking along the length with a messy pace, the flush which sits on his cruel features is paired with a animalistic panting as he points his cock at you.

“Enjoy your rewards, sweetheart.” Crane grunts out and the hot splashes of his release arc across your face, streaking across your cheek and lip as your watery eyes blink rapidly. “Perhaps we should arrange for more similar meals as part of your re-education.”

Re-education.

A word which struck more fear into your heart than any punishment could.

x-x-x-x-x

“Tell me what you see.”

Even through the horror which gripped your heart, squeezing the sensitive muscle to dust as you watch the shadows of the cell twist and writhe towards you, Crane’s voice is clear and unyielding as it demands an answer.

“Monsters.” You sob out, arcing your back as Crane tugs at your distended nipples. “In th-the shadows!”

The fire in your chest is brutal, scorching the skin to the bone as the pain is compounded by the toxin which flows freely through your veins. Thick needles, the sharp point having been slowly piercing through the nubs of your nipples as you screamed – his legs pinning your arms to the floor to allow him unfettered access to your chest – remained in place to provide Crane something to latch onto and pull to redirect your attention.

Then had come the toxin.

In a twisted game, he had allowed you to choose where to inject it and, like the good little toy you were, you had first told him that it was his choice and your opinion didn’t matter. He had laughed at that, his fingers stroking along your cheek in mock affection before he had insisted that the choice was yours.

And you had chosen your neck.

But only because he was more careful when working with that area, just in case he should nick something important. Any other choice would have seen the needle jammed into your flesh with no regard for comfort or safety.

The toxin still raged through your system, even now, hours after the initial injection. The hallucinations had lessened slightly – reduced to shifting shadows and a sense of dread which made your heart flutter within your chest as tears flowed freely from your stinging eyes.

A vague sensation of something being thrust within your mouth makes you moan and a sharp pain at the corners of your mouth alerts you to the dental gag which was now holding your mouth open, almost splitting at the sides.

“As obedient as you are, pet, my toxin would make any attempts at enjoying that lovely mouth difficult. I’m sure you don’t mind.”

Unable to speak, your words gurgle free in an indecipherable mess but Crane’s expression narrows as he watches your head thrash in place.

Dropping to one knee, his face hovers over your own and his features are barely perceptible through the veil of tears and blurriness which his toxin has afforded you. Nevertheless, you flinch in place as something warm and wet splatters across your cheek.

Spit.

“Now be a good whore and please your master.” Crane demands, rising once again to his feet as his fingers once again spread to tug at the needles which are impaled through your nipples – the rush of pain forcing you to kneel as high as possible to alleviate the raw pain which lances through your chest.

He’s as rough as ever, his cock thrusting within your mouth with no preamble or time to prepare. The gag making it impossible to do anything other than accept him, you slam your eyes shut to hide from the creatures which still moved within the shadows and laughed at your distress.

A sharp pull of your hair draws a strangled cry from your lips as Crane jerks his cock free and his voice booms from overhead.

“Open your eyes or I will pin them open with some of those left-over medical needles.”

Fresh terror flooding through your trembling limbs, you open your eyes immediately and fixate them on his stern gaze. Through the sadistic glee which shines free of his expression, there is a definite satisfaction there which sparks despair deep within your soul. As his little project, his desire to break and mould you into something for his amusement has been relentless. The abuses, the stuttered sleep, the withheld meals. Each cruelty breaking off another small piece of your will until what remained was tattered and useless, just waiting to be stripped off as was all the rest.

His cock returned to your lips and you moved your tongue to accommodate him, lapping at his length with a put-upon reverence which you knew he enjoyed. The ache in your jaw and throat meant little compared to the pains in the rest of your battered body but you ignored it in favour of pleasing him as he abused your mouth.

Please him. The little traitorous voice inside your head which had saved you from more punishments than you cared to think about, coming at the cost of your dignity. Let him do what he wants and you’ll be safe.

Toxin-filled and suffering beyond what any reasonable person could accept, what little defiance burned deep within your heart stuttered out and was replaced with something cold.

Clenching your fists against your lower back, you pretend to ignore the grunt of pleasure which escapes Crane as he once again tugs at your nipples and relishes in the scream which vibrates around his cock.

#Jonathan crane #scarecrow #jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane x you #scarecrow x you #scarecrow smut #gotham rogues #dc comics

[naeverse]

A Fate Worse Than Death - Part 3

🕷️staring: Miguel O’Hara x fem!Reader

🟥 preview: 

His eyes snapped open as he heard someone entering his office in a quiet, almost silent manner. Their footfalls, delicate, almost imperceptible on the black flooring of his office. Due to his enhanced senses, he was able to hear the person way before he even saw them. 

He turned around, his pupils glowing blazing crimson, his fangs barred, and his claws extended from his fingertips. 

“Who the hell are you, and how the fuck did you get in here!?” 

🕷️Summary: 

Miguel O’Hara’s past comes back to haunt him when a mysterious stranger strolls into his office, carrying with them a profound misfortune that has the potential to ruin everything..

🟦tw/cw. Angst, unprotected sex, fingering, body worship, dirty talk, multiple reader orgasms, big dick Miguel, mutual orgasm, etc… 

🕷️pet names: (hers) Mi amor (My love), Bebè (Baby), Cariño (Darling)

🟥rating. 18+ explicit I SMUT I

🟦Word count: 5.2k

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

"I can't tell you any more than this..." he sighed, averting his gaze. "I left you for a reason, Y/N... 

We cannot be together…"

Your heart plummeted at his words. You reached out, your hands trembling as they grasped his. "You can't possibly believe that...right? 

Right?!" 

Your voice quivered with fear and disbelief, desperately seeking reassurance.

He sighed, looking down at you with a heavy heart. "I wish I was," he admitted, his tone filled with sadness. 

You were on the verge of tears once more. "W-Well..., I don't care," you spat out in frustration and determination. Your grip on his hand tightened, like you were afraid he would dissolve and disappear right then and there.

Miguel's heart warmed at your words. Despite everything, you were willing to fight for your relationship, for him…

However, he knew what was at stake, and he was aware of the horrors that could unfold if you stayed together. Miguel met your gaze, his jaw clenched.

"Well, I do care," he responded, your lips trembling as you cupped his cheeks in your hands, searching his eyes for what you hoped you wouldn't find. 

Sincerity...

Miguel truly meant what he had said. He believed that you and he weren't meant to be.

"W-why? P-please, tell me why?" you pleaded through your tears. Miguel's eyes teared up as well, and he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. 

"I-I'm sorry... I can't tell you, Y/N." 

You sobbed even harder, burying your face into his muscular chest that was covered in his holographic suit. A tear slid down Miguel's cheek as he felt the devastating impact of the prophecy tearing the two of you apart. 

He gently cupped your chin with his fingers, lifting your tear-stained face to meet his gaze. Your complexion was completely flushed, your cheeks pink and glistening from your tears. 

Even in this state, Miguel couldn't help but find you utterly breathtaking.

The more Miguel looked at you, the more his heart tugged, and the more he remembered...

When he left you and tried to fill the gaping hole in his heart that you had occupied, it proved utterly impossible. 

He became a workaholic, throwing himself into the task of maintaining the stability and protection of the multiverse. It was a demanding and hectic job, filled with sporadic challenges, but even so, it just wasn't enough.

His loneliness, longing, sadness, and frustration at not having you by his side manifested as anger and fury. 

He was always irritable, quick-tempered, and grumpy. The other Spider-people in the society probably couldn't stand him. He was nearly impossible to impress, hard to please. He blew up over the smallest of things and considered everything about his existence to be a living hell.

As before, his solution to his problems was isolation. He locked himself in his office, distancing himself from the other Spider-people and from destiny itself. In his office, he was forced to focus on one thing and one thing only: his job.

Day after day, he stood in the same spot, fixated on those damn screens. Sometimes, he would go for days without seeing the sun, without drinking water, without eating, even neglecting to inject himself with the serum that helped curb his blood cravings.

He might have gone mad if it weren't for Lyla. She was a constant presence, always reminding him of his vital tasks, urging him to take his injections, get lunch, and more. Sometimes he ignored her, but Lyla was persistent…

His trusted A.I. remembered you well. It wasn't easy for her to forget you, especially given Miguel's state of mind. She knew he missed you, and she understood that your absence was the root cause of his depression. 

However, Lyla also bore witness to Miguel's discovery of the horrifying fate that seemed to await your relationship. As a hologram and purely logical technology, she could only analyze the situation from a rational standpoint.

Despite Miguel's emotions and pain, she believed that how he was handling it was, in some way, better than the alternative…

..

.

Right now, Miguel held you in his arms, his crimson eyes taking in every detail of your presence.

You were here with him, not on Earth-2099, and regardless of how much he believed he needed you gone to avoid the impending fate of your relationship, he couldn't help but miss you.

Every part of you...

Your smile, your laughter, your voice, the way you talked, even the small mannerisms that were oblivious to yourself but so familiar to Miguel.

He missed you so damn bad…

As he held you in his arms, feeling your feminine curves pressed against his muscular frame, the desire to express how much he loved you welled up within him. Despite everything, he wanted you to know that he would continue to love you endlessly, even though this might be your last time together...

You continued to weep in Miguel's arms, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from your trembling lips. He licked his own, aching to kiss you and make amends for all the hurt and pain he had caused you over the past seven years.

"May I?" Miguel whispered, his gaze fixed on your trembling, soft, and plush lips once more. His question surprised you, prompting you to open your eyes. But when you looked up at him, you saw something that left you shocked.

Miguel's eyes were brimming with love, devotion, and longing, the very sight you had hoped to witness when you first arrived on Earth-928. 

It was the same look he used to give you...

After a long day of fighting crime, when you returned home to each other, or even as you drifted to sleep in each other's embrace, Miguel's crimson eyes always held that nostalgic look of pure love for you. 

It was all you had ever wanted, needed, and desired for the past seven years. The sight of it made your heart flutter, and your breath quickened in response.

Miguel found your surprised expression to be absolutely beautiful and gorgeous. He brushed his thumb along your lips, tracing them with the pad of his finger, causing your breath to hitch.

Without a second thought, you nodded hastily, and Miguel didn't hesitate to press his lips against yours.

Your lips collided in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, bearing the weight of years' worth of pent-up longing. In that moment, the two of you realized just how long it had truly been since your separation, the burning urge to touch, taste, and feel each other overwhelming your senses.

Miguel kissed you eagerly as you reciprocated with the same fervor. His calloused hands moved down your body, caressing your thighs, hips, and ass in an effort to feel your every curve through his gloves. You moaned softly against his lips. 

The kiss was becoming more heated as time went on. Miguel's powerful arms encircled you, effortlessly lifting your body off the ground. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and your arms settled around his neck, whilst his hands fell into place under your rear. 

He'd forgotten how good it felt to hold you like this; you were practically weightless in his arms.

“Gosh, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you, Y/N.” 

He mumbled amidst the passionate kiss, his voice raw with desperation, and it became evident just how much he had yearned for you – as much as you had yearned for him. Your heart fluttered at his heartfelt words, deeply moved by the sincerity of his emotions.

Miguel gave your ass a small squeeze whilst continuing to kiss you, his feet moving to the couch where he laid you gently upon the plush cushions. Your hair sprouted out under you whilst your back rested against the black, leather sofa. Miguel positioned himself over you, his knee gently pressing between your legs and his arms holding his body up as he continued to kiss your lips passionately.

He pulled away to marvel at you, the sight under him, breathtaking. 

You gazed up at him, breathless, your chest heaving with desire. Your lips were puffy and reddened from the passionate kisses, and your cheeks still glistened from your previous tears. Your body was tightly hugged by your red and blue holographic spider suit, the one he had created specifically for you. The suit accentuated every alluring curve and feature that drove Miguel wild with desire.

Your mesmerizing breasts, alluring curves, mouthwatering thighs, and luscious ass.

He could only fantasize about these features of you for the past seven years. When his high, lust, and want for you become too much for him to bear, he'll jerk off to old images of you. It was never satisfying, but it did crave his need momentarily, 

but now…

His crimson eyes darkened, his large, gloved hands feeling up and down your sides, squeezing the alluring flesh through your suit to make sure this wasn't a dream. He groaned when he heard the all too familiar moans that escaped your lips at his touch. 

He smirked, leaning down to capture your lips in another searing kiss. You responded eagerly, intoxicated by his lips that you had craved so much for so long.

"Miggy…" You whispered between kisses. "I want you…please." Your begs eliciting a growl from the depths of Miguel's chest. "As you wish, Cariño." He purred, kissing along your cheeks whilst his thick fingers slid up to your neck to locate the buttons to your suit. 

Your breathing quickened once you heard the soft click against your neck. Your suit began to flicker and disintegrate from around you, revealing your nude being to Miguel.

Miguel's crimson eyes roamed frantically over your body, trying to take in as much as he could, savoring this beautiful sight in front of him. His suit was starting to become overwhelmingly tight, squeezing his hardened arousal. He bit his lip, running a hand along your bare stomach. 

You shivered at his touch, looking up at your muscular and large lover. His tanned lips pulled into a smirk, his gloved hand moving along your body caressing your bare skin but avoiding your sensitive areas. 

Miguel wanted to prolong this for as long as he could…

"Fuck, eres tan hermosa, bebé" 

He tenderly kissed and sucked your neck, marking you as his. You whimpered, wrapping your arms around his huge backside, pulling him closer to you. 

"M-Miggy…I-I want you to-"

"Patience, mi amor." He chuckled, pressing one final kiss to your neck before pulling away to meet your desirous and pleading gaze. You gave Miguel a pout which only caused his smile to deepen at how cute you were. 

He cupped your cheek in his large hand, caressing it with his thumb. "I want to cherish you, bebé. Worship that gorgeous body of yours that I've missed for so long.” He said, his voice deep, husky, and incredibly seductive that it made the heat between your legs throb. He leaned in close, teasing you. 

He kissed your forehead, then moved down to your nose, cheeks, along your jawline, and chin, finally reaching the corners of your lips. You moaned softly, relishing in the small pleasures Miguel was bringing to your body. 

“Will you allow me to do that for you, mi amor? 

Worship you?” 

He whispered against your lips. Miguel’s crimson eyes stared down at your soft, puffy lips before meeting your gaze. He already knew your answer to his question, but he wanted to hear it from that pretty little mouth of yours. 

You didn't have to ponder his question for long. The answer was right there on the tip of your tongue, like a word you had known for years. Your response was undeniable, and you were certain Miguel knew that too.

"Yes," you uttered, your voice filled with anticipation and desire for him. "Please, Miguel," you pleaded as he loomed above you.

Your words made Miguel’s cock painfully harden under his tight spider suit. He growled, smashing his lips upon yours once again. You moaned against his lips, your body craving him the more your fiery kiss prolonged. 

Miguel groaned deeply, savoring the closeness between you. His lips devoured yours for what felt like an eternity, like an unbreakable spell had cast the two of you into a state of perpetual love, adoration, and desire for one another.

Miguel’s hands trailed down your figure whilst his lips continued to consume yours. When he finally came into contact with what he desired, he groped your bare chest in his large hand. His calloused palm completely enclosing your supple breast. 

You gasped, pulling away from him, your eyes half-lidded, and your cheeks flushed. He smirked at your reaction, beginning to tease and roll your hardened nipple with his thumb. 

Endless moans escaped your lips that made Miguel’s heart warm. He had longed to hear those sweet sounds from you for so long. It was like music to his ears, and he never wanted it to end.

Your body was filled with overwhelming bursts of pleasure, and it didn’t help that Miguel was looking so sexy over you. 

Your core leaked with your juices at just the knowledge of every delectable feeling of bliss that spread through your body was caused by him. A burning desire to be filled by his huge cock overwhelmed your being, your thighs coated in your essence.

"You like that, mi amor?" He asked with a toothy grin, his sharp fangs peeking out from under his lip, his forefinger and thumb continuing to knead the nipples of your breasts. You whimpered and mewled uncontrollably under him, your body becoming so hot and needy. 

"Yes, mmm, please, Miguel. I-I can't." You begged once again, bringing a smirk to Miguel's lips. Miguel leaned down releasing one of your nipples, to take it into his mouth, sucking gently, feeling the pebble harden further under his ministrations. He groaned softly, his cock twitching rampantly under his restrictive spider suit. 

You moaned, running your fingers through his dark strands. He hummed, his eyes shut and relishing in your delicious touch and taste. His fangs grazing your hardened nipple made you gasp and a blissful sensation spread throughout your entire body. 

Miguel was becoming more and more drunk off of you. His tanned cheeks hollowed as he slowly began to suck sharply and harder at your breasts. He took your chest into his large hands squeezing softly whilst licking, kissing, and occasionally nipping at each one. 

Your entire body was overwhelmingly hot, your core dripping with your juices. Heavy breaths escaped your lips whilst you couldn't stop the many erotic sounds and noises that Miguel was pulling from your very being.

