#strikes...a little bit too close to home to me and i simply think

[earthtooz]

hello!! still new to tumblr so I have to idea how long ago that post was but I saw your requests were open!! can you please please please please pretty please do something do something fluffy with rin from blue lock??? i need to cure my craving for this man and your fics are like a pond of water in the middle of the desert 🙏

say no more fam, i gotchu. and thank you anon 😫😫 you are so kind to me for praise i do not deserve, but ask and i shall deliver!

cw: fluff! food, swearing, bad writing, unrealistic scenario but like fuck that give me the fluff.

"the hell are you doing in my kitchen?"

itoshi rin turns around rather nonchalantly, seemingly unalarmed by the fact that you caught him in your kitchen, in your apartment, a place he wasn't supposed to be.

"i'm baking something," he replies simply, not even blinking once at your dumbfounded expression.

upon entering your house, you were ready for a relaxing thursday night so you could prepare to repeat the same day again. what you weren't ready for was the sight of foreign slacks- that clearly weren't yours, at the getabako by the genkan, and you see that your household slippers had also disappeared from their usual spot.

then you hear noises from the kitchen.

a little alarmed, you don't know whether to call the police or not, then, before your concerns could be answered, you see itoshi rin's familiar face peak out from the kitchen.

what the fuck. why was he wearing your slippers?

"oh, welcome home y/n," he says very casually before disappearing again.

what the fuck?

now that you've returned to your senses just a little and finally registered the intruder-slash-athlete in your kitchen, you walk up to stand beside him, peering down at his work.

"what are you making?" you ask.

"jam sugar cookies."

"that sounds good."

he's already formed a dough at this point, kneading it on a floured surface with quite a bit of skill.

noting his talent in the craft of baking, you can't help but wonder why he decided to do it in your kitchen.

"y'know when i gave you my spare key, it was for emergency purposes and because i trust you not to do dumb shit, unlike everyone else on the team," you point out with a sigh.

the dark-haired only shrugs, now breaking the dough into smaller balls.

"why my kitchen?"

"i don't know, i wanted to spend time with you. i thought you would be back from work since practice ended ages ago."

you ignore the butterflies in your stomach. "couldn't have done that over coffee? and i was working overtime today."

once again, he doesn't answer. itoshi rin is a great conversationalist, what a riveting exchange you're having right now.

you don't see the way his face flushes from his shyness, embarrassed to be caught in this situation.

"can i at least help?"

"sure," agrees rin, moving away. "break the dough into 12 even sized pieces."

you oblige as he goes over to wash his hands, swiftly cleaning up the mess around you whilst you work in silence, pretending like your heart wasn't racing because the itoshi rin was in your apartment with you, alone. the effect a man could have on you was unnerving.

"i think i'm done," you finally announce and the soccer player looks over your shoulder with a satisfied hum, a noise that you can feel in your upper spine. why was he standing so close? you can practically feel him hovering behind you.

"i can take over from here," he says.

"you sure?"

"yeah- actually, i made a pot of fresh strawberry jam on the stove, can you bring it here?"

he made jam? is there another man more perfect than him?

listening to his instructions, you carefully set the now-cooled pot on the marble counter. "i didn't strike you as a baker," you mutter, going over to the sink to wash your hands.

"it's fun. i like it."

"you like sweets?"

"i don't mind them. my favourite are ones that aren't too sweet, but i indulge in sugary ones too."

you hum in acknowledgement, watching him for a few moments longer before the urge to change into more comfortable clothes appears again like an itch you can't scratch. "you sure you don't need my help? i need to go take a shower."

"go."

"wow, okay. i know where i'm not needed."

he doesn't say anything in response, not that you were expecting him to when you made your way out of the kitchen.

twenty minutes and a refreshing shower later, you emerge feeling a lot cleaner and rejuvenated. rin was still in the kitchen, now on his phone as he leans against the counter, waiting for the cookies to bake. when he notices you, he puts his device away and greets you properly.

"would you like to stay for dinner?" you ask, ignoring the way his eyes dip to your exposed collarbones and how the water from your shower drips down them.

if you paid too much attention to it you might explode.

"it won't be a bother right?" he asks, meeting your gaze once more. when you shake your head, he agrees. "then what's for dinner?"

"i was planning on katsu curry, that okay?"

"more than."

thank goodness you bought fresh vegetables yesterday. "how are the cookies?"

"good. they're almost done."

"can i try some after?"

"no."

the audacity. he uses your kitchen and won't spare you any? what ever happened to taxes?

whilst you're cutting the potatoes and carrots, the oven timer calls out to let you know that the cookies are finished. rin swiftly takes them out, hums in approval and lets the batch chill.

you ask him if he can prepare the rice and other ingredients whilst you prepare the pot and the sauce. it's a perfect dance of teamwork, and despite your kitchen being not the biggest, you and rin work perfectly together. sometimes in silence, sometimes speaking about mundane things that don't truly matter.

the domesticity of it all makes you sick, and of course, increases your unescapable yearning for rin. you're so infatuated with him it's annoying.

once dinner is plated, you both eat in the comfort of your kitchen bench, under the warm lighting of your home.

you didn't think you'd be ending your day like this but the complaints die in your mind before they can even be manifested. chatter is exchanged as if you don't see each other during the day, and even when both your bowls are scraped empty, neither make the move to clean up and break out of this little, precious bubble you've created.

the sun has fully set now. rin should be going back home instead of answering some 'would you rather' question you suddenly created, and although you ridicule him for his choice, the best he cracks is a small smile in amusement.

when you first met itoshi rin on your first day on the job, you didn't think you'd get along with him as well as the rest of the team but, you were proven wrong very quickly. on team dinners, nights out, coffee runs, rin always joined them despite having seeming like the most antisocial man ever, and it just became easy to spend time with him.

from then on marked your downfall.

chats in your office became a regularity, his tendency to stay late for extra practice and your tendency to stay late to finish outstanding work made you both excellent commute partners, and his punctuality and assertiveness made him an excellent team captain to rely on.

somewhere between the carpools, mundane conversations on green fields, and water filler station visits, you fell for him.

you just hope rin will let you down easily.

when the clock strikes 10:30 and you let out your first yawn, rin takes it as his sign to leave. productive in cleaning up and wishing you a goodnights rest, he's gone with a soft smile and an even softer gaze.

as your front door shuts, you feel a little empty at the silence that follows his absence.

the next morning when you arrive at work, there's a little more pep in your step due to the delightful night before. when you walk into your office after greeting the members of the team who were already there, you stop short at the sight of something unfamiliar on top of your desk.

rounding the table, your heart skips a beat in a nauseating combination of nervousness, yearning, and flattery.

a box of sugar cookies with jam pressed in the shape of a heart, sit pretty on your desk; next to a note.

go on a date with me? ─ itoshi rin

#SO ooc for rin BUT IDGAF #rin being a baker kind of makes sense. he's like... a virgo... earth signs find comfort in food + he'd be into the perfectionism of it #itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock fluff #itoshi rin x you #rin x you #rin itoshi x you #blue lock rin #itoshi x reader #blue lock itoshi rin #rin fluff #itoshi rin drabble

[heartfullofleeches]

Masochistic Male Yandere x Gn Sadistic Reader

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: violence, NSFW themes but no outright smut, gun play, dumbifcation mdni 18+

Sweet, kind Y/n. A pleasant neighbor, and friendly cashier at your local convenient store. No matter the weather, you greeted the day, and those you met during with a bright smile. With your cute and welcoming demeanor, it was no surprise that a few people had their eyes on you. Unfortunately for them, you already had a lovely partner you had no plans of leaving anytime soon. High-school sweethearts still going strong years after. Your boyfriend had a bit of a protective streak, but it never went too far. Such a shame that some people didn’t know when to give up the chase. 