He continued to ravage your chest, placing one hand on your lower back, holding you steady. You were so blinded by the powerful sensations that you didn't feel your lover's large, gloved hand moving from your chest to slip lower down your body towards your heated desire, until his fingers found your throbbing bud. 

A loud, sudden moan escaped your lips at his touch against your sensitive area. Miguel chuckled at your reaction. "Ah, such beautiful noises you are making for me, bebé." He cooed, pecking your lips and quickening his circular motion on your sensitive bud.

Your eyes fluttered, trembling slightly as the blinding and alluring pleasure took over your being. "M-Miggy…It feels s-so good." You moaned, gripping onto his broad shoulders. 

He snickered, brushing a few strands of your hair behind your ears, his fingers never ceasing its pace on your swollen clit. You squirmed and moaned whilst Miguel brought you closer and closer to your sweet end. 

"Do you wish for more, Cariño?" His voice, gravelly and rough, sending a tingly sensation straight to your throbbing core. You frantically nodded, your face flushed. "Y-yes, mmm. P-please give me more Miggy." 

He didn't hesitate to give you what you desired, slipping a gloved, thick finger into your needy hole. You jolted against the leather cushions at the wonderful intrusion. You mewled loudly, his finger thrusting long and deep inside of you. 

"Hmm…so tight bebé." He purred, his eyes taking in your disheveled hair, blissful and crimson cheeks, supple breasts, and glistening skin that was decorated with slowly growing love bites on your neck and chest. 

He inserted another into your tight heat, his two digits pumping in and out of you. "You like this Cariño? My fingers stretching you out?" He huskily asked, his long fingers curling and reaching deep inside of your dripping cunt, hitting your G-spot repeatedly.

You couldn't respond only frantically nod, moans spilling rapidly from your lips. Miguel chuckled, kissing you deeply. With every thrust of your fingers, his palm pressed against your clit making you mewl. Your whimpers were muffled as Miguel continued to kiss you, loving the sounds you were making because of him. 

The sensations started to be too much for you to bear; your body began to tremble horribly. The knots in your stomach were tightening; your breathing increased. 

You were close, very close…

"M-Miggy…" You whimpered airly, pulling away from his lips. The words were so very nostalgic on your tongue; Miguel instantly knew what you meant. He grinned, positioning himself better over you, his fingers pounding roughly into you. 

"Cum for me Muñeca; show me how much you've missed me." 

His intense gaze, and sexy body hovering over you, along with his quickened thrusts inside of your dripping core made your pussy flutter around his digits. 

Instantly you released, your orgasm intense and powerful. You moaned loudly, jerking against the cushion. Your vision became cloudy whilst the feeling of pure bliss and euphoria overwhelmed your senses. Miguel groaned, feeling your tight walls clamp around his thick fingers.

His crimson eyes peered up at you, a small smile dressing his lips to see your flushed cheeks and satisfied eyes staring back at him. He pulled his glistening fingers from your puffy pussy lips, bringing the two gloved digits to his mouth. He moaned softly, tasting your heavenly nectar on his tongue. 

"Sweet and delicious…just like I remembered." Miguel uttered with a smirk, extracting his saliva coated fingers from his mouth. You bit your lip, your eyes trailing his muscular being that laid over you. 

"Please Miguel. L-let me see you." You begged, running your palms along his toned biceps, broad shoulders, defined pecs and abs that were all covered by his sexy red and blue holographic suit.

He groaned, his eyes briefly closing, relishing in your touch. He took your palm in his large hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles that made your heart soar. "Of course, mi amor." 

You bit your lip in anticipation, your eyes following his every move. He placed your hand softly against your stomach before moving to his white multiverse watch that adorned his left wrist. With a few swipes and digital clicks, his red and blue holographic suit began to disintegrate from his body, revealing his tanned, large, muscular being. 

You were practically salivating at the wonderful sight before you…

Miguel's sculpted physique was a masterpiece of strength and sensuality, each muscle carved to perfection. Every sinewy limb exuded a graceful power, with veins beneath his taut skin tracing the contours of his body. 

His bronzed skin seemed to emit warmth, tempting one to reach out and touch. Miguel's smoldering intensity in his eyes felt familiar and nostalgic, assuring you that the moments ahead would be worth the anticipation.

The broad expanse of his chest and shoulders exuded an unmistakable sense of robustness, while his well-defined abs created an irresistible path leading downwards to his remarkable and impressive length. 

His enormous shaft was well-endowed and absolutely amazing. It was completely erect and hardened, his brown, reddish tip already dripping with precum. 

It made you feel fortunate to be graced with such a sight before you. Miguel was a work of art, a blessing to your eyes that grew more captivating with each lingering gaze.

Miguel was filled with pride as he peered down at you, noticing your wandering eyes that lingered over him repeatedly. He bit his lip, relishing the attention you were bestowing upon him, which only fueled his desire even further. 

He was ready for you, and wanted nothing more than to feel the tightness of your walls around his pulsating length.

You wet your lips, reaching out to feel his bare skin and muscles under your palms.

You’ve missed this feeling so much…

His muscles felt unyielding and sculpted beneath your fingers, and you could clearly sense the significant difference compared to the last time you touched him. His body had grown bigger, more substantial, impressively solid, and even more taut. 

You could tell he had dedicated himself to working out extensively over the past seven years, and it sent tingles through your body, making your stomach flutter with longing. 

Miguel shivered under your touch, his cock twitching. Miguel needed you. As your soft palms glided across his toned figure, his need for you grew increasingly overwhelming.

"Mmm bebé…I need you.” He groaned, peering down at you. “Are you ready for me, Cariño?" Miguel asked, his massive cock brushing against your stomach while he hovered over you. You gasped softly at the feeling, biting your lip and nodding. "Y-yes, Miggy…I'm ready." You uttered, meeting his crimson gaze with desperate eyes. 

He brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, smiling. 

"Spread your legs for me." 

He whispered, making your heart skip a beat. You hastily obeyed, opening your legs for him. He groaned softly at the sight of your glistening pussy lips, completely soaked in your juices and eager for him. 

He leaned down, leaving a trail of kisses along your stomach, pelvis before lastly, pressing a kiss upon your clit causing you to gasp. He smirked, looking up at you. 

He took his massive cock into his hand, gliding his length along your slick folds and clit making you whine.  He chuckled, a satisfied hum passing his lips as he continued to tease you. "M-Miggy, please." You begged, clenching the leather cushions in your palms. Miguel smiled at your eagerness and the mutual desire you both shared.

"Okay…" He grinned, halting his teasing. He bit his lip, pressing his tip to your soaken entrance. You moaned loudly when he began to push into your tight walls. You squirmed, breathing heavily as he filled you up completely. 

Miguel was always big. His 10-inch cock being over the normal average and holding huge features in all aspects; every time you saw it, it always amazed you. Not only was he enormous, Miguel knew his way around the bedroom which always made your time spent together delightful and always satisfying. 

But before, you've always been able to take him so well, but due to your long separation…

He was massive…

"M-Miggy, t-too big." You whimpered, your legs trembling around him. Miguel grunted. "Hmm, I know, mi amor. You'll get used to me.”  He growled, halting his movements to allow you time to adjust. 

"Let me know when you are ready." He breathed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You nodded, feeling Miguel's huge cock stretch you out completely. You bit your lip, whimpering and moaning softly at the gradual expanding of your tight walls around his shaft. 

Miguel felt you strain and clench around him causing him to faintly groan. His crimson eyes were trained on your face, hoping that after all this time that his huge length didn't bring you any discomfort. He had missed you immensely and would secretly be upset if you asked him to stop; so he felt an overwhelming sense of relief when you nodded, giving him the signal to continue. He smiled, beginning to move further into your tight cunt, stretching you more as he entered. 

He gritted his teeth, his pearly white fangs bearing down on the other at his slow insertion. With eyes tightly closed, you moaned helplessly, surrendering to the overwhelming sensations of intense pleasure that consumed you.

Miguel's eyes remained fixed on you, carefully observing every expression that crossed your face as he began to move at a slow pace inside of you. Your eyes fluttered and rolled, his substantial size filling you completely with each rhythmic thrust, each one as potent as the first, stealing your breath away each time.

The sensation of continuous fullness felt like you were suspended in an eternal state of ecstasy, oblivious to the passage of time.

Miguel continued in his gentle movements inside you, even though his desire was to accelerate his pace; he was determined to wait until you were fully prepared for him.

"Hmm, talk to me, bebé. How does it feel?" Breathlessly, he asked, his hips maintaining their slow and steady rhythm inside you. You moaned softly, struggling to find your words whilst  Miguel's impressive size continued to drive you into a state of blissful ecstasy.

"G-good, s-so good," you slurred. Thankfully, your words were intelligible enough for Miguel to understand, and he smiled. "Mmm, do you want more, Cariño?"

You looked up at Miguel, his crimson eyes practically pleading for your affirmation. 

That look meant the world to you… 

Delicately, you caressed his cheek with your thumb and nodded, whispering, "Y-yes...I want more, Miggy."

Miguel smirked, his fangs protruding from his lips, his eyes growing even redder. "Let me know if it becomes too much," he gruffly said, placing his large hands on either side of your head, burying his face into your neck.

"Are you ready, mi amor?"

You tightly wrapped your arms around his muscular backside. "Y-yes," you responded, your voice trembling with desire. Miguel groaned and then began moving his hips more urgently, his thrusts becoming rougher, faster, and deeper.

You moaned loudly, your eyes fluttering as Miguel gave you his all, wanting you to feel how much he had missed you, how much he desired this moment. He kissed your neck passionately. "Hmm... you feel so fucking good, Cariño," he groaned against your neck, his powerful thrusts never ceasing.

Your stomach was rapidly tightening, every powerful thrust bringing you closer to the brink of ecstasy. You were a moaning, quivering mess, your mind reduced to a pleasurable haze whilst Miguel's impressive length expertly fulfilled your desires in every possible way.

You had longed for this moment, yearning for Miguel so intensely during the years of separation. The passion between you two had always been scorching and profoundly satisfying. 

Over the seven years apart, you could only revisit those memories in your head when the need for release overwhelmed you. Masturbation and the use of toys had been your solace, temporarily soothing the ache for Miguel that never truly went away.

Now, after all this time, you were absolutely certain that your memories couldn't do justice to the incredible reality before you.

"M-Miguel!" You cried out, his cock driving deep inside you with every powerful thrust. "Fuck, mi amor." Miguel's deep, primal growl resonated against your skin, his biceps flexing and his arm muscles bulging as he pounded into you with all his strength. The room reverberated with the explicit sounds of your skin slapping together, a symphony of unbridled passion and desire.

You clung to Miguel like he were your lifeline, a grounding force in this overwhelmingly pleasurable moment. Your toes curled, and your body quivered whilst Miguel relentlessly pistoned his hips into your dripping core.

You dug your nails into Miguel's back, drawing blood and moaning loudly, while he groaned in a mixture of pleasure and pain. In a matter of seconds, his deep cuts on his back were miraculously healed. Miguel panted, pulling away from your neck to meet your eyes.

"Tell me, Y/N, how much did you miss this?" he growled, his hips never ceasing their passionate assault.

"Is this what you fantasize about at night?" Miguel's voice, husky and commanding, oozed with irresistible allure. "My cock pleasing you just the way you like it, knowing no one else can satisfy you like I can?"

You frantically nodding, the leather couch audibly moving against the black flooring of Miguel's office with the two of your erotic movements.

"I want to hear you, bebé," he groaned, his hands firmly gripping your hips. "I want to know what you imagine when you pleasure yourself."

Your lips trembled, your chest heaving, trying to balance the overwhelming pleasure with coherent thought. "Y-yes, I-I think of you, Miggy," you slurred, moaning, clinging to his back tightly. "I-I imagine your cock every s-single night, Miguel." 

Miguel growled from deep in his throat, slamming his lips onto yours once more. He continued to move his hips into you, his cock burrowing deep into your inner walls. "Cariño, I don't think you know how much power you have over me," he purred against your lips. You let out a passionate whimper, the sound being swallowed by Miguel's mouth while he continued to kiss and thrust into you.

Waves of unbearable tingles continuously spread through your body, while your stomach burned terribly, pleading for release. "M-Miggy,  I-I'm close," you whimpered. Miguel gently pecked your lips before pulling away. He took your hands in his large ones, entwining your fingers, his thumbs caressing the knuckles.

"Hmm, I want your eyes on me, mi amor." 

He huskily demanded, his crimson eyes locking onto yours. You obediently nodded, maintaining your gaze on him. He smiled before resuming his rhythmic thrusts with exquisite precision.

Even after all these years, Miguel knew your desires intimately, understanding you inside and out. It didn't take long for him to rediscover that sweet spot and stimulate it relentlessly. He smirked, savoring the sound of your escalating moans, his hips colliding with yours, and propelling you towards the pinnacle of pleasure.

You clenched his hands tightly, your eyes locked onto his with unwavering intensity. Your body trembled uncontrollably, allowing the pent-up pleasure to erupt from you like a bursting dam.

"M-Miguel, I'm cumming!" you exclaimed loudly, your voice filled with ecstasy. 

"Cum for me, baby, and keep your eyes on me. Don't look away," 

He seductively whispered, maintaining his quickened pace inside of you. You obeyed his command, keeping your gaze firmly fixed on him whilst your orgasm overtook you. You moaned loudly, your body convulsing, squeezing his hands tightly.

Miguel groaned in response, feeling your walls grip him intensely. He thrusted deeply into you one final time before pulling out, releasing onto your stomach. His white, sticky release shot from his tip and settled on your belly, coating your skin in his essence. Miguel, thickly swallowing, panted heavily, slowly coming down from his intense high.

He released your hands and cupped your face in his large palm. "Amazing, mi amor. You did wonderful," he praised, pressing gentle kisses on your forehead, his affection evident in his tender touch. 

"T-Thank you Miggy." You smiled lovingly up at him, and he responded by kissing your lips deeply, savoring the sweet moment. When he finally pulled away, a mischievous smirk played on his lips, eliciting a giggle from you. "What is it?" you asked, your grin mirroring his.

"Are you up for round two? I'm just getting started with you, Cariño," he chuckled, twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers as he hovered over you. His eyes locked onto your face. You smiled and nodded in response.

"Okay... let's go again…”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed part 3!

The next part will be the finale. Thank you everyone for the love and support that you've showed this story. 💙❤️💙❤️

<3 Taglist:

~@homewreckingwreck ~@powerful-niya ~@oscarissac2099

(Let me know in the comments if you'll like to become a part of the taglist! ❤️)

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

#miguel o'hara #spider man 2099 #across the spiderverse #the blue panther #miguel ohara #miguel #miguel smut #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x fem!reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o hara #miguel x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel ohara fanfiction

[spicyicetea]

🐲 aron here

So what you said about the reader beIN like the sorwd is reader and sky not wanting the Reader to leave him.

What is time, FD, warrior, four, reactions be

Ooo I was originally going to write stuff like this anyways but i got super distracted. To anyone who has sent a request, I'm sorry it's taking me so long to get around to responding to asks/requests. Unless I have an idea when I read the ask in the moment, I tend to focus on my other work until I have ideas.

How they would react to Fi!Reader having to return to their sword.

Hero of Time

To say that Time wasn't ready for you to leave would be an understatement.

He hadn't expected himself to get so attached to you but the moment you appeared to him and started giving him advice he fell so hard for you.

You were nothing like the people he was so used to saving, practically helpless and at the mercy of everything around them.

You definitely had the capability of defending yourself but this type of possessiveness and urge to protect was something he wasn't used to, and he had to be the one protecting you.

He often would stay up with you, showing you around Hyrule given how long you had been sealed for, often playing his ocarina to try and court you.

If it wasn't for you, and that moral compass you seemed to hold dear, he would have let the land go to hell and back to just spend time with you alone.

And now you want to leave him? He can't let you do that.

You won't do that. It's not fair.

Fierce Deity Link

By far, he has one of the most violent reactions to you saying you had to go back to sleep in the Sword.

Next Link? You don't need another Link. There would never be another like him, so why do you want to leave him?

Is he not being affectionate enough?

Perhaps he seems to distant or cold to you?

He can change that, and he will.

Suddenly he's far more touchy, constantly holding your hand and pulling you away when people try and speak to you.

You live in his arms now, never able to leave his side unless he needs to fight, in which you're placed aside and god forbid even the smallest debris hits you. The world will never know what hit it.

Hyrule warriors Link

What? You want to leave him?

Is it because of how busy he is? Does he spend too much time with Zelda?

You should know that it's his job, he doesn't like her at all. If he could kill her he would.

No matter how much you reassure him that it has nothing to do with him and that it's your job to hibernate until the next Link, he can't let it go.

He needs you.

You did tell him he'd get to keep the Master Sword after you went into your sleep like state, but it wasn't good enough.

You could be stuck in some rusty old broadsword and it'd still be his weapon of choice if it meant he'd get to have you around.

Even after telling him you didn't have to leave in that moment, his anxiety is far too high to ever lower his guard.

You now live with his scarf either wrapped around your neck or tied to your wrist while he holds the end like a leash, he is far too scared of losing you to ever let go.

[I assume Four is the Four swords Links- I don't tend to refer to the link by nicknames so i hope I've gotten them right so far]

The Four swords Links

To these four, given they're young, they see you as their mother.

They were crying.

Clawing at your tunic begging you to stay with them.

Of course they have family, but they don't need them.

They have you, and you can't leave them, they're aimless without you.

It wasn't uncommon for them to come sneak into your bed at night and cuddle you, craving even the smallest amount of affection.

They relied on you, you cleaned their tunics, dressed their wounds, cooked their food.

They will never let you leave them.

I mean, there are 4 of them and 1 of you, and would you really make these sweet boys cry on purpose?

I'm sorry for taking so long to get to this. I wouldn't usually write for any of these Links so it was very fun exploring ways i can make them significantly different from the others. I wasn't sure if you would have wanted NSFW for any of the adult Links, so I kept it safe and didn't include any, but if you did feel free to request again :)

#x reader #yandere x reader #legend of zelda x reader #link x reader #legend of zelda fanfiction #legend of zelda #legend of zelda ocarina #ocarina of time #link ocarina #four swords #fierce diety link #hyrule warriors

[duckingwriting]

Search your manuscript

📝 Search for the given words in your WIP. If you don't have a word, you can use a variation on it or a word with a similar meaning with help from thesaurus.com

Thank you for the tag @winterandwords here No pressure tagging:

@author-a-holmes, @mrbexwrites, @rachaellawrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @squarebracket-trickster and leaving an open tag

Your words are - Slice, Carry, Punch, Damage

And my snips are bellow the cut!

dry - From You Spino Me Right 'Round (CW-ish? arousal mentioned)

Vitale huffed an irritated breath and pulled his mate's hand up so he could inspect his injury. He was disappointed to discover he had been right about the weakness of his mate's skin. He had hoped it was more durable than he had thought. But there was a small stream of blood sliding down the smallest clawless finger to prove that Vitale had been right. Leaning forward his tongue flicked out and he carefully captured the blood and drew his mate's finger into his mouth, using his own lips to block his teeth from damaging his mate further. His mate made more sounds he could not understand but he thought might be his mate's way of communicating. Vitale lifted his gaze and looked up at his mate not convinced that he would be able to understand any more from his observations but having to try. Just in case there was something he could figure out.  Anthony slipped his own tongue out to lick his dry lips as the strange man stared up at him. He could feel the other's tongue curling around his finger and it sent a bolt of arousal through his body. A pulse he still was not sure he should actually feel. But he was no longer sure that there was any actual danger from the stranger. Even if he did not seem to understand anything Anthony had said. The other man pulled away from his finger, dropping his gaze back down to Anthony's finger and examining it. His rough fingers added pressure and moved up to Anthony's palm then arm. He felt a spike of fear feeling the sharp claws against his skin. Vitale tried to focus on his mate's well being. He was examining him for more injuries, telling himself that it was not so he could keep touching his mate even if the way the soft flesh molded to his touch fascinated him. He thought about the way it would feel if he pressed his mouth against his mate. He felt his own arousal pulsing through his body. He had barely managed to avoid pinning his mate down and exploring his body when the taste of his blood had sent pulses of arousal through his body. But at the moment there was the bitter burn of fear drowning out the scent of his mate's previous arousal.

why - From my Underworld fic

“It’s shocking.” Simone admitted. “I know the feeling.” Riley glanced sideways at the clock. There were still a few hours before sundown. She chewed her lip lightly while an internal war raged in her mind before she finally sighed. She hadn’t lied when she told Selene that she would choose her sister over the coven. “Listen. I’m glad ya called. Something’s happened at the Coven. Something big.” “Why are you telling me?” Simone's voice was defensive over the phone. Riley's lips twitched in a smile. She was glad her sister suspected her of treachery, it meant she was less likely to get killed by another death dealer because she would be cautious. “Because you’re my sister and I refuse to watch you die. Viktor has been woken up. Lucian should understand what that means if he’s half as old and smart as they say.” “…You’re really abandoning your coven to help lycans?” Simone's voice was laced with disbelief and shock, possibly a bit of hope as well. “No. I’m abandoning the coven for my sister. If it helps out some other dogs then so be it.” Riley talked over Simone when she tried to speak. She knew if she didn’t say it now she may never say it. “I’ve got very little personal attachment to anyone in my coven. Definitely not the same as you have to the brute that came with you to meet with me.” “Raze is not a brute!” “AND you are my sister. No matter what we are changed into that will not change.” Riley ignored the interruption. “I refuse to be your enemy. I’m going where ever you are.”

Try - from the Avatar(cameron movies) Jake/Tsu'tey A/B/O verse WIP

Tsu'tey held his mate across his lap. He had tried to force a tsaheyl, hoping it would pull his mate's soul back, but the body was unresponsive. All he could do was stroke his hand through Jake's hair and down his back. He placed his mate into their sleeping hammock, closing it so no one would disturb or peer at his sleeping mate while he was vulnerable.  Stopping one of the young warriors, Tsu'tey asked where he could locate Grace. The dreamwalker should be among them by now. She would know what happened to his mate. And she would fix it. She could inform the other sky people that Jakesully was now Tsu'tey's and would no longer be walking between the two peoples. She was talking to Nyteri, Mo'at, and Eytukan. Tsu'tey nodded his thanks. He needed to inform the clan leaders he had taken a mate. Tsu'tey was glad Jake would not be there. If Nyteri took a mate before talking to him he would try to return them to Ewya. The Olo'eyktan and Tsahìk did not have to be a mated pair but it was rare they were not. And they had been promised to each other after Sylwanin. He wasn't stupid, they respected each other and trusted the other to help each other lead their people to the best of their abilities. After greetings were exchanged Grace was the first to speak. She asked Tsu'tey if he could tell her where she could find Jake. Tsu'tey's lips pulled back and the woman took a step away with wide eyes at his angry hiss. "No."

fly - From Unnamed Fantasy Western Thrupple

“I want to be clean when we make it back to town.” Clara defended her decision as if the beast would actually respond to her. “Without worrying about some pervert peeking.” Again the hippogriff tossed his head, turning to nip at a fly. His tail lashed irritably from one side to the other as he tipped his head and scented the air. Clara watched him for a moment, and when it appeared there was no scent in the air that alarmed him she huffed a breath out at him. Clara gulped a lungful of air before dunking herself under. She broke the surface with a shiver before swimming over the opposite side of the creek. She released a sigh as the sun hit her even if the water was still too cool to be comfortable the sun more than made up for it. After scrubbing for as long as she could stand being in the cool water, Clara pulled herself up onto a sun-warmed stone and fanned her hair out over it. She idly traced her fingers against the smooth stone beneath her with one hand while her other traced the faded bruises across her skin. She added pressure carefully, more to assure herself that they were healing better than she would have thought, she sent a silent thanks to whatever deity would listen for elven healing salves.

#writblr #dux writing #duxwriting #my writing #tag games #tag game #fanfiction #originalwork #original story #amwriting #original character #underworld fanfiction #avatar fanfiction #TsuteyXJakeABO #UnderworldSoulmateAU #OrcElfHuman #YouSpinoMe #Jur-ASS-ic

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Personality through quote

Thanks to @theprissythumbelina here and @mysticstarlightduck here!

Rules: give a quote from your OCs based on the prompt, then tag people with a new prompt!

[A quote about pets/animals]

Lexi: "Animals are so cute! I would love to get a pet one day! Not sure what I'd get though...or how much is too many... I think I can keep up with at least one dog and a cat!"

Maddie: "I can literally turn into animals. Yeah, of course they're cool. Big cats are my favorite. Did you know that cheetahs can't retract their claws? And also, the smallest tiger is the Sumatran. And also snow leopard's paws act like snowshoes? And--"

Ash: "Our house is a little crowded for an animal right now. I'm not sure how responsible I'd be with them, anyway, haha."

Gwen: "Oh, um. A few months ago our cat got really sick and...well there wasn't really a humane option. Um, anyways, we're not quite ready for another pet right now."

Robbie: "With my parents' schedule and me and Sammy losing track of time and everything around us, please don't get us a pet. Akash would have to take care of it, and I don't wanna do that to him."

Akash: "I would love to have a dog one day. Never had one growing up due to, well, everything going on. But I'd really like a pet one day."

Jedi: "I have always wanted a pet ferretsnake, actually. My sister wanted a kitsune. Having both would have been wonderful."

Carmen: "Atsila had Custos, and that's the closest I'll have to a pet." (She loves Custos and Custos loves her)

[A quote about their relationship with money (in the past and nowadays)]

Lexi: "I mean, I'm not suuuper familiar with how money works, but I definitely will be one day. Knowing myself, I'd probably be very organized. Whenever my mom gives me money to like buy something at school or the mall or whenever I go out with friends in general, I always budget beforehand and plan accordingly. But if I'm secure enough, I'd love to buy some clothes or supplies but also gifts for my friends!"

Maddie: "Similar to Lexi, I guess. I mean, I think I'd save up money so I can use it on big things later! A Lego set or something like that. But the patience for that sounds literally impossible."

Ash: "I am also fond of the idea of saving to splurge later. Splurging sounds fun, but you can't do it without saving unfortunately."

Gwen: "My parents have saved money for me to go to college since I was born. I think that's a noble cause. I think using money on schooling or pursuing what you care about, what your purpose is...that's good."

Robbie: "My mom has given me so many lectures about having a secured footing is important, and I get it, but man, it's hard to focus on that. I'd love to go on exciting experiences and all that. Me, Akash, Sammy, Lexi, Gwen--like all of us traveling around the world together. That sounds dope. Awesome. But Mutti says I have to save for that. I really need to focus more on her lectures. Maybe if she made a PowerPoint...."

Akash: "I am probably going to have to do Robbie's taxes and also give him financial advice. I have it in my four year plan for high school to take a semester long financial course in junior year. I plan to use that information wisely."

Jedi: "Saving money for a good cause is something I have always done. My education, Inutilia rights, the Aequales, charities. I believe money can do as much good in the world as anything else."

Carmen: "Pfft, I'm responsible with my money. I'd be an accountant if I had to [she would be miserable]. Make sure everything is paid off, then maybe spend some money on making life a little more comfortable. Like home organizers. Because some people can't seem to pick up after themselves."

Tagging @sparrow-orion-writes @talesofsorrowandofruin @writernopal @awritingcaitlin @winterandwords @drchenquill @keysandopenmind @pluppsauthor @pluto-murphy-writes @writingamongther0ses @willtheweaver @calicohyde + anyone who'd like to

Your prompt: [A quote about a hot summer day.]

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

#the secret portal #tsp #teaspoon #oc tag game #personality through quotes #my ocs #writing tag game #lexi morgan #maddie morgan #ash hathaway #gwen amante #robbie stafford #akash singh #jedi moon #carmen asghar #writers on tumblr #writing community #writers of tumblr #writing on tumblr #writeblr #writeblr community

[powpowpunchout]

Could You Show Me?

Tiger leaned against the dark, mahogany door to Bald Bull’s guest room. He sat on the cold, beige, ceramic tile floor where one end of his rich-purple shawl that was sparingly decorated with light pink zig-zags laid across. He stared at his sleek, pointed, dark brown shoes as a feeling of worry grew inside of him.

He brought his head up, catching a glance at the tan-colored wall in front of him before he looked to his left. There, at the end of the hall, stood a window with blinds that had been closed and its deep-red curtains drawn, yet despite all that, thin, orange rays of sunlight still managed to creep their way through and fill the narrow hallway that Tiger sat in.

His eyes lingered on the window while the thin rays of light shone across his pale, dusty purple top. Despite his top having long sleeves and its bottom going past his hips, along with the fact he was also wearing long, somber-gray pants, they weren’t able to provide him any warmth within Bull’s house.  

The AC vent at the left corner of the ceiling blasted cold air, its blaring fan just barely enough to drown out the shouting from the crowd outside.

He wasn’t sure how many people there were, nor what they were saying, but he didn’t want to check. He couldn’t risk it. If the paparazzis found out he was in here–that Bull had let him in here–they’d go mad. They’d start trying to claw their way through the gates and bang at the door while their shouting would get even worse. He couldn’t do that to his friend.

Tiger went back to staring at the floor. He brought his knees up to his chest and rested his head atop his hands.

Bull didn’t exactly ‘let him in’, Tiger just teleported inside after finally getting permission from Bull. Permission he only got after calling Bull several times in a row.

He felt terrible for calling so many times, but Bull hadn’t been responding to any of Tiger’s messages throughout the week. Every ‘Hope you’re feeling well!’ Text he sent? Every message he gave to Bull to let him know he could always call him for help? Every voicemail he left to remind Bull that he was there to support him? They were all met with nothing.

And when Bull finally called him back at long last? He just told Tiger he could ‘Come over if he’d like’, but he didn’t want Tiger to worry about him, and while Tiger appreciated the thought, those days of silence did nothing but make him worry.

The last time he and Bull had actually spoken was near the start of the week when the paparazzis had completely swarmed Bull’s house. Tiger had to spend most of the day keeping a lookout to make sure nobody was trying to sneak in through the garden, or climb their way past the gates, or attempt to throw things at the window just to get Bull’s attention, and when the evening came? When Tiger thought the fans would get tired and finally home? Random cars started to pull up, and even more people joined the crowd.

Tiger always knew the fans Bull dealt with were bad, but he never knew they got that bad. He’s only seen the small crowds that followed Bull obsessively every now and then, or the occasional group of fans that camped outside his house in the hopes of seeing him, and while those sorts of people were certainly annoying, they were usually avoidable. What Bull was putting up with now was on a completely different level.

Tiger and Bull spent that entire day in the dark, windowless guest room. It was probably the smallest room in Bull’s house. Most of it was taken up by a single large bed, while the rest of the space was occupied by… Boxes? A dresser? Tiger couldn’t remember all that well. It was too dark, and most of his focus was on Bull.

What Tiger did remember were the horrible bruises across Bull’s body, along with the fact that Bull hardly budged from his spot. Anytime Tiger had to quickly teleport out of the room to make sure no one was trying to break in, he’d come back to see that his friend hadn’t moved an inch.

He didn’t even get up to eat.  

“Aren’t you hungry? I can make you something if you’d like.” Tiger had asked Bull.

Bull didn’t even look up from his bed, “I am not.”

“Would you at least like to go to the living room? Your bedroom? Isn’t your body aching from staying put all day?”

“I cannot let them see me.” Was all Bull muttered.

All other attempts Tiger made at talking to his friend were met with muffled, one-word replies. He knew Bull was drained, he knew Bull was stressed, but Tiger would be lying if he said witnessing Bull in such a state didn’t make him anxious.

Tiger let out a heavy sigh.

He rubbed his face as the AC continued to blow. The hallway grew colder by the second.

He then raised a hand and knocked it against the door.

“Bull…” Tiger said, his voice low, “I’m going to be leaving soon.”

No response.

“I’ll be sure to check outside and make sure no one is trying to get past the gates before I go. You’ll call me if you need anything though, right?”

Still no response.

Tiger swallowed, “Bull, you need to answer me.”

Bull finally responded, “Yes...Be careful…”

That’s all Tiger could hear. The rest of Bull’s words were too quiet to make out.

Tiger slowly stood up and placed the loose end of his shawl across his shoulder. His eyes lingered on the door knob for a moment. He reached his hand out, but stopped when the tip of his fingers touched the knob.

“I’ll be fine. Promise me you’ll be alright though?”

Tiger heard Bull mutter a ‘Yes’--at least–he hoped it was a ‘Yes’.

“Alright.” Tiger took his hand away from the knob, “I hope the evening treats you kindly. You know you can call me whenever you need me.”

It was silent again.

Tiger inhaled and squeezed his eyes shut.

His gem flashed, and he teleported away.

~ ~ ~ ~

Octave stood outside, leaning against a black lamppost as he fiddled with the collar of his white dress shirt. Once he was satisfied with how it looked, he brushed the fuzz off his black pants, and then shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark gray suit with silver pinstripes.

He adjusted his position a little, trying to get comfortable against the uneven surface of the lamp, and he couldn’t help but enjoy the slight shimmer those little pinstripes had underneath the light. They looked kinda nice.

He kicked at the sidewalk with his black dress shoes, then took a deep breath and looked at the sky. It was a wonderful, vibrant hue of orange. The thin, wispy, feather-looking clouds that stretched across the skyline had their edges traced by a brilliant, almost blinding shade of yellow that’d slowly fade into a less vibrant orange, then to a duller red, and then finally, to a very dull shade of purple. The sun itself was an intense orange color. It slowly sank further and further into the horizon, its bottom half partially warped by the clouds in front of it, making it look as though it were melting.