After a long day at work, your shift had finally close to come to an end. The only people left in the store were you, your manager, and the recent hire – Marcus. From day one it was obvious he was a bit of a flirt. He warmed up to you quite well and talked your ear off whenever he got the chance. You paid no mind to his charms and even took part in the occasional chat with him; discovering you were practically neighbors in the process.

“Hey, Y/n. Doing anything after work?”

You were finishing up a transaction when Marcus tossed the question into the air. Eyes ahead as you hand the customer their receipt; you then turn to face him.

“Hmm. Dunno. Probably just gonna head home. What about you?”

“Most likely the same. I just wish these people would hurry up so we could get out of here.”

Though he mentions plural, Marcus only speaks of one person in question. Some guy that had been browsing the back shelves for while, repeating the same route for what had to be an hour by now. He gave Marcus the creeps. He was certain he had caught the guy staring at him a few times, but he didn’t want to alarm you or dampen his chances by seeming spooked himself. 

“It won’t be that much longer. I’m sure we can power through it.”

“Yeah…” He shifts around, suddenly feeling antsy. “I, uh, heard you mention you weren’t getting a ride home today? Is it cool if we walk to the bus stop together today?” 

“Of course! We’d have to walk the same way, regardless.”

A chip stand falls over at the back of the store. The guilty party immediately picks it and the discarded bags up, neither of you paying much mind after that.

“Cool….”

-

Your shift ends and you both ready to leave. Marcus goes to tell the guy off, but by then he had finally left. For some reason, he feels more relieved than he should have. You wait at the exit for him, waving him over as he heads in your direction. 

The bus station was a little ways down the street after crossing north. You both walk in silence until you reach the crosswalk; Marcus decides to strike up conversation as you wait for the light to change.

“So, how was your day?” 

“I’m pretty sure our day was fairly similar..” You chuckle as Marcus stammers out a response. “I well-.”

“I’m kidding. It was alright. Yours?

“Can’t complain.. That creepy guy in the back still has me a bit spooked though.” His face becomes slightly flushed. “ Part of the reason I wanted to walk with you.”

The signal changes, yet your feet hang on the edge of the sidewalk. 

“Creepy guy?” 

“Oh, uh, well there was this guy hanging around in the store for like an hour. I’m surprised you didn’t see him.”

Marcus swallows hard, regretting bringing that up. What a way to kill the mood. As if the statement meant nothing, you simply smile at him. 

“Must’ve been too busy with sales.”

You cross the street and continue towards the bus stop, retaining conversation through the entire way. Marcus purposely slows his steps to get as much information from you as he could. He lingers an inch to close for comfort for most, but you don’t seem to notice or care.

“Are there any restaurants nearby that you’d recommend, Y/n?” 

“Oh, yes, a ton. I can make a list for you if you want.”

“Actually, I was thinking that maybe we could-"

He pauses; eyes ahead as a shiver runs up his spine. You had finally reached the bus stop, the only landmark for the rest of the road. Every seat was empty, yet that wasn’t where Marcus’ gaze lied. Standing by the bus signal was a hooded individual; breathed deep and clouding the night air. Marcus recognizes him from his hoodie, and the look in his eyes. 

He takes one step back, and another; unsure on what to do. You, on the other hand, continue ahead, practically skipping your way over to the station. The stranger’s attention shifts to you, relaxing slightly as you draw near. Marcus reaches out to you as you pass.

“Hey, wait that’s…”

“Sammy!”

What-

Standing arm’s distance from your boyfriend, you hold your arms out to him with a grin. A head taller than you, he ducks forward as he dives into your arms; hands tight around your back. You bring your voice to a hush as you place your forehead against his, cupping his cheeks as your noses brush together. 

“Were you waiting here for me? Such a good boy.” 

Sammy’s lips pull into a smile of his own. His cheeks become dusted in crimson; a moment ruined by the footsteps behind you.

“Oh!” You turn to face Marcus, arm now at Sammy’s side. “Sammy, this is Marcus, my coworker. Marcus, this is Sam.”

Marcus had heard mentions of your partner in passing, but he chose to believe otherwise – probably for his own selfish reasons. Looking at him, he wondered what you saw in him. The guy was basically attached to your hip; protective arm over your shoulder. Wedging his body slightly between you and Marcus. He looked more like a guard dog than a regular person. Keeping face, Marcus waves.

“Hey.” 

Sam didn’t respond. And he didn’t plan to, till he felt your nails rake the skin of his torso.

“C'mon, Sam. It isn’t nice to ignore our neighbors.”

“Hi..” 

“Thank you. Now, may I ask what you’re doing here?”

“I got worried when you didn’t call me after you left, so I came to pick you up.”

A bold face lied, but one you allow anyway. 

“How sweet of you! I guess we should get going then. Bye, Marcus, see you Monday.”

And with that, you leave Marcus there alone. Despite seeing your partner in person, his pride refuses to let his heart stop beating for you.

-

Days passed and you returned to work on Monday, just like you said. You wore long sleeves, despite the heatwave over the store. Mop in hand, you clean up a spill from a broken bottle as Marcus hovers beside you.

“Did you get all the glass up?”

Your question catches him off guard. “Hm? Oh, yeah.”

“Everything ok?”

“Yea.. Just wondering.. Are things with your boyfriend okay?”

You stop mopping. “Of course they are. Why do you ask?”

“He just seems.. kinda off.”

You look towards the ground. “Sammy has his… moments, but I assure you everything is perfect fine. He’s a good boy.”

You go to put the mop up and continue with your shift. At the end of the day, Sam comes to pick you up yet again. Marcus notices dark marks on your wrists as you lift your arms to pull him into another hug.

-

“Dude, I’m telling you. Guy’s a total freak.”

With you having gone out for lunch that day, the only two people in the building were Marcus and another coworker of yours who had been there far longer. They hung outside by the trash cans while the latter smoked. 

“I mean, sure he’s a bit off, but they seem to be happy together so what’s the issue?”

“The issue is something has to be up. Y/n is way too soft for that guy. I’d be a much better fit for them.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Marcus pulls a piece of paper from his pocket with a smirk. “We’re having a little get-together at some coffee shop this weekend. I plan to butter them up a little, then bring them back to my place for a deeper ‘chat’.”

“You’re such a sleezeball.”

Sam felt sick. He wants to tear Marcus limb from limb that very second. You were his. His. And he was yours. Everyone knew that. They had to.

-

Marcus hums to himself as he climbs the stairs to his apartment door. He swings his keyring around one finger, happy as can be. He begins sorting through his keys as he reaches the door, spirits high as ever. Just a day away from his outing with you and you alone. How could his day get any better?

“Unlock the door and step inside. Do not turn around.”

The voice comes from nowhere. Marcus feels something pressing against his spine, before he can register the shadow behind him. 

“H-hey I don’t.”

The foreign object twists into his clothes. “Do what I say.”

He does as told, each step matched equally by the person behind him. The door slams shut with the click of its lock, Marcus hesitantly turning to look at the intruder. He’s met with a gun pointed directly at his temple, gloved finger on the trigger. 

“Did I say you could turn around?”

Marcus immediately turns to cowering. “Please don’t hurt me! You can have whatever you want.”

The intruder clicks his tongue. How did this coward think he could be a match for you when he caved so easily? He grabs Marcus by the shirt, lifting him up off the ground.

“There’s no way you’d be able to handle them..” He mutters, moreso to himself. 

“Huh?..”

“They have needs you could never satisfy.”

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

“Shut up. You’re going to do one thing for me, then I might let you live.”

“Anything. Please-" “Call them.”

“W-what?”

“Call. Y/n.”

Marcus searches his pockets for his phone, and the 

“Hello?”

“H-hey, Y/n.”

“Marcus? Is that you? Hey, what’s up?”

The intruder kneels, wrapping his arm around Marcus’ neck while his other hand keeps the gun to his temple. 

“Tell them you can’t hang out with them this weekend.. or ever, for that matter.”

“I..  just wanted to tell you, I don’t think I can hang out with you this weekend.”

“Hm? And why’s that?”

“Because.. Because..”

“The grip around his throat tightens. The intruder's voice remains hostile – though an undertone of weakness creeps into his words. “Because you’re a maggot trying to steal my place.”

Marcus breaks down sobbing. 

“Oh, I see. I’ll deal with you later.”

You hang up. The intruder seems to shudder at your final words, pushing Marcus onto the floor and fleeing from his home. 

-

Sam can feel the difference in the air as you climb in the passenger seat. 

“Is there something wrong, Y/n?”

You fold your arms over your chest. “My coworker has been avoiding me lately. He quit today.”

Sam tries his best to keep the corner of his lips from curling up. “Really? I’m so sorry to hear that.”

You lean against his shoulder, looking up at him as you hold his arm. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it… would you?”

Your grip tightens ever so slightly. His heartbeat soars. 

“No… Of course not.” 

You stare at him in silence before another smile breaks across your face. “Okay! I’m so glad to hear that, because I have a surprise for you! You’ll get it tomorrow night.”

-

The oncoming night and next day are spent in anticipation for Sam. You kept your lips tight the entire morning; soaking up the want in his eyes. He wanted to pry for information, but knew of the punishments that would come with such questions. He nearly bit his tongue in two to keep from actively trying to reach those repercussions. 

“Sammy?”

Your voice comes from the bedroom. He bolts to the door like a flash. You sit on the edge of the bed, an innocent smile on your face as you beckon him to you. He towers over you from the position, but remains submissive and eager for your command.

“Are you ready for your surprise?”

He nods. Your smile grows.

“Hands.”

He places his hands in yours. Cold metal bites at his wrists. His head spins as you allow his now cuffed hands to fall into his lap. 

“Close your eyes.”

He does as told. He feels your hands around his neck, against the leather of the collar you bought him on your third anniversary. Hickies and the marking of fingers bruise his flesh. He lends into your touch as you massage the area. You had to calm him down ad nauseam that night when he saw the bruises he left on your skin, though he was the one that almost fainted. Excitement hits hard as you tilt his head up. Parting was such sweet sorrow, but the thought of a new collar had him ecstatic. 

“You know I love you, right?”

He hums in agreement. 

“Right?”

“Yes…” He breathes.

“And I’d do anything for you?”

“Yes, Y/n… I’d do anything for you, too. I love you so much.”

“Stick out your tongue then.” Sam opens his mouth, saliva coating your fingertips as you press your index and middle digit against his tongue. It pools past his lips as you push them further into his mouth. He does his best not to gag, sucking gently on your fingers. 

“Ready for your surprise?”

“M…mhm.”

He whines softly as you remove your fingers; shifting around on the bed as you grab something from beneath a pillow. Sam's mouth hangs open all the while, even as you place the item past his lips. Slender, metallic; invading his mouth as you grip his hair. It’s only when the muzzle touches his tongue that he recognizes what you had in hand. His eyes shoot open.

“Surprise!”

He stares barrel end at the hand gun you held; smiling sweetly as ever as you hold him in place. He barely gives any resistance, eyes watering as it hits the back of his tongue. A rush of shame washes over him as a low moan leaves his lips, overpowered by the ecstasy he feels as you giggle.

“I found this little thing in your car the night after Marcus called. Isn’t that the funniest coincidence?”

Sam pants heavily, drool running down the gun as you push and pull it from his mouth. “A..ah”

“I was kinda sad when he canceled, y'know. Thought I made a new friend.’

Sam's head spins. Any sane person would not have let something like this play out, but he was far from it. Drunk on the power of his love for you. The pleasure of your usual gentle hand tugging at his scalp.

“H-had to.” He chokes out. “Tried to stheal you frum me.” 

You giggle. “What are you talking about, silly? I was gonna let him down easy, and if he didn’t take that I would’ve ghosted him. I was never gonna leave you, you’re just making yourself jealous for no reason.”

Maybe what you were saying was true. Stalking you, watching your every moment often led to more jealous seeping through the cracks. You were too perfect for him. For anyone. He willingly let jealousy and obsession take over for moments like this. Where you reminded him your love was forever mutual in the only way it’d stick.

“Sorry. ‘M so sorry, Y/n. Forgive me.”

“I dunno.. I love you, but you might be too much of a liability.”

“Ple..ase, Y/n. Never will happen again.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can keep you around.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, just as you squeeze the trigger of the gun. The pain of rejection hurts more than that of whatever was to come. Still, in his final moments he can’t help, but love you even more. Nothing was greater to him than a death at your hands, but instead of everything fading to black, there’s a single, dry click!

He opens his eyes, laughter erupting from your chest as your cruel joke.

You lean forward and kiss his temple. “Of course I forgive you, Sammy. I love you! I’m just doing this so you learn your lesson.”

In that moment his affection for you practically busted from the seams.  He breaks out into giggles of his own. “Hehe… I love you, Y/n.. Love you. I love you. Hah.. Mine.. Don’t leave me. Hurt me more, break me.”

“Looks like you’re starting to learn.. Do you want to get taken from me?”

“Nuh-uh.. Luv you.. Wanna stay with you, forever~”

“Then you can’t go and do things like that with my permission. You’re lucky Marcus’ too much of a coward to go to the police.”

He holds onto your leg with all his strength. “Won’t do it again. Promise. Hah… Love you so much, Y/n.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” You thrust the gun down his throat one final time; your grip on his head making it ache yet magnifying the pleasure coursing through his veins. You remove the barrel from his mouth and place the gun on the nightstand. His hands slack, body numb and jaw sore. You help him up onto the bed and into your arms, nuzzle against your own racing heartbeat. 

You wipe a trail of droll from his lips and connect yours to his, squeezing a breath from his throat as you hold him close. His head space clears as you caress his aching body. comfort washing over knowing he was yours eternally.

#yandere male #male yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere story #tw yandere #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere works #yandere writing #yandere scenario #reader insert #x reader #yandere requests #request #tw: gun mention #tw: gun play

[leggerefiore]

Of Wishes and the Sun

cw: Volo is being a homewrecker and manipulative, long, established relationship with Cyrus, a little angsty at points, endings are WIP,

pairings: Cyrus/Reader, Volo/Reader

summary: You meet a strange man who claims that you look like someone he knows. His words strike too close to home after a conversation. Madness follows this meeting.

~

You felt lost in thought as you entered the temporary Galactic hideout on Pasio. That was a strange fellow that you had encountered… A claim that you looked like someone he knew remained in your mind. His words were spoken with confidence and clear knowledge. It was almost a bit too loud, as well, but he was certainly a character. The way his hand rested a hand on your shoulder and the expression in his eyes when he thought that you were not looking simply baffled you. You almost swore that he seemed infatuated.