The city had been completely doused by this orange hue, providing a familiar sense of comfort.

As Octave stared into the sky, he found himself comparing its colors to that of an oven of all things.

He chuckled. He must’ve been hungrier than he thought if that’s the first thing his mind went to. He couldn’t help it, though. Something about this time of day always reminded him of being a kid; of those early evenings when his parents had just enough leftover money to spoil him with a package of premade cookie dough.  

He remembered how making those cookies with his family–no matter how simple they were–made everything feel perfect. He’d always tear apart the dough into clunky, uneven chunks, roll them up, and place them on the pan his parents had prepared. He was never good at spacing out the dough, so his parents always had to separate them just a bit further, and after that, they’d stick the pan in the oven and Octave would sit on the kitchen floor and watch the cookies bake.

He still recalled the late night shows his parents blasted on the TV while he watched that oven. He’d pull his knees to his chest and never tear his eyes off those cookies, even when the oven’s orange light would start to burn his eyes. Sometimes he’d snack on the bits of leftover cookie dough while he waited, and oh, when the cookies were finally out of the oven? When his parents kept telling him he had to wait those extra five minutes just so they could cool? Those minutes were agonizing, but they were always worth it in the end.

Octave crossed his legs. He was making himself hungry.

Hopefully Tiger was going to show up soon.

Octave continued to stare at the sky as the sound of passing cars filled his ears–and then he heard a little bell chime.

He turned around to the two story building behind him. It was a bookstore. Apparently. It certainly didn’t look like one, though.

The outside of it was made up of dark teal–or at least, he was pretty sure it was dark teal–wooden planks, and above it was a black awning with the word ‘Delve’ written on it, its text faded and white. What sort of bookstore name was that?

As for the inside of the store, Octave had no idea what it looked like. Sure, there was a set of double doors with windows, but they were blocked off by a small group of people, so all he could really see was a dull, yellow light that filled the place.

There were also two big windows, but they were so overcrowded with decorations that Octave couldn’t see past them.

The decorations weren’t even book related, it was just a mishmash of old jewelry, plastic plants, dream catchers, vintage-looking desk lamps with obnoxious yellow glows, and salt lamps all thrown together onto white, wooden shelves that were hastily nailed to the sides of the windows. There were also white fairy lights that were weaved between the items, along with some sort of thin, dark blue fabric placed behind the shelves that completely blocked off the interior.

There were no books in sight.

Octave has passed by this street plenty of times before, and never once had he ever thought that this place was a bookstore. He thought it was one of those weird shops that sold a bunch of colorful rocks or whatever.

To the right of the bookstore was a small coffee house. It was closed–it’s been closed since 2PM. Its outside was made of light gray cement with thick, black casings around its door and windows. Octave could sort’ve see inside. Wooden chairs, matching wooden tables, and a nice little display case where they put the pastries. This was probably a good place to hang around after you bought a new book.

And to the left of the bookstore was… Octave had no idea. It was a white building, only one floor, and it looked extremely boring. The windows were tinted as well, so he couldn’t get a good look inside. He saw some strange blue logo above its black door that reminded him of an ocean wave, but that didn’t help him at all. Maybe it was one of those fancy little computer repair places?

Octave didn’t know this part of the city too well. Despite walking through here before, and despite its close distance, Octave never took the time to explore the businesses. Maybe he should do that one day.

The only reason he’s here is because Tiger wanted to meet in front of that bookstore. Octave originally wanted to meet up in front of the laundromat, but Tiger told him he had no idea where it was. Octave had to give Tiger the diner’s exact address and describe the streets nearby until Tiger could finally think of a place where he could teleport to.

“...Alrighty Miss Elysia, you have a good one.” A man with a deep voice said, snapping Octave out of his thoughts.

From the corner of his eye, Octave watched as the group of people finally left the bookstore’s doorway and started to walk away.

“You as well, you as well!” A woman responded. She sounded a little too energetic.

“You wrapping up for th’night?” Another woman asked, her voice much more monotone.

“Have to! Heaven knows my cats are probably crying their heads off cause I haven’t fed ‘em by now.”

“Shoot.” The man said, “Hope we didn’t keep you for too long.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it…”

As the conversation grew quieter, Octave looked around the block to see several other businesses starting to close their doors.

Owners were covering their windows, turning off their lights, flipping their little signs to ‘Closed’, some were putting their outdoor displays back inside, while others had already locked up and were making their way home.

Octave heard something to his right. He turned around–

“Good evening!” He heard Tiger say from above.

He looked up and watched as Tiger gracefully descended from the air, the ends of his shawl flowing behind him.

“Hey, ya made it on time.” Octave raised his brows and pushed himself off the lamp post.

“Yes, wouldn’t want to keep you waiting.” Tiger gave him a gentle smile as he landed on his feet. He tossed one end of his shawl over his shoulder before he scanned Octave’s attire. There was a little sparkle in his eyes, “Another wonderful suit as always.”

“Yeah?” Octave’s mouth hung open for a second before he went to adjust his white collar again, “How ya been?”

Tiger sharply inhaled, “Oh, I’ve certainly had a week. I’m just glad to finally have an evening to unwind with you, and I’m looking forward to that little diner! I’ve never been there before.”

“Let’s get goin’ then.” Octave tilted his head to the right, motioning for Tiger to follow along.

“Ah, of course.” Tiger clasped his hands together.

As Octave started walking, Tiger flew behind him.

“Did you have a chance to look inside the bookstore?” Tiger asked.

Octave shook his head, “Nah, some guy who was whistlin’ went inside ‘n I didn’t wanna put up with that.”

“I see.” Tiger said, a hint of disappointment in his tone, “Next time then. I think you’d like it! The owner has quite the collection of books from the late 1800s to the mid 1900s…”

Octave listened along as he led Tiger around the block.

“...A lot of the books there were donated, I believe…”

As Tiger kept talking, he looked ahead and saw a large group of people loudly chatting and taking up most of the sidewalk. He quickly raised himself higher into the air as they neared the group, while Octave simply squeezed past them.

“...I remember the first time I went inside, I probably spent a few good hours grabbing and reading whatever caught my fancy…”

Despite most stores being closed by now, there were still plenty of people roaming the streets and enjoying what the early evening had to offer. Some people were sitting at the wooden benches chatting with their friends, some were carrying groceries back to their apartment so they could finally make themselves dinner, some spoke on their phone as they walked along the path, and some sat at the steps of buildings to smoke away their stress.

“...I was hoping to find anything related to magic. Gems, spells, even something simple like learning how to make my flying a little smoother–”

“Did ya find any?” Octave asked.

“No, unfortunately. Most of it was fiction or biographies, but I also found a very old recipe book.”

“Were the recipes any good?”

Tiger laughed, “If you consider prune pie as ‘good’, then sure.”

Octave shuddered, “Think I’ll pass.”

Octave turned a right corner. Tiger kept talking.

“Anyways, even though I was a little disappointed by the lack of spells, I think you’d quite like their books…”

“Yeah?” Octave said as his eyes danced from window to window of the nearby apartments.

He could catch quick glimpses of people who were cooking dinner and had left their windows open, allowing the aroma of their wonderful, savory meals to travel through the streets and make his stomach growl. In some windows, he could see people laying across their couch with all their lights off as they watched TV, some shows being loud enough that he could hear it all the way from here. Others were on their little balconies watering their plants or taking down the clothes they had left to dry throughout the day.

“Yes! I believe I found some sort of clothes catalog in the past, it reminded me of the outfits you wear…”

The sound of wind chimes that hung from the balconies rang through the air, as the sound of distant motorcycle engines clashed with it.

“...I think they even had a book about famous musicians from decades ago? But I’m not too sure if you like music.”

“I do, just not th’type Disco plays.” Octave said as he kicked aside a crumpled cigarette. There were always a ton of those littered across the streets, though usually they were thrown into the town’s flower pots because people were too lazy to find a trash can.

“Right, right.” Tiger nodded, “Well, we should plan a day to visit that bookstore, hm?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Octave stopped at the end of the block where a traffic light stood. Its yellow light doused the right side of the men as its quiet buzz filled the air, “We’re here.”

Tiger looked ahead, his eyes lighting up when he saw the diner and its brilliant red sign just across the street.

“My, how pleasant!” Tiger flew higher into the air then took off towards the diner.

Octave frantically checked the streets to make sure no cars were coming before he hurried across. He watched as Tiger playfully spun in the air while his shawl followed his elegant motions.

As soon as Octave got close to the nearly empty parking lot, Tiger did a loop and gracefully landed in front of the door.

He propped it open for Overload, who was only halfway across the parking lot.

Octave did a quick awkward shuffle over to Tiger.

“Ya didn’t have to open th’door for me.” Octave said when he finally reached the door.

“I wanted to.” Tiger hummed.

Octave brushed the hair out of his face, “Could’ve gone inside ‘n taken a seat already with how far I was.”

“And leave my friend out to die in the cold? I could never.”

“Awh, knock it off.” Octave lightly rolled his eyes as he headed inside. Tiger followed behind.

As soon as they stepped in, Octave took in a deep breath, welcoming in the smell of pancakes and syrup.

His mood got even better when he saw there were only two other people here. That’s perfect–that’s more than perfect. That meant tonight’s dinner was going to be quiet.

“Well, isn’t this wonderful?” He heard Tiger say. Octave looked behind him and watched as Tiger hovered in the air, observing the photos and other knick knacks that hung from the walls. He seemed fixated on a particular set of photos just above the door frame, leaning in close and stroking his beard as he studied them.

“I’ll get us a seat.” Octave said as he pointed towards the white counter. Tiger nodded as he slowly drifted to the left, looking at the array of flags, stickers, and old record discs that decorated the inside.

As Octave walked across the checkered floor, the clicks of his shoes mixing with the catchy, jazzy tune that came from the jukebox, he couldn’t help but notice he felt a bit tense.

He wasn’t sure why.

He’s been here hundreds of times before, and Tiger seemed to be liking it. Maybe he was just hungrier than he thought?

He sat at one of the red bar stools, it creaked under his weight.

He noticed there were two menus that some condiments sat on top of. He carefully pushed the condiments to the side and grabbed one of the menus.

The black door to the kitchen suddenly opened, and an orange haired waitress popped her head out, “Hey there! I’ll be with you in a minute!”

Octave nodded. The door closed again. He then grabbed one of the menus–accidentally hitting some condiments in the process–and started reading it.

He didn’t need to read it, actually. He already knew what he wanted.

Pancakes. Again. He almost always got pancakes here, it was one of the few places in this city that didn’t make them too sweet and douse them with a load of syrup. Maybe he’ll get a side as well. Maybe the hash browns? They were incredibly greasy but they were also incredibly good.

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve been to a restaurant with so much decor.” Tiger suddenly said. Octave whipped his head to the right and watched as Tiger descended into the chair next to him, “I mean, I’ve been to places that have plenty of hanging lights, or a couple posters here and there, but they didn’t look nearly as chaotic as this.”

“Chaotic?” Octave repeated, the corners of his mouth twitched.

“Yes! In a good way, of course.” Tiger propped his elbows atop the counter, “I’m not sure if all of these items belong to the owner or not, but I love the way they’ve arranged them.” He twirled one end of his mustache, “It sort of reminds me of Bear’s scrapbook. He covers nearly every page with leaves, acorn bits, photos, notes, did he ever show you them before?”

“I didn’t even know he was into scrapbookin’.”

“Ah, he dabbles in a little bit of everything.”

Octave nodded.

His eyes scanned the diner’s interior as the word ‘chaotic’ lingered in his mind. That was a good way to describe it, now that he thought about it.

Many of the items on the walls were vastly different sizes, their colors were rather absolutely vibrant or so sun-bleached to the point they looked white, and their placements hardly had any rhyme or reason to them, but the owners had somehow managed to make everything work together. Somehow, everything complemented each other.

“I saw a photo of Popinski, I didn’t know he’d be the type to visit a little place like this.” Tiger said before he mumbled to himself, “I didn’t think he could even fit through that door with a head like his…”

Octave lowered his menu, “Wait, where’d ya see his photo at?”

“Over there.” Tiger pointed to a framed photo just next to the door. It was about the size of his face, and the top corner of it was hidden by a purple, triangular sports flag.

“Huh.” Octave raised his brows, “Yeah, they gotta photo of Sandman too. And Macho Man.” He rolled his eyes. Tiger did as well.

“They seem to be quite the fans of the WVBA.” Tiger said.

“Oh yeah, th’guys here love th’World Circuit. They even got some of ‘em old soda bottles Popinski advertised. Those fancy limited edition ones.” Octave motioned towards the drink station behind the counter.

Tiger looked up at the bottles, “I wonder how much it cost them to get their hands on those.”

“Think they got ‘em th’day they came out. This place has been here for a while now.”

“I see, I see.” Tiger stared at the bottles for a moment longer before his brows lowered, “Do they have anything with Aran, then?”

Octave scoffed, “No.”

“But he’s a part of the World Circuit?”

“Yeah, and they don’t like him.”

Tiger couldn’t help but laugh.

Tiger then reached out and grabbed one of the laminated menus in front of him, “If only the paparazzis weren’t so crazy…” He said, “I’m sure Bull would love to go to a little place like this and chat with the owners. I don’t think he’d want his picture taken, though.”

The kitchen door opened, and out came the waitress carrying a black tray full of hot, fresh meals. She balanced it on her shoulder as she happily walked over to one of the booths on the other side of the diner.

“How are things with you ‘n Bull anyways? Still helpin’ him out?” Octave asked.

Tiger’s mouth flickered to frown for a second, “It’s–this week has been hard for both of us. I’ve been trying to be there for him, but it’s…” His voice trailed off.

“He bein’ difficult to work with or somethin’?”

“No, he’s–” Tiger rested his head against his hand and took a deep breath, “He’s been having such a rough time after that fight. He hasn’t left the house, and I don’t think he’s–he’s been taking much care of himself, you know? So I’ve been trying to check in on him whenever I can.”

“What, like a babysitter?”

“No!” Tiger snapped, but he quickly calmed down, “It isn’t like that at all, he–I want him to be alright. I don’t mind lending a hand or being someone he can talk to, I want to be there for him.” He curled his hands into a fists, “I worry for him, especially when he–” He shook his head, he didn’t want to go too much into Bull’s situation, but he struggled to come up with any other way to explain this whole… Mess.  

Tiger tried to continue, “Sometimes he’ll talk to me–or call on the phone–and he lets me know if he needs help. Other times I have to pry the words right out of him, and–”

Octave cut in, “Kinda sounds like ya playin’ therapist with him.”

Tiger pressed his lips together. His expression soured.

“I ain’t sayin’ it’s a bad thing for ya to be helpin’ him ‘n all that, but he shouldn’t need somebody ringin’ him up ‘n doin’ wellness checks.”

Tiger’s eyes drifted back to the menu, “I mean–don’t you ask Aran for help too from time to time? Don’t you ever call Aran just to have somebody to talk to?”

“Yeah,” Octave leaned against the counter, “but I don’t clamp up when I gotta an issue, I spit it out, ‘n when I’m actin’ like an idiot, Aran makes sure to tell me.”

Tiger lowered his head.

“Like I said–there ain’t anythin’ wrong with wantin’ to help th’guy, but he shouldn’t leave ya hangin’ by goin’ all quiet, ya know? Gotta imagine that sorta stuff would stress ya out.”

Tiger inhaled, “It can.” His mouth lingered open, “I want him to be okay, and I feel terrible for saying this–and I know he can get overwhelmed–but I wish he’d tell me what he needs. Even if it’s some time alone, or a meal, or–or anything, really.”

“Why don’t’cha tell him this?”

“Now? Of all times? No, no, no.” Tiger shook his head, “Maybe once he’s recovered. I don’t want to make things harder for him.”

Tiger then heard a pair of footsteps draw near.

“Alrighty, sorry for the wait you two!”

Tiger glanced up and saw the middle-aged waitress stand in front of them, a smile on her face and a notepad in her hand.

“Do you need some time to decide on what you’d like to drink, or are you all set to go?” She asked as she took the pen out of her hair and clicked it.

“Yeah, chocolate shake for me.” Octave said, setting his menu down.

Tiger perked up. That sounded quite good, actually.

“Do you have a strawberry shake?” Tiger tilted his head.

The woman’s smile got brighter, “Certainly do! Two shakes for ya then?”

The men nodded. She jotted that down on her notepad.

“Okay! And do ya know what you’d like to eat yet?”

Octave opened his mouth–but Tiger quickly spoke up.

“A few more minutes for me, please.”

The waitress hummed, “Take all the time you need. I’ll get those shakes for ya.”

She walked off. Tiger went back to reading the menu. Maybe he should get something for Bull while he’s here.

“I didn’t know you liked milkshakes.” Tiger commented as he flipped the menu over, getting a look at the burgers and sandwiches the diner had to offer.