But, what had stricken you to your core was his words…

“And what tickled my curiosity more strongly than anything were the mysteries to be found in legends, in history, in ruins. You see, I fancied that by unravelling these mysteries, I could find out how the world itself came to be… and with that knowledge, maybe even forge a new, better world!”

He smiled when he said those words, but when paired with his mentions of facing things unfair or painful. You felt a strange sense of familiarity with the language in your heart. Not one paired with a smile. One paired with adoring people in uniforms watching a single man give an emboldened speech.

“Because we are all so lacking, we fight, we maim… It is ugly. I hate the incompleteness. That we are all incomplete, I hate it with my entire body and being. The world should be complete. The world must change.”

You entered the deepest part of the hideout to see a familiar face. The blue-haired man typed away on his computer with little thought, likely thinking of ways to either accomplish his original goals or alternatives that would give the same result. Completeness. What did that even mean? You had tried to understand his ramblings many times, but you failed to grasp the concept entirely. Your understanding was his hatred of pain and dislike of aggression. He wanted to create a world where such things could not exist, but his blame laid solely upon spirit. Emotions were the issue to him. That blond man's scapegoat had yet to be understood by you.

Cyrus gazed up when you came to stand by his side. His expression clearly spoke the words he would have said. “… Can we talk?” You managed to get out finally. Nervousness had suddenly consumed your mind at the thought of telling him about that merchant. You needed to, however. Something in your mind told you that it was far from the last time you would see him. Cyrus wordlessly closed out of whatever he had been doing and nodded. You let out a shaky breath. Where to start with this?

You unconsciously reached out to grab one of his hands and squeeze it in your own. It was warm. Soft. Alive. “… A guy said I looked like someone he knew and then started a long conversation with me today,” you began, trying to think of how to lead into his words. The Galactic Boss's hand tightened its grip on your own. His expression shifted slightly.

“Are you attempting to make me 'jealous'?” he questioned, clearly unsure as to why you were telling him this. You shook your head. No, and that felt almost impossible at the best of times. Clearing your head, you debated how best to explain the odd feeling that the man had given you to Cyrus. There was a genuine worry in your mind that he may simply dismiss them as nothing more than pointless conjecture.

“No, nothing like that,” you pulled your hand away from his and took in a breath, “He just said something that made me think of you…” His expression shifted from the usual sternness it held. Perhaps he would be more inclined to hear you out now. “Something he said… Learning through history to create a new world…” You mumbled as you struggled to recall his exact wording. The rambling conversation felt mildly out of place. A heavy familiarity came from him. It was as if he knew you, despite it seeming impossible. The only person you thought even partially came to mind when you considered his appearance was Cynthia.

“… Did he, now?” Cyrus's gaze met your own with an oddly harsh look, “And he approached you specifically, stating that you were familiar?” A nod was your reply to the question. Something sceptical came across his face as his eyes closed. “He could be attempting to gain Palkia for his goals then, should that be his intention…” his hand fell onto a Master Ball on his desk. “You are likely somehow a part of his plan, whatever that may be. Please be on more alert.” His eyes closed. You wanted to be upset by his accusation, but that did seem logical. A plan to make a new world… That was also Cyrus's own, was it not? Who better to understand that mentality than him?

Though… You still were not convinced that was it. Something about Volo was different from Cyrus. Besides, why would he tell you about his plans when you so easily could tell people? No… You doubted that his intentions included taking Palkia. Swallowing, you felt something twist in your stomach. All of this felt much larger than you. It was almost the exact same feeling as when you had learnt of Cyrus's plans. Your hand clenched. There was not a chance that you were going to let that happen again.

“… Are you still focusing on completing spirit?” you decided to check something before you fully dedicated yourself to it. He nodded before finally returning to whatever he had been doing before you came in. You gave a quiet parting and headed back out of the hideout.

For a moment, you swore Cyrus seemed to wear a concerned gaze.

~

It had been harder to encounter Volo than you had originally thought. Pasio was large. Forests, mountains, deserts, caves — You swore that you had wandered through nearly every sight the island had to offer before you finally ended up in the ruins after a few days of fruitless searching. Sitting down on some debris, you began to debate why you were doing all this. It was a one-off comment by a complete stranger. Why did it make you more stressed than when your boyfriend had done the same thing and kept it from you? Maybe it was because Cyrus said things that simply did not align with your memories. His inability to recall the Distortion World was the oddest of them all. It had been the last place you had seen him until recently, after all.

It almost seemed as if he came from right before his actions on Spear Pillar. Hoopa did pull people from all over, but none of them had stricken you as stranger than him. Still, he recognised you. His words to you were the same as they had always been, while he clearly knew you as a lover. It hurt sometimes. The pain you felt after he refused to leave that impossible dimension. How he tossed away everything for a horrible solution to his problems. You sniffled a bit as tears burned your eyes. There was not a chance that you would allow something similar to happen again.

“My, don't you look glum?” a familiar voice called out to you, disrupting your train of thoughts. Volo appeared to have come right out of nowhere as he stood before you. A small, friendly smile was on his face. “Did something happen? Relationship troubles?” His questions were much too accurate. Not exactly troubles in the fighting sense, but something more complicated. Something that you were not entirely sure that you were ready to confront. You shook your head. It seemed that he remembered your reply about being in a relationship from your first meeting, however.

“… I was thinking about some things,” you simply told him, “I was looking for you, actually.” The blond appeared to perk up at your words. His smile grew wider, and his eyes closed. Seeing him again, his odd similarities to Cynthia only appeared more obvious. Was he a relative? It did not seem out of the realm of possibility. You offered a seat on the pillar under you. His heavy backpack was slipped off his shoulders as he joined you.

“Me?” he asked, “Ah, did you need to buy something?” You shook your head. There were more than enough stores on Pasio if you truly desired anything. “Then, how may I be at your service?” His grey eye met yours carefully. Something seemed to be brewing behind them. You wished that you could have a peek into his mind.

“… What did you mean by a new world?” pleasantries could be skipped, as you needed answers to calm your distraught mind. Volo was taken aback by your bold question. He blinked once or twice as he clearly debated it in his own head. You wondered if he was going to answer your question, truly.

“I meant a new world that is better than this one,” he replied, voice lower than before — quieter in volume. Your stomach twisted at his words. “… You seem distressed. Why is that?” His hand came to rest on his chin. You bit your tongue. How did you respond to that? A new, better world… Cyrus thought he was doing the same, but even Saturn was disillusioned with Cyrus's plans after learning what this supposed world would entail. You feared what Volo's ideals would be. Could it truly be any worse than a world without spirit?

“How would it be better?” you replied slowly, afraid to make him run off. Volo hummed to himself. His smile felt different when it spread across his face.

“Before I answer,” his hand grasped your shoulder firmly, “May I ask for why you seem so intrigued?” You froze. Replying truthfully to that would certainly make him leave. There was no way he would stay if you stated your intentions to sway him from that path. You averted your gaze to the dirt. Volo took note. “… You truly did not change,” his hand suddenly cupped your face as he seemed to force your attention back onto him, “Do you want the truth about your lover?”

You froze. He gave a chuckle. How could he have possibly known that? You had not mentioned anything about Cyrus to him outside of claiming to be in a relationship. His name had not even been said in that conversation, yet… His confidence in his words was undeniable. “… You suspect the truth already, do you not? That he is not the same man you loved.” You moved away from him in a panic. Shaking your head, you attempted to deny his words. That was impossible. Cyrus's oddities had to hold some other reason. Maybe he hit his in the Distortion World before Hoopa pulled him here, and that was why he was missing a gap in his memories.