Octave felt his face get a bit hot for some reason, “Yeah, just–like to get ‘em when I can. This place makes some real good ones.”

Tiger nodded. He flipped the menu over again.

The food here was simple, not that there was anything wrong with simple. They offered pancakes, omelets, waffles with fruits, plenty of sides–most of them fried–it was a nice change of pace from the usual, fancier restaurants he’d go to with the other Major Circuit men.

He found his eyes kept drifting back to the ‘Chef’s Special’ section. While it was a bit pricier than the rest of the menu, the options sounded wonderfully appetizing. ‘5 Star Steak & Eggs’, ‘The Sunrise Skillet’, ‘Strawberry Field Crepes’, and ‘The Chef’s Famous Cinnamon Roll French-Toast’.

While the crepes in particular sounded amazing, he was already ordering that milkshake, and he feared eating so much sugar would only upset his body. Maybe he’ll do the skillet? Potatoes, bacon, eggs, mixed vegetables, and it even came with a small side of pancakes if desired. Perhaps he’ll get the french-toast for Bull.

He looked over to the drink section. In the top left corner was a fuzzy photo of a chocolate shake. Despite its blurriness, he could still make out the shape of the tall glass, the mountain of whipped cream, and a red cherry on top. It did look delicious.

He then read the rest of the drinks. Tons of sodas, rootbeer floats, coffee, tea, fruit punch, not that many beers, though.

“Oh, how are things with Aran?” Tiger asked, looking away from the menu.

Octave let out a dry chuckle, “Bad.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, schmuck got suspended from th’stadium.”

“What?” Tiger blinked, “For how long?”

“Th’rest of the month.”

“The rest of the month?!” Tiger repeated, flabbergasted.

“Yeah–did ya not see it in th’paper few days back?” Octave cocked his head.

“No, no I–I was focusing on Bull! I haven’t had the chance to check any papers or watch much of the news or–! A whole month… Simply incredible.” Tiger dragged a hand down his face.

“He called me th’night it happened. Spent bout a whole hour complainin’ bout th’higher ups and yellin’ bout how it ‘wasn’t fair’. Dunno why he’s so mad.” Octave rolled his eyes, “He’s a fan favorite. They’ve shortened his suspensions before. I’ll give ‘em a week before they let him back in.” He huffed, “He wants me to meet him at some bar–again. He wanted to do it tonight, told him I was busy, so we moved it two days down.”

“I see…” Tiger tugged at the end of his beard, eyes still wide. “Those mouse traps he set up must’ve been the last straw for the higher ups.”

Octave froze.

A hot flash ran over his body.

“Mouse traps?” He finally asked, his heart pounding in his ears, “What bout ‘em? Did he grab ‘em out of a janitor’s closet or somethin’?” He rested an elbow atop the counter, his movements stiff.

Tiger furrowed his brows, “No, I don’t know where he got them, but he placed a ton of them inside of Bear’s locker–”

“Did ya see him do it?” Octave asked a little too quickly.

“No, only the aftermath.” Tiger’s mouth curled to a frown, “Poor Bear got his fingers injured. I saw one of his nails nearly come off and–” He shuddered, “Oh, it was disgusting. All because Aran got upset over Bear reporting him for that ink–ink… Ink-whatever-it-was he put in Macho’s locker!”

“Dang.” Octave clenched his teeth, “Yeah, I think I remember meetin’ with Bear just before th’poor guy got hurt. Gave me one of ‘em maple syrup bottles.” He grabbed a fistful of his hair, “Can’t believe that happened to him, not like th’big guy did anythin’ wrong. Hope his hand heals up soon.”

Tiger’s eyes narrowed, “Yes… And you know what made things ever worse?!” Tiger whipped his head over to Octave, making the man jump. “When I was trying to help Joe and Hondo patch up Bear, they had the audacity–the gaul–to accuse you of helping Aran with that!”

Octave’s shoulders tensed, “Me?”

“I know!” Tiger’s gem flashed, “As if! As if you’d ever stoop to such a level. I know you and Aran are friends, but I think it’s quite clear to anyone with a working set of eyes that you two do not act the same! When was the last time you ever tampered with someone’s locker? Or tried to break their fingers?!” His gem flashed faster and faster, “I just can’t believe them–actually, I can believe Hondo would think that. He loves to assume the worst, doesn’t he?” His expression twisted into disgust.

Octave nodded and grabbed his menu again, his grip creasing its center, “Funny ya mention Hondo…”

Tiger was about to ask what happened with Hondo–but then the waitress stopped by.

“Here ya are, boys!” She smiled as she placed two milkshakes in front of them.

Tiger took a deep breath and fixed his posture. He thanked the waitress and gave her a grin as he grabbed the tall glass and pulled it closer. Octave did so as well, and plucked the cherry off the whipped cream and popped it into his mouth.

“Have you decided what you’d like to eat? Or do ya need a few more minutes?” The waitress asked as she placed two straws in front of the men.

“Oh, no, I believe we’re ready.” Tiger said. He glanced at Overload, who nodded back.

“Perfect! What can I get you?”

“Chocolate chip pancakes ‘n a side of hashbrowns for me.” Octave said.

“I’ll have the Sunrise Skillet.” Tiger said as he used his magic to insert the straw into his strawberry shake, “And could I have the cinnamon roll french-toast as well, please?”

“Oh, wonderful choices.” She sang as she jotted down the orders, “We’ll get right to it!”

Tiger gave a little ‘Thank you’ as she walked off.

Then he turned back to Overload.

“Did Hondo do something?”

Octave put the straw into his drink and took a sip, “Yeah. Happened on th’same day Bear got hurt, actually.” He pulled the drink away, “I was walkin’ home, right? Tryna get there as fast as I could cause it was gonna rain, ‘n then I hear him call my name. Turned around, saw him standin’ at th’other side of the alley, ‘n then he started shoutin’ that it was my fault Bear got hurt!” He chuckled, “Crazy, right?”

Tiger stared at him in disbelief.

His eyes were wide. His mouth hung open.

He stayed quiet for a couple of seconds, which was starting to put Octave on edge all over again.

“He… Followed you home?”

“I mean like–I wasn’t at my house yet. Probably at th’halfway point but ya know–just kinda weird.”

Tiger kept staring at him.

“That’s… That’s very weird.” Tiger raised his voice, “That’s incredibly weird! And he has the audacity to talk bad about you when he goes and does a thing like that?! Oh, that little–!”

Tiger’s gem flashed a bright red–

He teleported away.

Octave’s eyes snapped open.

His head darted around.

He patted Tiger’s empty seat a couple of times before he whipped his head over to one of the windows.

Where did he–

Tiger teleported back into his seat, “Oh, do I have some wonderful words for that man once I see him again.”

“Hey, least it was a one time thing. Can’t say th’same for Macho Man.” He shrugged

Tiger took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down, “Has he been bothering you again?”

“Always does.” Octave took another sip of his shake, “Earlier this week I was doin’ my laundry, ‘n while I was waitin’ round, I see this limo pull up…”

Tiger finally took a drink of his own shake as he listened to Overload ramble. He listened to how Macho talked Overload’s ear off yet again when all the man wanted to do was run some errands.

As the men kept talking, one of the two other customers got up and left. It didn’t take long for the waitress to come out of the kitchen and place the dirtied silverware on a tray before heading off. The clinking of the utensils and cups mixed pleasantly with the music from the jukebox.

When Octave told Tiger about how he made Macho Man–the Mr.Big-and-strong Macho Man–practically speechless after giving him a piece of his mind, Tiger couldn’t help but snicker. How he wished he could’ve been there to see the look on Macho’s face. That man doesn’t get called out nearly enough as he should.  

That’s when Tiger remembered his own little story about Macho Man. As he spoke, the waitress came back out to spritz the table with water and clean it off with bleach wipes, their subtle chemical stench mixed with the smell of hotcakes.

Tiger talked on about how the World Circuit had to do this big Meet-n-Greet a few years back, and Macho–of course–was hogging up most of the attention. Then Mr.Sandman came in, a bit late, a bit tired, and Macho Man–for some reason–decided to wrap his arm around Sandman and go off about how they were such great friends. Once he finished babbling, apparently that’s when Sandman just glanced at him and went: ‘Do I know you?’ Tiger couldn’t help but laugh again at the recollection. He knew Sandman was joking–but he didn’t care. The look on Macho’s face? His stunned silence? That will be ingrained in Tiger’s mind forever.

Octave laughed as well. After that, it didn’t take long for Tiger and Octave’s story-exchange to devolve into them sharing all the little moments that Macho’s annoyed them.

Tiger talked about Macho constantly pestering Bull, Octave talked about all his obnoxious phone calls.

Tiger talked about how Macho claimed his private jets were better than Tiger’s flying, Octave talked about the ridiculous robe Macho kept shoving in his face.

Tiger talked about the time Macho tripped and fell out of the ring in front of a large crowd after five minutes of bragging, Octave talked about the time Macho tried to play counselor and gave him the worst advice he’s ever heard after he lost a fight.

Eventually, Octave told a joke.

He didn’t even remember what he said, because before he knew it, Tiger was holding onto his stomach and laughing.

Octave grinned, proud of himself for getting such a reaction out of Tiger–

And then Tiger held onto his shoulder.

His grasp was gentle, his body leaning closer to Overload as he tried to steady himself, and Octave just kept staring at his hand.

This wasn’t like all those times Aran yanked him closer by the arm, or when Macho hoisted him in the air and carried him around, or when Bear gave him painful hugs without warning, this was…

He wasn’t sure how to describe it, honestly.

Better?

Warmer?

It didn’t make his skin feel like crawling. He wasn’t sure if it was because Tiger wasn’t being as harsh, or if it was because Octave was enjoying the night, but when he finally looked back at Tiger again? When he saw how he was still smiling and laughing? Octave’s grin only grew before he found himself laughing along.

After a few minutes–most of it Tiger spent trying to calm himself down–the food arrived.

Steaming hot, chocolate chip pancakes with a few packets of butter, a small syrup dispenser, and a side of hash browns that Octave just knew was gonna make him sick tomorrow, but he was going to enjoy all of it tonight.

Tiger looked at his skillet, rather impressed that such a small diner gave him something so big, and the french toast? It looked fantastic, but its sweet smell was already starting to make his head spin a little, so he asked the waitress if he could have a take out box for it.

“You know,” Tiger started as he jabbed his fork into a couple pieces of diced, roasted potatoes, “next time we’re together, we should go to one of those thrift stores you’ve told me about. We don’t always have to meet up and eat.”

“Not too big on this place or somethin’?” Octave raised a brow.

“Oh, no, no, no! I think this diner is very charming, but I’d also enjoy exploring other places with you.” Tiger quickly ate the potatoes before covering his mouth with a napkin. He swallowed, “Do you get motion sick?”

“Not too badly.”

“Ah, perfect.” Tiger’s eyes lit up, he set the napkin down, “There’s this library in my home country–it’s absolutely massive–and I can't help but think about it when I see the decor here. Of course, I’d have to teleport you there, which can make some people nauseous.” His eyes scanned the walls, “I believe the family that owns the library has been collecting all sorts of artifacts for decades now, along with some donations, and it’s absolutely marvelous to see. They have manuscripts hanging from the walls, shards of stained glass, plenty of old pottery–even some armor! And, well,” Tiger stroked the end of his beard, “it’s a library. Guaranteed to be quiet. If you’d ever like to go, I could gladly whisk you over there.”

Octave nodded as he started cutting up his pancakes, “Don’t gotta tell me more. Already sounds right up my alley.”

“I think they have a little section for old newspapers as well, but they have them in these little… Glass… Display box things.” He made a square shape with his hands, “You’re not allowed to hold them since they’re so frail, so–oh! Newspapers!” Tiger jumped, “You mentioned Aran’s suspension was on the paper, right?”

Octave nodded again before he gestured towards the newspaper rack by door, “They might have th’paper over there–”

Tiger flew off his chair and landed in front of the rack. He waved his hand about, sorting through the papers with his magic while his eyes scanned their titles.

A small smile appeared on his face as he grabbed a particular, slightly torn newspaper before flying back to Overload.

“My, this picture certainly doesn’t do him any favors, does it?” Tiger hummed as he brought the paper to Overload.

A large, black and white picture of Aran–whose face was shoved right into the camera, his teeth bared, and spit running down his chin–took up the top half of the paper. The large text above it read: ‘ARAN RYAN SUSPENDED FOR THE 13TH TIME!’

“Hey, I think this is th’best he’s looked in a while.” Octave smirked.

Tiger chuckled as he skimmed through the paper, “It certainly captures his rattiness well, doesn’t it?”

Octave watched as Tiger unfolded the paper some more so he could read on. His smirk grew a little more sinister.

“Hey, ya wanna see somethin’?” He asked.

Tiger tilted his head. Octave pointed towards the paper, which Tiger handed to him.

Octave then pushed his meal aside and laid the paper down on the counter. He pressed one hand atop it and used his other hand to start carefully tearing at Aran’s picture.

Tiger watched him with curiosity in his eyes. Octave kept tearing away until the picture of Aran was completely removed. He lifted the picture up, it was about the size of his hand and its shape nearly a perfect square, save for the few tiny tears here and there.

There was a look of confidence on Overload as he then set the square back on top of the paper and started folding away.

Tiger tried his best to keep watching, but Octave’s hands were blocking most of the folds. He could just barely make out a few instances of Overload folding and unfolding the paper, along with a couple of triangular folds here and there, but other than that, he hadn’t a clue what Overload was doing.

After several seconds of silence and folding, Octave’s smile widened.

“And there.” He playfully tossed his paper creation into the palm of his hand and lifted it up to Tiger’s eyes, presenting it with pride, “Now he’s really ratty.”

Tiger stared at the paper for a moment, eyes narrowing as he studied its shape, each crease and fold until–

“Oh!” Tiger’s eyes glimmered as he realized its shape was similar to a rat. It was small–nearly half the size of Overload’s palm–and its front half had a pointed, triangular fold that resembled a snout, along with two smaller triangular folds on both sides that looked like little ears. Its bottom half seemed to be much more rounded out, and had a tiny, thin paper tail that poked out from it.

“Why, Overload!” Tiger smiled, “It’s darling!” He started to wave his finger around, tracing shapes into the air until the paper rat was lifted off of Overload’s hand and started to follow Tiger’s motions. Octave jolted.

Tiger watched the little rat in amusement, “I had no idea you knew how to make something like this–”

Octave suddenly lunged in front of Tiger and clamped his hands shut around the rat, scaring the daylights out of Tiger.

Octave quickly pulled the paper rat back to his lap.

For a split second, Tiger noticed Overload’s face was frantic–but it was quickly replaced with a crooked smile.

“Yeah, just know how to make this one li’l thing.” Octave forced out a laugh, “Found some dumb newspaper with some instructions on it when I was a kid, so it’s just–yeah.” He carefully opened his hands again and peeked at the rat, “Just a stupid li’l thing.”

His face felt hot, and it only got worse the longer Tiger stared at him.

Octave was about to shove the paper rat into his pocket–but Tiger spoke up again.

“Could you teach me?”

“What?”

“Could you teach me to, you know, make a little rat like that?”

Octave hesitated, “I mean–our dinner might get cold. Ya sure?”

“Yes, of course!” Tiger pushed aside his plates, “I can always reheat this.”

“Right.” Octave mumbled, his face still warm. His hand lingered over the newspaper for a second before he started tearing it again.

He made another square roughly the same size as the first one and slid it over to Tiger. He then tore another square and held onto it.

He lifted up one of the square’s corners, “So you’ll wanna–ya wanna bring this corner to th’bottom corner over here…” He said as he did just that. Tiger followed along.

Octave kept giving out instructions. Fold the paper this way, bring an edge over here, crease the paper that way… He made sure to show off each stage of the paper clearly so Tiger could replicate it the best he could.

And when Overload noticed Tiger was struggling with a specific fold? He’d make sure to slow down and wait, occasionally repeating the instructions so Tiger could try again.

Overload then showed Tiger how to fold the paper into a thin diamond.

“This next part’s kinda tricky.” Octave said, “Ya see this li’l fold over here?” He asked as he pointed to the small, pentagon-shaped fold at the top of the diamond.

Tiger nodded.

“Alright.” Octave set the paper down. The kitchen door behind them cracked open as he kept talking, “So you’re gonna have to pull th’bottom half of th’fold up until–”

The chef popped his head out the door, “Debra! I need ya over ‘ere!” He let out a sharp whistle.

Octave immediately crushed the paper with his hand and cussed.

He stopped.

He listened to the waitress hurry past him and into the kitchen. His eyes flickered over to Tiger, who looked at him with concern. His face grew hot again as he stared at his now ruined, crumpled origami.

He pressed his lips together, muttering under his breath and pushing the paper aside before ripping out a new square from the newspaper.