“Ah, see?” Volo's tone became sympathetic, “This world is cruel.”

“You… You can't be sure!” you tried to argue back, terrified at how much sense his explanation made. Cyrus truly did seem frozen right as he summoned the legendary pokemon of Sinnoh... But, you wanted so desperately to believe that it was something else. You loved him all the same. It had to be him. Volo's expression became something soft.

“I am certain,” he sighed, “I would not lie to you. That 'Hoopa' has pulled quite a few people here from other worlds. It is simply unfortunate that Cyrus was one of them.” You felt completely tormented. Volo had so easily pressed your buttons. “… If it is any comfort, I am not of the time period, myself,” he offered. You took another look at him. Well, that should have been more obvious to you. Especially when he tried to offer you a pokeball made of an apricorn. “Will you be alright?”

You nodded as you forced your racing thoughts down. Okay. Fine. The Cyrus here on Pasio was not the same one as the one that you knew. But, it seemed that everyone else, including his own commanders, had accepted him just the same. He had never rejected you, either. Even if he was aware that he was in an alternate world, it seemed that his feelings for you remained no matter what. You could accept that. If anything, seeing how this one could have his perspective shifted from his decision to make a new world to completing spirit reinvigorated you. Your Cyrus could still be saved. You believed that truly.

“What time period are you from then?” you decided to ask. Anything to steer the topic away from something so sensitive. Volo thought on it for a moment.

“The… industrial period, I suppose, is what you modernly call it,” he responded, “Well, industrialisation had barely come to Hisui, but it was happening elsewhere.” You blinked. Hisui? That was… before it had even been given its modern name of Sinnoh. It was a bit startling how well he was able to conceal something like that. Suddenly, it was more obvious that Volo was capable of keeping many things close to his chest. Cyrus's warning to be more on alert likely should have been heeded. You decided to keep going, however.

After all, Volo seemed more than happy to answer any questions related to his time period.

~

The trek back to the hideout after your second conversation with Volo felt much less urgent. You had learnt many common historical information. Well, at least in relation to the Galaxy Team. The emblem for the organisation had been a bit startling, but you did recall that Cyrus's family had connections leading back to the original founding of Jubilife. Everything else about the Diamond Clan and Pearl Clan was interesting, but not exactly the most relevant. When asking about where Volo himself originated from, he simply said that he had always been in Hisui. You debated asking Cynthia about her family's origin the next time you saw her.

The mood was oddly tense as you entered the Galactic hideout. Grunts seemed to try to avoid you while Mars shot you a glare when you had passed her. It was far too easy to just assume that something had happened with an experiment and move along to Cyrus's office area. The boss himself was waiting for you as you opened the door. His arms here crossed, and he glared harshly. You shut the door.

“Where have you been?” he questioned with a serious tone. You were taken aback for a moment, not used to this sort of behaviour from Cyrus. Especially in relation to where you had gone out to. Usually, he preferred if you left since he often said that you distracted him unintentionally.

“I was exploring Pasio,” you replied, “I wanted to see more of the island.” His remarks about it being astonishing that the region was man-made… You hoped that it would sway whatever bad mood he was into something more manageable. Truthfully, you were not too attuned to handling his anger, but rather, his sadness. He seemed unmoved, however.

“I am aware that you were,” he replied, “… But for what reason? I asked you to be more careful.” Annoyance pounded at your brain. Why was he suddenly pretending to be so worried about you when he had rarely cared previously? “… You met with that man again,” he suddenly said, “I had a grunt trail you as a precautionary measure. The idea of you being used against me was one I would rather not face.”

First, offence ate at your heart that he had someone following you around Pasio, but you supposed it was not that irrational if he thought you were actually in danger. Though, you much would have preferred that he simply speak with you normally, but Cyrus was himself even if it was not your Cyrus. You sighed. Should you really even bother with any of this? The man you loved was still away in that far-off dimension and clearly did not care enough about you to return. The one in front of you would probably do the same thing eventually. What was the point of all this? It all felt useless. Completely useless.

“… Would you really care that much?” the words left you with little thought about the effect they might have. Cyrus tensed up. His eyes narrowed on you. “You are not the Cyrus of this world. You know that, right?” He went quiet and still. Tension was almost palpable in the air as you two sat in a wordless staring contest, wondering who would break it first. He seemed genuinely frozen by your words.

Cyrus walked around the desk to sit down in his chair. His elbows rested on the metallic surface as he seemed to let out something inside him. “Correct,” eventually, he broke the silence, “I am not. I was forced here by that Hoopa pokemon for some unknown reason.” You felt mortified that he had been aware this whole time. Something inside you wanted to curl up and die. Why had he not said anything prior? You felt hurt that it took an outsider to you both finally to force this conversation. Silence permeated again as you debated what to say. Words felt pointless at this point.

You sat in one of the chairs in the room and found yourself lost in thought. Your relationship with Cyrus was deeply important to you. There was not anything that you would not have done to get him back. Yet, when you finally did, it was not exactly him. When you left Pasio, he would likely not follow. It was a matter of how long until he was returned back to the world that he was pulled from. Placing your face in your hands, you could only debate the situation more and more. It felt like a cruel and twisted form of torture.

“… Beloved,” the endearment felt strange to hear after having gone so long without it, “I may not be the Cyrus of this world, but I do genuinely care for you.” He had moved over to you while you were lost in your own head. A hand moved to brush a few stray strands of hair out of your face. “This Volo... I have struggled to find information on him. The only remarkable thing about his is his resemblance to the Sinnohan champion…” his thumb stroked your cheek, “His intentions are unknown. Please, be careful.”

You nodded. His words… You desperately wanted to find comfort in them, but it felt as if you only would have him for so long. The idea of losing him for a second time felt like you had been burned by a Houndoom.

~

The following days were a mess.

Time moved slowly and quickly. Nothing seemed to make sense. Cyrus went back to his work but was making a noticeable effort to spend more time with you. It was nice; something that you had wanted, but… You felt terrified to get too close to him again. So, you took to trying to find a certain champion and speak to about your feelings. She had, after all, been there for you after everything. It was her kindness that gave you some small comfort in this mad world. The task should have been easy, yet it somehow proved impossible. With so many trainers around, you expected to hear something about her location. There had been nothing.

You sat at a café's veranda while thinking more. No one else was bothered by Cyrus being of an alternate world. Cynthia had been trying to aid him as if he were the one of your world all the same. Dawn and Lucas followed behind just the same. The Galactic commanders were unbothered, too. Why could you not be the same? He loved you. The words would rarely leave his mouth, but his ability to tolerate you being around during his vulnerable states remained all the same. But… Losing him. It would happen eventually. Lear would order the legendary to return those displaced, certainly. You hated the idea of that time coming.

The sound of a chair being pulled back took you out of your thoughts. A familiar face had taken a seat across from you. It was not the blonde that you had been looking for, certainly. Volo smiled at you playfully. His Togepi was out, too, sitting in his lap happily. Her gentle expression almost soothed your stressed mind. You sighed. Where had he come from this time?

“Stressed again?” he asked, “Let me help you! Togepi is great at calming people.” For some reason, you felt that there was more than just that to his actions. Still, you did feel a bit better. Apparently, the pokedex entries about it having a calming effect were true.

“So… If you're from the past,” you decided to ask something, “And you claimed that I looked like someone you knew… Was that my ancestor?” It made the most logical sense, you supposed. Who really knew? It could have been a completely disconnected person who just so happened to look like you. Volo shook his head.