“Give me a sec.” Octave quickly mumbled.

“Take your time, take your time.” Tiger said as he carefully held onto his paper.

He watched as Overload started to recreate all the folds he had already taught Tiger. His hands were fast, his fingers jumping from place to place, never stopping nor hesitating for a moment, he just kept folding as if it were second nature.

Tiger studied Overload’s soured expression before his eyes drifted back down to the paper.

“Could I ask you something?” Tiger asked.

Octave didn’t even glance at him, “Sure.”

“Why… Why do you hate noise so much?”

Octave stopped.

His hands hovered over the paper. The corner of his lips curled down ever so slightly, and his brows lowered. He wasn’t angry but… Tiger had never seen this sort of expression on Overload before.

Octave slowly went back to folding, “Why?”

“I’m–” Tiger suddenly felt a hint of embarrassment, “Curious, I suppose. They seem to really bother you and I couldn’t help but wonder if there’s a reason for that.” His eyes darted to the tiled floor, “You don’t have to answer, of course.”

Octave’s folding got even slower. He stared at the paper in his hands as a lump formed in his throat.

“I dunno.” He finally said.

Tiger brought his head back up.

“Like–I hate noise. I know I do, I just… I don’t really know why I guess? Or what started it. Just kinda came one day when I was young ‘n it just got worse.” He mumbled, uncertainty on his face, “I can just hear every li’l thing for some reason. Tappin’, someone breathin’ outta their mouth too loudly,” He let out a dry chuckle, “hummin’, people bitin’ on their forks… My folks back at home were real bad bout that. Hadda stop eatin’ in the same room with ‘em after a certain point. They always told me I’d grow outta it.”

He folded the paper into a triangle and continued, “It’s like–I dunno. I thought I’d get over it too, right? That once I was outta school ‘n outta that stupid house, thing’s would get better, but now it’s like I keep findin’ new sounds to hate.”

“And they annoy you? Is that how you’d describe it?” Tiger said with a tilt of his head.

“No, it’s–” Octave’s grip on the paper tightened, “It’s like there’s somethin’ in my head–like–like a switch or somethin’. I’ll hear a sound ‘n then that switch gets flicked ‘n I just need th’sound to stop.”

“Is that why you react the way you do–” Tiger stopped himself and sharply inhaled, “Sorry. That sounded much worse than I wanted it to. I just notice you seem to raise your voice and–”

“Yeah.” Octave cut him off, his expression souring, “Flip gets switched, and I get–I get mad I guess.” That word didn’t feel right, but he didn’t know how else to describe the sensation, “Sometimes I say somethin’ without even thinkin’ bout it. Punch stuff sometimes–luckily I’m a boxer, so it’s not…” His voice trailed off. He had no idea what to add to that.

Why did he say that?

‘Yeah, I punch stuff over noise.’ Who says that? Who does that? A maniac.

All those times he’s broken a belonging, or put a dent in a locker, or punched a wall when there were onlookers were moments that had ingrained themselves into his mind. There was nothing more embarrassing than a professional boxer who threw a tantrum over some noise.

And his thoughts.

No way could he tell Tiger about his thoughts.

The thoughts of ripping someone’s head off just because they whistled, or breaking someone’s fingers just because they were tapping, or wanting to grab the sharpest object and jab it into their neck, or the desire to bash his own head in until everything went quiet…Those weren’t normal. If Tiger heard even a sliver of his thoughts, he’d leave. He just knew it.

Octave stopped folding entirely.

He never took his eyes off the paper.

“I dunno what’s wrong with me.” He said.

His thumb carefully traced around the paper’s edge.

“I know that’s a dumb answer. I know this whole noise… Noise hatin’ thing is stupid, but it’s just… That’s all it is.” He let out a brittle laugh, “Just somethin’ stupid.”

“Overload…” Tiger slowly reached a hand out, “It’s not stupid–”

When his hand got a little too close to Overload’s, Overload inched away.

“It is stupid. C’mon, it ain’t like I’ve got any real issues. I just hate noise, ‘n–” He grit his teeth, “And it’s stupid I can’t get over it. Half th’time I gotta stay cooped up in my dang house cause at least I know there ain’t any noisy schmucks in there.”

He kept his mouth open for another moment, wanting to add more, but he shut it.

The amount of times he’s had to turn down invitations to official WVBA events sucked. There was no other way to say it. It sucked he couldn’t go to the events and hang around with the other boxers, it sucked he couldn’t stay in a large, crowded room for more than an hour without cursing at someone and storming out, and it sucked that he couldn’t block out the noise like everyone else.

He drove himself crazy.

Normal people don’t find the quietest spots in a stadium and hang around there until they feel better. Normal people don’t have to wait in their house all day until it’s late and they know for a fact most of the world will be quiet. Normal people don’t hesitate to go to stupid events that are supposed to be fun all because of a little noise. Normal people don’t have to constantly glance at people’s fingers and feet to make sure they won’t start tapping.

And maybe Octave wouldn’t have to do all that crap if everyone else could just shut up. He didn’t care if they got offended over his shouting, he wouldn’t have to shout in the first place if they just stopped making noise. It’s not his fault they only listen to him when he screams at them.

Maybe if people weren’t so loud, he could actually stay at a dang WVBA event for longer than an hour. Maybe then that stupid dinner with the rest of the Major Circuit would’ve been a night he could’ve enjoyed.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to break people’s stuff or punch the nearest object if people turned their garbage music down for once. Maybe if people weren’t so sensitive to being told to shut up every now and then, this dang city would be a better place.

But no.

People just have to get all worked up. People just have to be sensitive.

“Have you told the higher ups about this before?” Tiger asked.

No response.

“Have you told anyone about this before?”

Octave lowered his brows.

He raised his head and faced Tiger ever so slightly before raising a single finger up.

“Who?”

“Aran.” Octave said.

“What did he say?”

“Thought it was funny.”

Octave didn’t elaborate. He didn’t want to. Just thinking of the way Aran’s face shifted into a smirk and asked if Overload was joking ticked him off. And the way Aran spoke to him? How he told him that ‘everyone had a sound that annoyed them’? How Octave was just ‘making excuses’? It made Octave wanna storm over to Aran’s place and clobber him.

“Some friend.” Tiger sneered.

“It’s whatever.” Octave said as he went back to folding, “I’ve told him plenty’a stuff before ‘n he’s never told anyone else. I know he ain’t th’type to rat people out like that. Even if he thinks it’s stupid, it stays between us, ya know?”

“Still.” Tiger narrowed his eyes.

As Octave slowly folded the paper into the shape where they last left off, Tiger brought himself closer to him.

“Thank you though, Overload.”

“For what?”

“For telling me about this. I can only imagine it’s not the the easiest thing to do and…” He breathed in, “I promise I’ll do my best to stay quiet around you, and I promise this will stay between us.”

“Yeah?” Octave didn’t know why, but his chest tightened when he heard that. He didn’t know what to say, what he could say, so instead, he raised his head to look at Tiger for just a brief moment and gave him a smile.

His smile then faltered, and as he leaned just a bit closer to Tiger, he brought his focus back to the paper, “Wanna finish makin’ ya rat?”

“Ah, of course.” Tiger perked up.

The two men went back to folding. Octave continued giving out the instructions, making sure to clarify whenever he needed to as Tiger watched him.

It took a few minutes, and it took Tiger a couple of unfolding and refolding, but eventually, he finished.

He held his little origami rat proudly on the palm of his hand. Octave held his rat up as well.

“It seems mine is a little lopsided.” Tiger said as he compared the rats. Octave’s had straight, sharp edges, and the rat’s ears actually looked like proper ears. Tiger’s, on the other hand, had noticeable creases as to where he messed up, his ears were different sizes, and his rat’s poor little behind was a bit crumpled. Its tail was a little short as well.

“That’s alright.” Octave said with a shrug, “Ya just gotta practice.”

Tiger nodded along as he brought his rat over to Octave’s, tapping their little paper snouts together. That got a playful eye roll from Overload.

“C’mon, why don’t we eat now? Food’s probably cold.” Octave said as he gently set his origami rat down in front of condiments.

“A little bit of cold food has never hurt anyone.” Tiger hummed.

He placed his rat right next to Overload’s, and then they enjoyed their meal.

#punch out #punch out!! #punch out wii #punch out oc #punch out great tiger #punch out bald bull #art #fic

[drabbles-mc]

Following Your Lead

Isabella Bautista x F!Reader

For the ever-lovely @hausofmamadas for the Candy Hearts Exchange!

Warnings: 18+, smoking, alcohol

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: Idk what happened here but it sure was!! Something!! I hope you enjoy! xo

Narcos Mexico Taglist: @narcolini @ashlingnarcos @artemiseamoon @garbinge @anditsmywholeheart @passionatewrites @southotheborder @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

It was all loud music and flashing lights and sweating bodies pinned up against each other. It wasn’t exactly your idea of a good time, but most people must’ve liked it—that was how the place stayed so packed. That was why everyone kept coming back.

That wasn’t why you kept coming back. You tried to tell yourself that you didn’t actually know why, but you weren’t fooling yourself let alone anyone else.

The drinks were good, sure, but no better than you could get at any number of clubs downtown. The music was alright, even if it wasn’t what you would be caught listening to at home, or in your car. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t your favorite. When you’d come here with your friends, been dragged actually, you knew about twenty minutes in that you would never come back again. The next time some strange man's hand landed on your hip, your ass, the small of your back, you were going to break each one of their fingers that felt entitled to touch you.

You’d lasted about an hour that night before telling your friends that you were bailing and going home before you caused a problem for them or someone else. Despite their half-hearted attempts to get you to stay, you started weaving your way through the seemingly endless ocean of bodies. As much as you hated making yourself small, that was exactly what you were doing as you left. Anything to get out quicker.

The door was practically within your reach when you felt it, another abrupt bump against your shoulder. Somehow better than all the other touches of the night but you still jerked around, contemplating going out with a bang since you weren’t planning on coming back. The clench in your jaw was almost enough to make your teeth crack. Your brows knit as you whipped your head around, earrings slapping against the curve of your jaw.

“Hey—” your animosity was cut short when you saw who had bumped into you. Your expression was still harsh but your mind froze up.

You didn’t know her, but you wanted to. She was looking you up and down, not outwardly perturbed by your reaction like you were by her bumping into you. Her perfectly painted lips curled into the smallest smile as she tossed her hair back behind her shoulder.

“Lo siento,” she said, her hand cupping the exposed skin of your arm even after the word hit the air.

You didn’t know if she meant it. You didn’t care if she did or not. Your eyes dropped to where her fingers were resting against your skin, painted claws not set into you but you were immediately imagining it anyway. That’s the kind of touch you wouldn’t mind, not from her.

You felt your face softening the longer you looked at her, eyebrows raised more in surprise and curiosity now. “Todo,” you stammered out, “todo bien.”

Her smile grew, still a toothless gesture. It still knocked the wind out of you. She nodded, nails trailing down your arm as she turned to walk away. Left you standing there in the doorway like an idiot, helpless to do anything but watch her.

You came back with your friends the following weekend. Each one after that too. You had yet to see her again. Part of you was wondering why you assumed that you would—for all you knew, she was another woman who was just like you in that she showed up once, had to deal with a ton of creeps, and then promptly decided it wasn’t worth the time and discomfort. You hoped, selfishly, that that wasn’t the case.

You were finishing off what was going to be your last drink of the night. Setting the glass back down onto the top of the bar, you reached for your purse. Your focus was solely on pulling a couple bills out to tuck underneath the glass, more than enough to close out your small tab and leave a generous tip without having to actually talk to the bartender.

Shouldering your purse, you turned so that you could step away from the bar and head towards the door. You didn’t get very far, a body having materialized right behind you without you noticing or hearing above the rest of the noise in the club. You didn’t make eye contact at first, just muttering out an apology you doubted the person could even hear as you tried to slip past them.

Then you felt it, a hand on your arm, nails against your skin. Your eyes widened as you lifted your gaze from the floor and leveled them with the woman who was staring back at you. You thought that maybe you had been falsely remembering her to be more beautiful than she was, but if anything your brain hadn’t been doing her justice.

She smiled at you the same way she had before—all lipstick and no teeth. You almost felt like you should just sit right back down on the stool you’d just stood up from as she held your gaze. The gold around her neck paired so nicely with the deep plunge of the black jumpsuit she was wearing, the short capped sleeves meaning that all of her bracelets were visible, matching the gold of her necklace and the numerous rings around her fingers.

You’d been hoping for weeks to see her again, and now here she was. You figured that maybe you should make all your waiting worthwhile and fucking say something, but the words weren’t coming. She didn’t seem to be rushing you away.

She put you out of your misery with a sentence that almost took you out in an entirely different way. “Qué bueno verte otra vez.”

You opened your mouth a few times to try and say something but nothing came out. You hadn’t planned on getting this far. Clearing your throat, you finally said, “Te puedo comprar una bebida?”

She lifted her chin slightly, the look in her eyes making you think that she was almost impressed by the response. Removing her hand from your arm, she let it drop back to her side. “No estás saliendo?”

Fuck. You were leaving. Or, at least, you had been until she showed up. You didn’t want to just tell her that, though. You didn’t want to seem that desperate, even if you really were that desperate. “Me puedo quedar.”

So, you stayed. Not caring about the money you had already pre-tipped the bartender, you sat back down and the woman you were certain you’d never see again or speak to sat down right next to you. And you learned that her name was Isabella. You learned that she had the same go-to drink at every club she went to, something that would be impossible for bartenders to fuck up.

You also learned that she loved dancing. She taught you that after her second drink when she set the glass down and then reached over and grabbed your hand to pull you away from the bar and towards the dancefloor. If it had been literally anyone else on the planet, you would’ve found a way to weasel out of it somehow. But there was no way you were going to be able to look at her and tell her no. So you followed her, nearly stumbling as you tried to follow in her footsteps, weaving through everybody.

And then she stopped. She stopped and you found yourself pressed up against her, the hand that was entwined with yours now resting on your hip, almost like she was trying to catch you, almost like she was trying to pull you in close. Your mouth felt dry as you tried to scrounge up something smooth to say, but you couldn’t.

Her smile grew a little wider as she took in your flustered state, the first flash of teeth you’d gotten. Reaching and situating your hands on her where she wanted them, she leaned in closer so that you could hear her.

“Puedes bailar, sí?” she asked, almost like it was a joke.

You managed a laugh as you nodded. “Mhm.” You paused, suddenly feeling not at home in your own body. “Pues…”

She laughed at that, but not in a mocking way. It was almost refreshing. Hardly a few seconds later she was stepping and swaying her hips, and at first you felt like you were fighting for your life to keep up with her. She must’ve seen it on your face, too, because she brought one hand up, nails trailing lightly against your cheek in a way that gave you chills despite the heavy heat of the club. The smirk on her face let you know that she was perfectly aware of what she was doing to you, but at least she was getting you out of your own head about the dancing.

You followed her lead, the same way you had been the entire time, the same way you would if you ever got the chance to see her again. There was no denying that she was a far better dance than you could ever hope to be, but it got to the point that you didn’t even care because you were too lost in the feel of her hands on you, yours on her, a welcome touch where there hadn’t been any for a long time.

You’d completely lost track of time, no idea how long the two of you had been on the dancefloor ignoring just about everything and everyone happening around you. You would’ve stayed there with her until they shut the place down if that’s what she had wanted.

When she stopped dancing, pulling you close so she could speak directly into your ear, you had no idea what to expect. She asked if you’d step out for a smoke with her, away from some of the noise. So you did the same thing you’d been doing all night and followed her lead. You didn’t smoke, but when she offered you a cigarette outside on the sidewalk, you said yes with no hesitation.

And, when she snubbed out the last of her spent cigarette beneath her shoe, and asked you if you wanted to come back to her place, you followed her lead on that, too.

#narcos mexico #narcos: mexico #narcos mx #nmx #isabella bautista #isabella bautista x reader #isabella bautista x you #isabella bautista fanfiction #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[2nd2ndalto]

Fall Down With You

Chapter 4

(previous chapter)

This has been an easy quest by most standards - they’ve been riding trains, staying in actual hotels some of the time, hostels others. Nico’s got his mysterious Underworld credit card, so they haven’t had to survive on scraps.

Today was hard, though. The battle with Mnemosyne’s minion had shaken Will to his core.

And now, lying here in the darkness, it’s starting to feel crushing - the weight of memories; guilt and sorrow from the past shoved to the forefront of his brain, things he pushes aside far more often than examining them. Will should be enjoying the luxury of a comfortable room, a soft bed, but instead he finds himself shaking, forgetting how to breathe not long after they agree to turn the lights out for the night. He’s beyond exhausted, but the thought of letting his eyes fall shut is terrifying.

It wasn’t easy on Nico, either, Will’s pretty sure. He’s been quiet since they checked into the hotel, but there’s a tension in the other boy’s body that Will had almost forgotten about. It was there all the time, three years ago, when Nico first came to camp.