“Ah… Not at all,” he explained with no details. It was frustrating. Had he used that simply as an opener to speak with you? Volo did not appear to be the flirty type, so you felt unsure. The words almost felt purposeful. Those two clan leaders had mistaken the Galactic commanders for people of the past, too, but you felt more inclined to believe that they had been ancestors. Volo himself was likely Cynthia's own… Which was an odd thought. Though, in the case he was… Perhaps he could help you with your complicated feelings.

“Hey, Volo,” you called out to him. His attention shifted entirely onto you from the nearby walking street. Passers-by were all over. Pasio was truly full of people. “… Can I ask you about something?” His expression was nothing but genuine cheerfulness. You did feel a bit more at ease. Any concerns that you might have had otherwise about the blond seemed to vanish. “I… I don't know how to feel about Cyrus any more,” you plainly spoke, “He's not the one I knew… And I'm scared that I'll lose him again at any point.”

“Ah…” Volo appeared to think on it for a moment, grabbing his chin. It was quite an odd thing to say to someone who was still an acquaintance at best and concerning at worst. “Well, that is a very real concern, I think,” he nodded, “What do you want to do about it?” That question was the exact one you did not want to face. Your heart raced. What did you want to do? Leave Cyrus? What options were there? Your mood shift was noticeable to Volo, who reached a hand out to hold your own resting on the table. His hand was much larger than your own and covered with callouses. “… You must truly care for him.” There was something lurking just beneath those words that you just missed in your distress.

You nodded. Volo's hand tightened around your own. It brought you back to reality. “Why not spend awhile away from him? It might allow you to make your decision easier,” he offered. You felt a bit uncertain of doing that. Sure, you had your own hotel room on Pasio from when you had originally come here, but you had been staying in the Galactic hideout with Cyrus for a while. Your eyes went to his hand. But… You definitely needed to clear your head.

“Maybe, I'll give that a try,” you replied, “Thank you for listening, Volo.”

He only smiled again.

~

The smell of the ocean was both a nostalgic and haunting scent to the blue-haired man. Waves lapped against the artificial shores of Pasio. He stood watching them. Everything had been oddly chaotic in his personal life lately. Did it truly matter that his origin was not in this world? You had apparently thought so. It was beyond his understanding. Even if he could acknowledge that you were not the same version of yourself from his world, you were clearly still something similar enough. When or if he would even be able to return to his own was impossible to ascertain. Besides, his bond with you was more than enough.

Even during the events with Darkrai, his foolish feelings led to him keeping you by his side. An isolated world of darkness with you in his arms simply felt close enough to his idea of perfection that he was happy to remain like that. Your sudden avoidance of him had brought out more unwanted feelings. Had he upset you in some way? Nothing came to his mind when he forced himself to consider his actions. You had come suddenly a few days ago and packed your things. The only words you had said to him were something about needing a break. He attempted to speak, but you had gone before the chance had been given.

A sigh left him as he took a step closer to the ocean. The port city he had grown up in… How many times had he stood on a beach like this? It was difficult to recall alongside many things during that period of his life. His hand clenched. He would speak to you soon. It was desperately needed. Things simply could not carry on as they were. Working had become impossible as the days grew larger in number.

“Oh? You seem lost in thought,” a voice called out to him. He turned his head to see a blond man with a familiar style to someone else that he knew. Cyrus stiffened. This appeared to be the 'Volo' that he had heard so much about. Someone who shared his intentions of making a new world. Could he have finally come to try to claim Palkia as he had expected. His hand went for Darkrai's pokeball, fully aware that he should not take this strange man lightly. “… I was going to say that you looked lonely,” his tone turned to something mocking.

“And?” Cyrus replied, voice suppressing whatever feelings wish to reveal themselves, “Is that truly any of your business?” There was little interest in dealing with him for any longer than necessary. He had only stepped out to get some fresh air and clear his mind. It was now having the complete opposite effect on him.

“They are quite lovely, are they not?” Volo suddenly said, gazing out at the moon, “You certainly left them in a state, though. How cruel of you.” Cyrus's eyes grew wide. “They were effortless to win over to me,” his hands readjusted the heavy pack on his back, “Just as they are now, too. They will be perfect at my side in a perfect world.”

Stepping away from him, Cyrus felt his stomach twist. What had this man done? Did he cause you to end up in the state that you were? He swallowed. Something told him that engaging him here would end badly. Turning his head, he let out a shaky breath. The beach was abandoned as he began his walk back to the hideout. A message was quickly sent to Saturn to order grunts to keep an eye on the blond. Cyrus felt as if he had a true rival for once in his life.

~

Volo stood on the beach in silence. Cyrus… Well, he certainly had his ancestor's expression down. The Captain of the Survey Corps would surely be happy to see her bloodline was going well. The waves washed around his boots as he stared at the night sky in wonder. So much could change in the world, yet the sky remained exactly the same. He felt oddly smug. How easy it was to place a wedge in what was an otherwise normal relationship. The merchant usually would not bother interfering in such a way.

But… It was you. Well, a version of yourself that had yet to end up in Hisui, but you nonetheless. You were so easy to approach. Volo had been genuinely surprised when you had mentioned a boyfriend, however. In Hisui, you had said he simply had abandoned you, yet here he was on Pasio. A different version of himself. Just like you were a different version of the you that he knew. But, in the end, you were still the same. He had lost you in Hisui after you learnt of his goals and what happened with Rei. Here, however, you had no clue of anything. It was so easy to just speak with you. When you asked about his time period, it delighted him to explain it to you.

It felt far too easy to use the certainty and fear related to the apparent temporary nature of Pasio to cause conflict with you and Cyrus. You had listened to him, too. Volo wanted to sigh. Soon, he would force Arceus out and subjugate it. Then, you both could be together in his new world. Just as you should be.

Volo felt disgusted at the thought of Cyrus holding you as he did. The more intimate the mental images became; the more upset Volo grew. He truly loved you. That was why he had helped you in Hisui. You had been just like him. Rejected by all the groups around the region. All alone and left to the mercy of nature. How could he not want to show you kindness and help you? Your company made things more pleasant as he investigated ruins and artefacts.

Why had you been so upset when he explained his plans to you? That question had haunted him ever since you had run from in Hisui. Now, of course, he understood. Cyrus. He had attempted something similar, yet more foolishly. Only using Dialga and Palkia to remake the world… Arceus simply would not allow that. Volo knew better.

He turned away from the beach.

Well, it was time to go see you again.

#pokemon x reader #volo x reader #cyrus x reader #pokemon/reader #volo/reader #cyrus/reader #pokemon cyrus x reader #pokemon volo x reader

[pascaloverx]

As It Was

Chapter One

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Summary: "When your ex-husband shows up in the middle of the night, asking for your help, the right thing to do would be to leave him to fend for himself, wouldn't it?"

Our protagonist decides to embark on an adventure to clear her ex-husband's name as a scapegoat. Together with a small team, they will do whatever it takes to keep James Barnes away from prison and perhaps rekindle flames from the past."

Warnings: use of violence, future adult content and inappropriate language. Minors are advised not to read or engage with this story.