They haven’t spoken much. They ordered in pizza, which neither of them really ate, watched some stupid reality show that neither could really focus on, and now they’re here, in this darkened room, and Will feels the weight of the world pressing into his chest. There are tears building behind his eyes and a headache creeping into his temples and he suddenly just can’t. He can’t be here.

Will sits up in bed without really knowing what he’s going to do next. Go for a walk? He can’t quite bear the idea of being alone out in the world, either. And he’s tired right down to his bones. So what, then?

There’s a soft shifting in the bed next to his. “Solace?”

“Mmm,” Will responds, his voice catching on the single syllable.

“You okay?” Nico murmurs.

Will takes a deep, shaky breath and lies down again. “Yeah. Fine.”

There’s a long pause, broken only by the sound of a door clicking closed somewhere down the hallway. The sound makes Will jump.

“That was a rough day,” Nico says, finally.

‘Yeah,” Will whispers. He feels a tear slowly track down his cheek. Every time he tries to close his eyes, he sees that fucking bridge, Michael falling, falling. He swallows hard.

“We can talk about it, if you want?” Nico's voice is low and soft.

Will takes in a shaky breath. “No, I don’t - I don’t think I want to. But thanks.”

“Okay.”

But the fear and darkness and grief are clawing their way up his throat, and no, he doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to draw those memories any closer than they already are, but his heart is pounding and -

“Nico?” His voice in the quiet room sounds cracked, thin.

“Yeah?”

“Could we - would you mind if… Could we sleep… closer?”

Will holds his breath, presses his lips together. It’s not even quite what he meant to say, but as the words piece themselves together he realizes how much comfort it would bring.

“Yeah. Of course.” Nico sits up, gazing at Will across the darkened room. “How much closer? I don’t think we can move these beds.”

Will swallows. “I guess um… as close as you’re comfortable with. I just - sorry,” his voice catches as a gasp tears from his throat, and gods, if he could just fucking breathe.

“Hey, no. It’s okay.” And Nico’s there next to him in the next second, a warm hand on Will’s shoulder, his weight making the mattress dip. He rubs Will’s arm comfortingly, up and down, waits until Will can catch his breath again.

Will’s trembling. He’s dizzy, unanchored. He feels like the smallest movement could carry him away and gods the simple fact of Nico’s hand on his arm is tethering him to his sanity right now, and just the thought of the other boy pulling away makes his chest constrict.

But Nico doesn’t pull away, and after a long moment he eases himself down so he’s lying next to Will, watching him in the dark, his hand still warm on Will’s arm.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Will whispers.

Nico frowns. “You’re not making me uncomfortable. You’re allowed to be a little rattled, Solace. Anyone would be after having that dickhead mess with their memories.”

Will shakes his head. “No, I didn’t mean that. I just - I know you don’t always like… touching,” Will finishes.

Nico blinks, looking momentarily confused. Then he huffs out a soft laugh. “That doesn’t apply to you, idiot,” he says gently.

“It - it doesn’t?”

Doesn’t it?

Nico’s gaze drops. “Hasn’t for a long time. Thought you knew that.” He swallows. Here -”

He releases Will only long enough to climb around to the other side of him, crawling under the covers and curving himself against Will’s back, tucking an arm snug around Will’s waist. Will almost sobs with the relief of it. It’s exactly what he needs, and he melts against Nico, grasping Nico’s hand like he’s drowning. Nico squeezes back.

“Is this okay?” Nico murmurs.

“Very very okay,” Will breathes. “Are you sure it’s okay with you?”

“Positive.”

Nico shifts, tucking his knees up behind Will’s and pulling him in closer still, and then Will can’t hold back the tears any longer. But Nico is right there, holding him, murmuring soothingly against his neck, his thumb softly stroking against the back of Will’s hand. He smells like the bright scent of the hotel soap and something that’s fundamentally, blessedly Nico. The warm scent of the Hades cabin, the same scent left on Will’s borrowed hoodies when Nico finally returns them, a scent that Will presses to his face in the sometimes-quiet of his own cabin.

Gods, he loves this boy.

“I can help you sleep, if you want?” Nico murmurs once the tears have eased.

“No,” Will answers, too fast. He doesn’t want to miss any of this, but he also doesn’t want to say that out loud…

“Just - could we just try this first? I think I can sleep if - if you stay.” He can feel his cheeks warming at the admission, and he immediately wishes he’d found another way to phrase it.

But Nico only squeezes him a little tighter. “I won’t go anywhere. But tell me if you change your mind, okay?”

Will nods. The dark isn’t as oppressive now. A thin line of light coming under the hotel room door silhouettes Nico’s boots and Will’s runners, lined up side by side in the entranceway. Nico’s body molds perfectly against Will’s, knee to hip to shoulder, and the steady rise and fall of Nico’s chest against Will’s back is the sweetest lullaby he could imagine.

And Will can breathe again.

“This is nice,” Nico murmurs, soft as a sigh, maybe ten minutes later. Will’s not even sure he was meant to hear it.

“Yeah,” he answers, just as quiet.

“I mean, not that I want some asshole digging around in your head, but -”

“Yeah,” Will agrees. “But… maybe we should do this more often,” he suggests, his skin tingling with sudden boldness. He holds his breath until Nico says,

“Yeah. Maybe we should.”

Will feels warm all over, and it’s not just from the way Nico wraps around him, like a quilt, like a talisman. Like they’ve always prepared for sleep like this.

This time when he closes his eyes, it’s only warmth, only comfort. Only the soft rush of Nico’s breath on his neck and the warm tangle of their fingers pressed against Will’s stomach.

They wake hours and hours later, to an already-risen sun, Will’s face pressed into Nico’s chest, Will’s arms tight around the other boy’s waist and Nico’s arms tight around Will’s shoulders.

They rarely sleep alone after that.

(next chapter)

___

Notes:

My extremely fluffy fic Whole World Gets So Quiet would slot in after this chapter, if you're keeping track :)

#nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #my writing #fluff #hurt/comfort #getting together #pjo #there are actually two beds but they're only going to use one #rated g or teen #there's swearing #mentions of hoodie theft

[seekercallum]

The past two months had been a whirlwind. Cal had been hoping against hope for something to come of open quidditch tryouts, desperate to get out of school and into the league before Seb missed his window to go to Hogwarts like Mac and Ian already had. The offer from the Tornados still felt like a dream. As did the signing bonus, and the house Cal bought with it. The place was sparsely furnished with only what had already fit in the apartment Al had put them up in while Cal was at school, but it was theirs. A room for each of them, plus space for a couch and a dining table they could all sit around, and a backyard the kids were already in love with. He’d ignored Mac and Ian’s protests that it was still summer and arranged tutors for them already, and as soon as his next paycheck came in it’d be going towards Hogwarts supplies. A few more paychecks should cover the first school tuition payment. Things weren’t exactly safe and secure, but they were working their way there. So long as Cal didn’t fuck things up. 

Cal was used to being the youngest on his team. At Hogwarts he’d been the youngest and smallest on the Gryffindor team for a few years, thanks to starting as a first year. He hadn’t even been among the oldest players last year as Captain, still just a fifth year. But they’d all been kids. The first time he’d set foot in the Tornados locker room, Cal quickly became aware that his team was made up of grown men. He hadn’t really expected to get a spot, but he’d needed it, and it was the same drive that made him hop on Al’s stolen broomstick five years ago and made him claw his way onto the Gryffindor quidditch team his first year and that got him invited to open tryouts at all that landed him a position, not just as a reserve, but as a starting player. 

Cal knew that position came with high expectations. With a lot to prove. Already there were eyes on him. It was rare enough for people to leave Hogwarts to play before their Seventh Year, though it happened. Cal had heard of a few who left before Sixth Year to go play in a different European league, even. He’d been offered some tryouts for those teams, too, but he knew leaving the country wouldn’t have worked. But Cal was still a few weeks shy of his sixteenth birthday, and he was playing for the British League. Reporters had already sent owls, and he hadn’t been quick enough to stop Patricia from cashing in on a feature in some quidditch magazine about “the British League’s Youngest Player in Decades.” Humiliating, and Patty spent all the money going out someplace Cal didn’t even want to know about. At least Al had helped set things up so none of those owls could come to the house anymore. Another favor he owed Al for, but that one had been necessary. He’d been worried the whole team would see him as a prat, though if they did they were civil enough. 

But he could feel their eyes on him too at practices. Watching, wondering if he could possibly be so good as to merit being there when he couldn’t even legally do magic yet. For his part, Cal did his best to keep his head down and work, just like he’d always done. He was quiet, serious, only speaking when spoken to, his focus entirely on not screwing up. There was too much riding on this to get caught up with whether the beaters who were a decade older than him thought he was cool or interesting. He didn’t care if they thought he was cool, so long as they thought he could play. He had to show them he deserved to be here. That he could play as well as the scouts thought he could. That he was committed to the team, to the work, and that giving him a shot—and giving his family a shot—had been worth it. And he was slowly proving that, he hoped. It felt like practices were going well, though Cal still felt rather in over his head; the level of play was miles away from Hogwarts, and there was a learning curve to keeping up with such good players for such long hours of practicing. Not to mention coming home and dealing with Patty’s shit and then starting over the next day. But the season wasn’t starting for another few weeks. That would be when he’d really prove whether or not he deserved to be there. And Cal could feel the mounting pressure as the first match drew closer. He couldn’t afford to fuck this up. 

Today wasn’t the first match, but it was an important day all the same. A scrimmage, between the starters and the reserves. Not the first time they’d done something like that, but today mattered more. They’d play it like a real match; the full pitch, as long as it took, everyone going at full intensity. And the owners and executives would all be in the stands watching, assessing, deciding whether they needed to make any changes to the lineup before the season started. Cal was always early to practice, but today he’d planned to be doubly so. He’d never been late yet, but there’d been a few mornings where even with his cushion of trying to be there an hour early he ended up barely on time thanks to Patricia or the Knight Bus’s unreliable schedule. Cal had asked if the Tornados had any floo connection, to which the assistant coach he’d asked had given him a funny look and said he didn’t rightly know because everyone just disapparated. A second later he’d looked at Cal, realized how young he was, and asked if that was a problem, and Cal had quickly assured the bloke that he’d figure out transportation. It wasn’t the Tornado’s fault Cal couldn’t disapparate yet. Or legally do any kind of magic. Al had offered to come by the house and apparate him to the pitch, to which Cal had politely declined. Al had done enough; Cal could do this on his own. The first morning he’d taken Al’s helpful suggestion of calling a magical taxi to get him, but with all of Cal’s other expenses it was too much to do every day. So the Knight Bus it was. Which worked well enough if he got on it early enough and looked appropriately pathetic to the driver, who’d developed a soft spot for him, lucky for Cal. 

But he should have known that on such an important day as today, What he really should have known was that everything would fall apart even more spectacularly than his plan to leave two and a half hours early accounted for. Things went off course almost immediately. Cal had woken up to the sound of Ian trying to have a quiet argument with Patricia in the hallway, who had apparently decided to get up all the kids to ‘wish him well’ or some shit, as if the kids hadn’t wished him luck last night at an appropriate hour. Despite Ian’s best attempts to cut her off—sometimes Cal wondered if that kid ever slept or if he just sat in his room with an ear against the door—Patricia’s loud arguing with him had her desired effect of waking all the kids up anyways, who were tired and cranky. 

Then Patricia ruined breakfast and had the audacity to tell Cal right before he could leave that she’d canceled the nanny because she was there to take care of her kids. Cal was more angry at himself, really, for not seeing that move coming. And for how he reacted, losing his cool and snapping at Patty. Ruby started crying, Seb and Sadie started trying to say it was their fault, and Mac and Ian both argued with him that he should just leave and let them handle things, that it would just be one missed day of tutoring, but Cal had just hired those tutors and who knew how long he’d last on the Tornadoes to actually be able to afford them? Mac and Ian needed all the tutoring they could get. Plus, Cal had promised them that their new house he’d bought with his signing bonus was a new start for them. They would get to be kids now, as much as they could be. It was bad enough they’d have to sort of help the tutors keep an eye on Seb and Sadie, though they were at least old enough they just needed a bit of supervision. He wasn’t going to leave them all with a baby to watch. Or with the house in a meltdown. 

It took way too long to calm things down, even with Mac and Ian helping. Mostly because Patricia kept making things worse, alternating between yelling at them and then playing the victim. Once they finally got her to storm out of the house, notably without the baby she’d taken it upon herself to watch for the day, Cal realized it was far later than he’d planned to leave. Maybe the smart choice at this point would have been to go to Al’s—maybe this exact situation was why Al had insisted on connecting their new house to his by floo when they’d moved—and ask him to take Ruby, and to take Cal to practice, but they owed Al too much already. Cal wasn’t going to show up to ask for a favor barely into the start of the career that Al was basically responsible for Cal having at all. Plus, he had one more option, though it wasn’t ideal either. He’d filed away the knowledge that the Tornadoes had some sort of daycare in the offices—used by the office workers more than any of the players, from what he’d gathered by how it had been brushed over in his tour of the place. It hadn’t even really been part of his tour, just a passing comment as they walked by a cute room with a bunch of tiny tables and chairs. Cal hadn’t wanted to ask at that point, wanting to seem as normal as possible, but he’d planned to find out a bit more in case of emergency. He was kicking himself for forgetting to check in on that, but practices were long and getting their early and staying late and going home to Patricia and the kids every day was taking a toll. He’d dropped the ball, so now he’d just have to hope for the best. It had to be better than leaving Ruby with the kids after he’d promised them all normalcy. 

So instead of showing up to his most important day of practice so far early and focused, he was frazzled, barely on time, with a squirming three-year-old in his arms as he stumbled down the last step of the Knight Bus and realized he actually didn’t know how to get to the offices from the public entrance—he’d always just gone straight around to the player’s entrance. There was definitely a shorter route to the offices, but Cal didn’t have time to get lost. He barely had time to go the long way. Now he’d be lucky if he was on the pitch geared up and ready to go on time. “Shh, Ruby, it’s okay,” he murmured to his little sister, who was squirming for him to put her down only she walked so slow if he did that he’d definitely be late for everything. “Just a few more minutes, alright, and we’ll find you somewhere to play.” He hoped. Maybe he was late enough all the other players were on the pitch and wouldn’t notice him jogging through the tunnels past the locker room with a kid in his arms.

#jamie #flashback #oops this got out of hand xD #i figured instead of first day i'd make it a very important day #but so that way they've at least been on the team together for a month or so and it's not a first introduction

[writtenwyrm]

The Ascension

A Slay the Spire Story, Part 31

All Parts

Something was following me.

It wasn’t making a secret of it, either. I could feel it’s hostile intent toward me like the heat of a harsh desert sun on my skin.

I couldn’t find it, though. Despite the omnipresent malice, it seemed like the being was content to watch and hate me from a distance.

Wandering these corridors was bad enough when I was alone. Now I expected something to jump out at me around every sharp corner. My nerves were twanging with anticipation of the inevitable attack, and it was beginning to wear on me.

How long can you keep this up? The voice murmured in my mind. Not just this hidden threat, but all the others? It won’t end here. It won’t ever end.

I pushed it aside for now. I had something more important to focus on.

There were bones. Real bones, humanoid bones. Familiar and frightening in a way that the warped spines growing from the walls were not. They sat clustered in piles, propped against the walls or spread across the floor. Many of the bodies were almost fresh, still with skin stretched over their bones.

Purple robes caught on my Perception like thorns.

I stepped over, and found… myself. It was unmistakable, though none of the corpses had heads. They were my clothes, and my staffs, dropped like so many sticks, and some of them even had enough skin left to tell that they were my hands. My face.

I cycled through Calm.

Some had blindfolds on, some had short hair, some had scars marring their flesh. About half of them were decayed beyond recognition, if it hadn’t been for their clothes. All of them sat in a pile, like they’d been collected.

I stepped back. I was calm. I was calm. This was to be expected, with what I knew. This—

The others, too. Red clothes and bronze masks. Green piles of rags and broken skulls. An entire pile dedicated to what appeared to be various metallic limbs and blue glass.

There were more than just the corpses I recognized, however. A small leather collar lay among the other discarded items, with the name ‘Noodles’ embossed on the front. Scattered bodies of feathered cultists lay about, and many, seemingly normal people. Monsters, with twisting limbs and horns, long tubes, enormous claws, bat-like wings. None of them looked anything like each other.

A single small body sat up against a wall. It’s face was covered with a round, white mask. A comically large red smile was painted on it. I left that body alone.

My Perception spiked. The hostile presence that had been following me was here, now.

The ghost rose out of a pile of nearby bodies.

I backpedaled hurriedly, but a biting edge scooped against my back, preventing me from stepping further away. A long blade, held in place by an even longer staff.

“Do. Not. Leave. I Deny You.”