James Buchanan Barnes entered my life at an unexpected moment. We were at a party organized by my best friend Wanda. She and her girlfriend were celebrating their first home together, while I was celebrating a canceled date on top of another. My father, who was a military commander at the time, had arranged a meeting with his best friend's godson. This godson apparently was too busy for a tedious date with someone's daughter. I wasn't feeling very happy with myself when James approached to ask if I wanted some snacks. He was trying to be social since Sam had made a bet with him that involved someone buying beer for the other for a year. That night, James earned free beer for a year when he managed to hold a conversation with me for more than twenty minutes. It was easy to talk to someone who was just as uncomfortable as I was. I confess that the fact that James had a job similar to my father's made me insecure at the beginning of the relationship. But something about the way he stood out among the people at that barbecue made me want to know more about him. He seemed out of place even though he interacted with other people, in reality, he only interacted with Sam and Yelena throughout the night. There were people trying to approach him, striking up a conversation or touching his arm. He seemed so uncomfortable that I even wondered how someone who didn't seem to like crowds became friends with Sam Wilson. In fact, I was about to leave when James asked me if I wanted more hamburgers.

"Do you know that in Brazil, barbecue is not about hamburgers and sausages made on a grill but about meat?" I said, trying to be as random as possible to see if I could prolong our interaction. Ironically, Yelena challenged me to hold a conversation with any unknown person at the party for at least five minutes.

"Are you Brazilian or just a culturally curious person?" James asked, holding a tray with hamburgers. At that moment, I stopped to observe his face completely, his stubble and long hair gave him the aesthetic of a bad boy excluded from society. I thought to myself that if we were in high school, he would be the type of guy who would attract me.

"A little bit of both. My mother was Brazilian, and I simply got curious about what her life was like before I existed," I replied, grabbing one of the hamburgers from the tray. I moved away from James because I imagined he would offer hamburgers to other people, but he remained still.

"I've never been to Brazil, maybe one day I can have a real Brazilian barbecue and say which one is the tastiest."

"When I was little, my mom used to say it was one of the things she missed the most, so I believe you won't regret it." I remember James's smug smile when I distanced myself from him, thinking our conversation had ended. Honestly, in my defense, he seemed to want an excuse to get away from that barbecue.

"Do you usually leave people talking to themselves or do you just really not like me?" He spoke almost whispering close to my ear. His voice at that moment made my whole body shiver. Barnes typically used the power of his voice against me when he wanted to win an argument. It always worked.

"I thought after the cooking class you'd be eager to go home, maybe have a nice drink and do what a man like you does best on a Saturday night." I spoke shyly because, honestly, James Barnes had a gaze that would make anyone feel inappropriate for talking to him.

"Then come with me, accompany me while I do what a man does best on a Saturday night. I'm sure your company will only enhance any lurid thoughts that may be crossing your mind right now. Not to mention, you seem just as eager to stay here as I am." His words exuded confidence, and I stared at him, surprised by his sudden invitation.

"Do you have a habit of inviting any stranger to accompany you home, or am I the lucky one tonight?" I'm trying not to accept your invitation too quickly, perhaps it's my attempt to play hard to get or my inexperience with flirting.

"You're not a stranger. You're Wanda's best friend, who happens to be my best friend's girlfriend." He approaches as if he's analyzing me or trying to read my thoughts. I smile softly, thinking that Wanda must be watching this scene from afar, thinking that this will be the thousandth time she tries to set me up with someone and it might be the thousandth time I turn the guy down. I take a deep breath, counting to five mentally to make sure I respond to Barnes' invitation with confidence.

"You don't even know my name, yet you want my company tonight?" I say as we flirt with our eyes. It seems like we've entered into a mental competition to see who can flirt better.

"Naturally, for what I have in mind for the future of our minds, we'll have to exchange names, but that's just a minor detail. The most important thing is to know if I have your consent to turn this quiet night into one of the most memorable ones you've ever had." Officially, I'm in his hands for the night. There's no fighting it, even though I don't even know why I'm fighting against my instinct to go home with this handsome man with piercing blue eyes.

"My name is Melisa, and you have permission to show me how much potential you have to make this night memorable. But can you live up to the expectations you're creating?"

"I guess we'll have to find out together, Melisa." He took my hand, guiding me towards his motorcycle. I remember my shocked reaction when I saw that he rode a motorcycle. I remember how he spent countless minutes trying to convince me that motorcycles were safe when driven by a professional. I remember asking if he was a biker and receiving a hearty laugh in response.

I remember how he touched his long hair and brushed the strands that were near his eye to the back. That night was truly memorable, but not for the reasons we expected. It was the night I discovered who James Buchanan Barnes truly was. A man who takes you to his home and despite being eager for a make-out session to help out his drunk best friend who is too intoxicated to drive. A man who takes you home and convinces you that you won't be able to move on with your life until you find out if he's truly worth it. The man who takes three dates to take you to bed. The man who makes you want to marry him just a year and a half after you start dating because he feels like he can't live without you. But he's also the man who, when he's wrong, simply shuts himself off from the world until there's no other choice but to leave him there.

I could spend my whole life trying to explain James Barnes, but I would simply like to share what Barnes currently means to me.He is the ex-husband whom I swore never to let back into my house, and right now, I am staring at him. I'm staring at him while holding a baseball bat that I keep for "emergencies."

He is wet, wearing a soaked white shirt, most likely due to the heavy rain outside. His hair looks very different from the last time I saw him. It's short, while his beard seems to have been left unshaven for a while. He's breathing heavily, perhaps he ran here or is fleeing from something. The gaze that once left me speechless now made me question everything. I was ready to swing that bat at James' head when he whispered, "I know you've probably wanted to hit me with that bat since the divorce, but can we save this reckoning for when I'm not running away?"

"Running away from whom, Barnes?" I assure you that my facial expression must be as cold as the tone of voice I'm using. But after the divorce, all I was left with was anger towards the man I used to call my husband.

"There's still that secret passage you called stupid when I suggested it, but later said it would be a good hiding spot in case one of us got arrested." He seems to ignore my question or my utterly confused expression. I nod silently, pointing towards the end of the hallway in our house. Well, now it's my house, but it used to be ours.

Instead of moving forward and entering that secret passage which, yes, if you've seen any action movie, you know it's usually hidden behind a mirror or a bookshelf, Barnes approaches me with a look of "I forgot to tell you" that he used to give me before delivering bad news.

"The police will be here in about five minutes, and I need you to act as if you haven't seen me in years. Be the daughter your father raised and the clever woman I fell in love with, and make sure they leave without suspecting anything. That's the most I can tell you in such a short time, and I need you to trust me just one more time."

James was so quick that before I could even respond, he had already disappeared into the secret room of the house. I could only curse myself internally for keeping that place a secret, even though it had been years since my divorce. At that moment, memories of the day I introduced James to my father flooded back. My father, who had gone to great lengths to set me up with his friend's godson, was not at all pleased to learn that his beloved daughter was dating a man who worked as a government agent.My father actually didn't like James. He would say that something about Barnes made him believe that one day I would be interrogated by the police to talk about James. My thoughts were interrupted by knocks on the door, followed by a police officer asking me to open the door. It was only at that moment that I realized I wasn't properly dressed to receive anyone at home. The truth is, I was getting ready for a date when I heard a noise on the first floor of the house. So, I'm just wearing my underwear and a robe that doesn't fully cover my body. But that doesn't stop me from opening the door right after hearing the police officer call my name.

"Good evening, officers. How can I assist you?" I say, trying to hide the lower part of my body behind the door. I wish I had had time to put on more decent clothing. The police officers are clearly scrutinizing my behavior, attempting to find any trace of James through the small opening of the door.

"Is your husband James Buchanan Barnes, miss?" The older, graying police officer speaks in an authoritative tone.

"He used to be, sir. Is something wrong with him?" I try to appear as surprised and innocent as possible. I know that many law enforcement officers tend to believe people who seem somewhat innocent.