The creature, composed of loose green cloth topped by a yellowed, six eyed skull, looked familiar. And yet I could have sworn I’d never seen it before, at least not in this life. My mind turned to the bodies of myself, all of who had likely seen this creature, once.

“…Why can’t I go?” I questioned, projecting as much Calm into my voice as I could.

“Safe. Here.” It spoke, though I couldn’t see a mouth, as if each word were an effort. “It. Cannot. Revert Us. Here.”

My interest piqued immediately. “Who can’t?”

“Fool. God.” The creature breathed, as if amused. “It’s Power. Is. Broad. Or. Delicate. Not Both.” With a sweeping gesture of its scythe, it indicated its graveyard domain. “Those. Who Die. In. My Power. Remain. I Deny It.”

“…do they?” I took the smallest step backward again, glancing at the familiar, purple-clad bones.

“But. Not. You.” It confirmed my suspicion. “Not. You. Nor. Ironclad. Nor. Defect. Nor. Me.”

Nor me. The shape of the creature suddenly snapped into focus, the familiarity becoming clear.

“Are you… the Silent?” I asked.

It howled, sounding pained, and the scythe swooped. It crashed into a pile of bones, and they scattered across the floor. “It. Should. Have. ENDED!”

I began my battle hymn.

It didn’t even attempt to dodge. Instead, my staff sunk into the creature like I’d punched an empty pillowcase. Cloth tore, and hot air slammed into my face, rushing from the hole I’d created. I coughed, backing up, and dug a potion from my satchel. Now was as good a time as any to use it, and I chugged the white liquid, soothing my burned throat. Instantly, I felt my body begin to surge with renewed health.

It did not argue with me, or attempt to speak. Instead, it remained completely silent as it lifted its own weapon in challenge. A staff, twice as long as my own, and with a wickedly curved blade set in one end. It swung it quickly, testing me with three quick sweeps of the enormous blade. With all the time I’d spent setting up, it may have hit me, if it weren’t for the dark chain still wrapped around my waist. It snaked out like a living creature, gripping the scythe just under the blade and fixing it awkwardly to the creature’s own skull.

The distraction only lasted a moment, however. Quicker than I’d been hoping, the chain fell away, and the billowing creature dove toward me, as if intending to body-slam me into the ground.

I braced myself for impact, hurriedly switching to Calm. But Instead of colliding, it passed through me.

It swirled around me like a desert breeze, hot and rough against my skin. Its body looked as transparent and tattered as an old veil, and this time it was as insubstantial as smoke when my staff passed through it. I turned, trying not to breathe in too deeply, and found myself face to face with the business end of the scythe.

I had a new trick, though, attained from my last fight with the maw beast, and my meditation with the Ironclad afterward. Dancing back and out of the way with the grace of the Silent, I braced my feet against the crumbling wall, entered Calm, and then tensed every muscle in my body at the same moment.

The scythe met my staff, and my spine felt like I’d just tried to block a brick house, complaining from the attack. It worked, though, keeping the deadly blade at bay, and I powered through the pain.

What I wasn’t expecting was for the pain to remain. The pyramid in my satchel, ever-present and working it’s strange effect, allowing my focus to remain steady… and also keeping the self-inflicted wounds firmly stuck right at the forefront of my mind, making it difficult to think. I shook my head, like I could dislodge the effect.

I took a breath, trying to clear my mind of the pain and take action, do something, anything… and found only scorched lungs. My chest hitched, and I found myself in an uncontrolled coughing fit, trying to expel the caustic air.

It hit me again, hard. Three sweeping attacks with the butt of its weapon, throwing me to the floor.

My battle hymn saved me. I couldn’t think from the burns on my body, but the notes of my hymn remained firm and strong in my mind, giving me a way to fight back.

I suffered another swirling gale of heat-baked air, waiting, waiting—

The ghostly form before me grew clear and solid, flickering from a hazy dream into a waking nightmare.

A nightmare I could hit.

I howled the Word, gripping my staff with all the force of my battle hymn behind it, and struck.

CLEAVE

to slice apart

Metal met skull, and metal won.

As the remains of the apparition vanished around me, Divinity fading with it, I felt a flickering presence remain behind, under the shards of yellow bone.

I reached in, fingers brushing the sharp edges, and my hand closed around a familiar shape.

It was green, this time, and the razor point of its arrowhead shape cut into my fingers painfully if I wasn’t careful how I held it.

I wrapped it in bandages, and tucked it into my bag next to the other one.

I fed a piece of the skull to the white statue, and its eyes wept smoke. I almost lost the ethereal liquid in my surprise, but just barely managed to catch most of it in a jar before it floated away. I had my doubts about if the golden bark would have any effect, but when I dropped the crumbs into the jar, the mist thickened noticeably.

I was more than a little worried to drink this particular potion.

The skull wasn’t the only thing left behind, however. A few feet away, something else solid and real lay. A bag, made of rough, weathered leather. I pulled it closer to me, opting to stay sitting down instead of standing and risking falling over from exhaustion.

Inside, there were pages of yellowed notes. Bundled together with string and written by hand, I paged through them curiously, feeling over the foreign words. Heat bond and emulsify, tincture and alchemize. They described a process I didn’t really understand, but it seemed familiar somehow.

Thoughtfully, I touched the prism in my satchel, and then I looked down at the words with new eyes.

Of course I knew what these diagrams meant. I’d written them. Each carefully inscribed alchemic recipe was earned through grueling hours of test and failure, and I could see the love for my poisons in every word.

I felt guilty, tucking the writings into my new backpack. It felt like stealing, more than just the words on the paper, but the memories of the Silent. They filled my mind now, like they were my own memories, but I hadn’t done the work to earn them.

I can’t even study a document without cheating, the treacherous voice whispered in my mind.

I should throw them away. Another, even smaller voice whispered. I don’t deserve them.

But I kept them anyway. It was only going to get harder from here, and even if I didn’t deserve them, I needed every edge I could get.

I was exhausted. I was always exhausted, now. My ribs hurt when I breathed, reminding me of the blows I’d suffered, even if the potion of regeneration had softened the effect. I needed to bunker down and camp, sleep, lick my wounds.

But not here. Not next to a pile of my own corpses.

Once again, I picked myself up off the ground and started to walk.

#Slay The Spire #The Ascension #Part 31 #The Watcher #fic

[abs-art-corner]

Good Enough

Words: 1526 Characters: Mr. Dark, Ales Mansay Content and warnings: Hurt/Comfort, mentions of trauma (bullying), inferiority complex, venting/unintended trauma dumping, emotional catharsis

Summary: A failed expedition takes another turn when Mr. Dark addresses Ales' concerning behaviour, leading them to face those demons together.

Sudden rainfall was never unexpected in the depths of Jibberish Jungle. The dense tree tops offered mild protection from the cascade above, just enough for two visitors to not get drenched. Seeking shelter now that their mission to obtain more lums had failed, they scannered the area for a proper haven, the smallest of the two piping up by spotting one.

”Over there!” Throwing his bag of tools over his shoulder, the teensie hurried into the small cave he had discovered. Behind him, his companion wandered with slow steps as he was in no rush to get out of the rain. Instead he observed the other, his hidden eyes narrowing more while predicting what would happen next.

Once inside, the sorcerer in blue crouched down to sit and effortlessly dried himself off with a simple handwave. The water soaked into his garments evaporated in seconds, leaving him content but not satisfied. Looking over at his ally again, he saw him scramble to get everything into place. The bag of nets and cages only got more damaged as the teensie tried to sort it out, sealing it all up with a small huff.

”Sorry the weather didn’t stay nice for that long, I had hoped our first expedition together had been longer. I was so surprised when you asked to come along!” Wandering back over while wringing the water out of his sleeve, the teensie had barely sat down before he stood right up again hastily. ”It’s been a long day, you must be hungry! Stay here, I’ll get you something to eat!”

Before the wizard could respond, he watched his minion rush back out into the pouring rain. Just as expected. Without any motion or any shift of expression in his eyes, the villain waited displeased.

After a long span of time, the sound of small feet echoed in the cave as the teensie arrived, holding his hat which appeared to be distorted in shape. His return didn’t prompt the sorcerer to look in his direction, listening to the sounds of fruit being put in front of him instead.

”I found a lot of fresh stuff! Only the best for you and- Oh, that’s right. You only eat alone.” Forgetting that detail about his idol, he pondered some before coming up with a solution and continuing his ramble. ”That’s okay! I can just go outside, wait until you’re done and-”

”STOP.”

Being cut off by the sudden command and the aggravated tone, the small creature flinched greatly with obsidian eyes widening in combined confusion and fear. Looking up hesitantly, he was met with a harsh, burning glare by the mage. He glanced down with nervous fidgets of his hands, too anxious to talk or look at him. Yet his vision lifted right back up by hearing more stern words.

”You always do this, Ales.”  Voicing his irritation with obvious pent up anger, the limbless nightmare kept his focus right on his ally who trembled visibly by the accusation. ”You always put my needs above your own. Always throwing yourself into danger and distress. This pampering of yours… I do not appreciate it.”

Pausing slightly to let everything sink in, the sorcerer saw how it affected his minion who seemed at a loss for words. His lips pressed together in shame while he processed it all, only to pivot back to his usual response.

”I’m sorry, Mr. Dark… I-…” Nothing else left him before he was cut off again with a swift hand motion from the villain, drawing a small wail out of the teensie.

”And stop apologizing! You apologize for everything, whether it is your doing or not!” Now his tone had hit the boiling point of frustration, his claws slightly digging into his blue cloak. While knowing how much it stung for the teensie to hear it, he also knew it was the only way to get him to listen. Seeing the regret in Ales’ eyes did cause him to soften his voice, having gotten the biggest point across.

”I joined you today because I need to talk to you, away from home with no distractions or interuptions. We can not go on like this. Now explain.” Mr. Dark demanded with his hands resting in his lap, watching his ally’s expression sink into further confusion.

”E-explain what?” Ales peeped, knowing full well yet wanting to avoid the conversation.

”Explain why you do these things.” The mage emphasized, trying his best to stay patient. His response made the teensie stare into thin air with eyes shifting from side to side, scrambling to find answers for a while before speaking.

”I… I just want to be good enough for you...” His vision started to blur slightly as the urge to cry grew, yet it vanished instantly by the resurfacing of old rage. ”I’ve never been good enough! Are you going to blame me for wanting to be the best I can be!? You know what I’ve been through!”

Ales’ anger sparked more as he stared his idol right in the eyes and pointed at him with little to no reaction from the nightmare, the latter merely listening while giving him space to rant. ”I’ll never be good enough for anyone! I can’t do the one thing I should have been gifted with! Magic was my birthright and I was robbed of it! How do you think I felt being reminded every day that I am a failure as a teensie!? Everyone abandoned me, even my parents! And you have the nerve to-…!”

Clasping his hands over his mouth after a short gasp, the teensie’s eyes dilated by realizing the amount of trapped feelings he had unleashed out of his control. He expected to be scolded more for daring to stand up to the mage. Yet nothing was uttered. Removing his shaky hands and putting them down by his hips, Ales peered up to face whatever was in store for him.

However, he was met with a gentle gaze from the sorcerer whose body language had become relaxed and strangely vulnerable.

”Do I make you feel like you are not good enough?” Mr. Dark asked with a voice of genuine concern, the question causing the teensie to instantly jump and reply frantically. ”N-no! It’s not you, it’s me! It’s only me. I don’t make myself feel good enough... I’m sorry…”

Looking down in discomfiture, Ales held himself while sitting down with a low huff and a clear attempt to not cry. It did not go unnoticed as the mage sighed muffled, reaching his hand out slowly. The every ends of his fingertips rested underneath the teensie’s chin and tipped it up carefully, watching his claws. The move surprised the little being and his beady eyes homed in on the wizard in anticipation.

”I am sorry for pushing you like this. It seemed that you would have held it all in forever if I had not intervened. But it was still cruel of me.” Mr. Dark confessed with an even more humane touch to his voice, his apology bewildering the teensie and intensifying his attention. ”I know you have been hurt and I can not take that pain away from you. Condemn those who wronged you, not yourself. You do not need to apologize for anything you do. You do not need to impress me. I have already accepted you.” Speaking with rare kindness, the sorcerer shifted his palm to instead align with the teensie’s cheek followed by the faintest of caresses.

”You are good enough, Ales. You have always good enough for me. You do not need to be anything else but yourself. Do not put yourself down.”

Ending his speech and withdrawing his hand, the wizard remembered how drenched his ally still was and lifted one finger upwards to steam the water out of the black clothing with his magic. Ales’ eyes did not move at all by feeling the warmth return to his body, staring enamored at his friend and replaying his words in his mind. With one blink finally, he shuddered by suddenly feeling tears stream down his face and used both hands to wipe them away with an expression of befuddlement.

”What, I-..” The teensie sputtered by the overwhelming emotion and inability to stop himself from crying, trying to turn away but stopping by feeling a tender hand on his shoulder. ”Do not hold back. Cry all you need.” Hearing more caring words from the mage only had the teensie in more tears, impulsively launching forwards to cling to his idol for comfort. The action startled the both of them as neither were used to physical contact, the smaller of the two instantly parting his lips to apologize. But he paused and said nothing instead, shaking slightly by the feeling of acting on his own whims without shame.

Hiding his face away in the deep blue fabric, Ales sobbed softly and curled in on himself with a whine by the sorcerer placing his palm along his back to soothe him. With no words shared between them and without the need to, only the sound of the outside rain was heard for a long time.  

#Rayman #Rayman fanfic #Rayman fanfiction #Mr. Dark #Mr Dark #Mister Dark #Ales Mansay #Alesdark

[thevoyageurmoteplass-writing]

‘Where is she?’ Freddy demanded desperately, his heart thundering a terrified tattoo against his ribs as he ran into the room.

Carolyn’s voice had been barely more than a disbelieving whisper on the phone. But even then her words managed to clang through his skull. The hitch in her voice told him more about her own fear than the words.

‘Alia’s hurt, Freddy.’

But none of it could have prepared him for the sight of his best friend. A figure stepped in his way, murmured something he supposed was meant to calm. How could it when that brief glimpse had burnt itself into his brain? Alia looked so small, engulfed in the pillow and duvet tucked around her. Her arms were above it, an IV hooked into one. A bandage pocked out from beneath the end of her other sleeve. There was no colour to her skin, save the mottled bruising beneath the bandage.

‘Excuse me, Sir, you can’t –’

‘Do you know who I am?’ Freddy asked icily, trying to leash the emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

The nurse looked briefly cowed before their resolve took over once more. ‘No offence, I don’t care, Mr. Ashcroft. You can’t be here if you’re not family.’

‘He is.’ Gemima Underwood’s voice, however broken, had never been so welcome. It carved a deep well of anxiety in his chest, but the words meant more to him than he could bare.

For a moment, he wondered if the nurse was going to argue. But with a weary sigh he moved aside; went to tend to the other patients Freddy was certain shared the ward but he had no attention for. All he could focus on was Alia; her mother sat one side with Rufus a giant sentry behind her, and Carolyn who had never looked more dishevelled in all their years of friendship, sat on the other.

Freddy for once couldn’t get the words out for an explanation. All he could do was take sluggish steps towards Alia.

‘One day,’ Gemima whispered, ‘you three are going to explain to me what really happened. Marty said it was some pricks, and Zeph backed him up, but those two are the worst liars.’

Freddy cast a quick look at Carolyn. Tears stained her cheeks, and he wondered if she’d been there. If he’d been the only one absent all because his parents had chosen tonight to have a family meeting. Could he have prevented this if he’d been there?

‘I promise, we will,’ Freddy forced himself to vow. The simple words felt as though they had clawed their way up his throat.

‘C’mon,’ Rufus said gently, giving his wife’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘She’s got people with her. You need rest.’

Gemima looked like she might argue, but his word choice obviously registered and she gave the smallest of nods.

‘We’ll call,’ Carolyn vowed softly.

‘Thank you,’ Gemima said, standing slowly and pressing a kiss to Alia’s forehead. Her hand lingered in Alia’s hair briefly, before Rufus gently guided her away. His own eyes shone with concern as he blew a kiss towards Alia.

Freddy wanted to do something, to reassure them somehow that Alia would pull through, but fear stuck the words in his mouth. Instead, when he turned to Gemima, she paused to give him a crushing hug. Despite her smaller stature there was a strength in it that he always assumed came with a mothers’ affection, even if he’d never felt it from his own. It was a powerful magic all of its own, and for a moment he allowed himself to get lost in it.

Only a moment, before he untangled himself from her. ‘We’ll be here for her.’

Gemima shot him a watery smile as she affectionately patted his cheek. ‘I know you will be.’

#ocappreciation #Made By Me #Drabble #Magical Entrepreneur Story #Fred Ashcroft #Carolyn Grainger #Gemima Underwood #Rufus Underwood #Nurse Rupert Beaumont #Freddy Ashcroft #Rupert Beaumont