"I'm sorry to inform you, but your husband is wanted for suspicion of being involved with an international smuggler named Killian. We believe Mr. Barnes may have provided unauthorized access to national security information." Now I'm truly shocked, perhaps nervous enough for the officers to notice a slight twitch in my left eye. My hands start to sweat as I think about the slightest chance of them knowing that James is here.

"And you believe he would come to his ex-wife's house in the middle of the night, after years, to hide from the police or whoever else is after him?" Years ago, my father taught me that the key to telling a good lie is to make the truth sound absurd. I am practicing one of his many teachings with those whom he would hate to know I'm trying to deceive. You see, my father worked for years to keep this country free from criminality and to apprehend those who threaten it in any way.

"We believe he might reach out to you or this residence seeking comfort or assistance, in which case we advise you to contact us immediately. Otherwise, it will be assumed that you are an accomplice." The other police officer spoke, trying to intimidate me. It didn't work.

"Well... in that case, as soon as I see my ex-husband, you'll be the first to know. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get ready for a date. You know, I'm trying to move on after the divorce."

I give them a completely nonchalant smile. They seem to have believed that I don't know anything about James, but they don't seem to have understood that I'm no longer his wife. I can't blame them; at this moment, even I am unsure if we really are no longer married.

"We hope we haven't disturbed your evening. Here's a number for you to call if you see your husband. Please do not hesitate to call if you have any information about him." The older police officer speaks, handing me a card with a number. I nod, confirming that I will assist them, and watch as they make their way back to the patrol car.

For a moment, I breathe a sigh of relief, but then I remember that my ex-husband is still hiding here. I know I can't keep him here for long, so I decide to start planning what to do next. I have a plan that might work to get James out of here before the police come back with a warrant. I can't help but think that whatever I do, it has to be quick because I do have a date, and if I'm absent, I know my father will become suspicious. Before going to talk to James, I went upstairs and put on the dress that was laying on the bed. Fortunately, I was almost ready, which would help me not to be too late for the date. As I put on my shoes, I send a message to the man I'm going out with, letting him know that I'll be running late. I also send a message to Sam, using a coded message that only he can understand. In reality, I simply sent a message saying that he had forgotten his favorite cleats here and that it would be good for him to come and get them for the weekend game. He would know that I needed him urgently because we agreed to send messages like this in case we needed help. I think he understood, as he replied that since the game was very important, he would come to pick up the cleats as soon as possible. Sam has been James' best friend for as long as I've known him. I'm sure Sam will want to be involved in helping out.

I finish getting ready for the date and head downstairs to find the secret passage where James is hiding. I stomp my feet on the ground twice with force to secretly signal that I'm alone. Barnes created several secret codes to ensure I was prepared for any situation during our marriage. For a moment, I feel strange for still remembering those things.

"You took all this time to get ready knowing that I was here waiting for you?" James's tone of voice indicates that he's not very happy with me. His gaze reflects a minimal level of patience, something I witnessed only a few times during our marriage. Unfortunately, the damn man is irresistibly more attractive when he's angry.

"It's funny how you're the one indignant when I'm the one being interrogated by the police right after my ex-husband breaks into my house. And I'm dressed up because I have a date that I can't cancel, as my father would quickly find out, and you, James Barnes, certainly wouldn't want my father suspecting why I missed this date." I know I'll seem like a submissive daughter to my father, but he has been trying to set me up with Steve Rogers, an FBI prodigy who is his best friend's godson, for a year now. He would connect the dots as soon as he found out about James. He approaches me with a deeply concerned look, and I feel like I could get lost in the scent of his perfume. It's not overpowering, but it's distinctive, and it's incredible that he still smells so good after all these years.

"Speaking of your father, you can't tell him anything about this. I... I found out just minutes before being framed that he is the true partner of Killian." Before I can even muster a reaction, I hear the sound of someone knocking on the door and look at James, who has a facial expression that makes me think he's contemplating ways to escape.

"Don't even think about it, Barnes. I'll handle whoever is here, and you'll wait for me while we figure out a way to keep you from getting arrested or killed." Few moments in my relationship with James were about us disagreeing with each other because we knew that two stubborn people rarely reach a consensus. He seems to understand what I'm saying, but I don't trust that he will obey me.

#bucky barnes angst #james barnes #winter soldier #bucky x female reader #Bucky x female original character #original character #steve rogers #sam wilson #wanda maximoff #yelena belova #ex to lovers #Spotify

[tommybowefuneralattendee]

79 for shaymien tyvm - katie (the last one was also me you get it)

79. “i like being close to you. you’re warm.”

linked on ao3 || read under the cut || 4k, rated m

summary:

"Would it be okay if we just sat here?" Shayne asks quietly, the exhale of his speech warm on Damien's shirt. Damien scratches over Shayne's scalp and it's like his best friend turns to liquid in his lap. Damien grins. "We can sit here as long as you want." || Or, Shayne's tired after a workout and it leads to a conversation that's been a long time coming.

It's not like they ever plan on doing stuff like this. This happens every time they're both single, every time neither of them have seen their families in a while, every time one of them needs and the other can provide. Damien unlocks the door of Shayne's apartment without a bit of pause. Shayne is at the gym at this time most days, so Damien isn't exactly surprised to find the flat empty. He smiles at the two stacks of video games already set up on the coffee table, the groups divided by whether the game is multiplayer or single player, all ten of them games they both enjoy. His boy knows him too well. They hadn't even discussed hanging out today. 

He's been combing through the snacks in the kitchen for about five minutes when he hears the door being unlocked once again, cracking a smile as he closes the cabinet he was rifling through. 

"Hey man, let me get a quick shower and we can game?" Shayne calls from the living room. Damien makes an affirmative sound and begins transferring the snacks he had collected to the coffee table, barely aware of the sound of the bathroom door shutting behind his friend. Despite the fact that Shayne still shops like he and Damien live together, most of what Damien's grabbed are Shayne's favorites- the guy's always starving after working out, and if Damien gets him snacks now, he won't have to hear about it. Not that he even really minds when Shayne does complain. 

That was honestly the first thing that made Damien think that maybe his relationship with Shayne was different from all of his other relationships, that maybe this is what people are talking about when they say they have a best friend. It's not that he doesn't know who he would be if he didn't have Shayne. It's that he doesn't know that he became himself til loving Shayne shaped who he is. Who would he be without Shayne's hand over the gearshift, laughter ringing in their ears nearly an hour after the joke had been told, Shayne's smiling face colored pretty by the pink of the setting sun? 

He grabs Shayne a bottle of water. He heaves out a breath. He sits on the couch. 

He doesn't know how much time he's lost writing a sketch in his head before Shayne walks out of the bathroom, steam rolling out after him like some early aughts Old Spice commercial. Damien can't help but grin at him; Shayne throws the towel he'd been rubbing through his hair at Damien's head. Damien catches it, throwing it back faster than Shayne is apparently prepared for, as it strikes him directly in the chest rather than being caught in his hands. Despite being the one to throw it first, Shayne seems a little out of sorts. He's got that look to him that he gets after live streams sometimes, the one that's half tired and half overwhelmed, though the look is mellowed some by the comfort of being in his own home. Still, Damien leans back against the side of the couch and pulls his legs up as well. He's not even entirely settled, arms wide to hold his best friend and knees apart to accommodate him, before Shayne is diving into his lap, arms wrapped around Damien's waist, face rubbing into the other man's chest affectionately. Like a fucking cat.

A chuckle punches its way out of Damien's chest at the sight. "You alright there, bud?" he asks, settling back into the arm of the couch and running his hand over Shayne's hair. Shayne hums.

"I like being close to you. You’re warm," he says simply, as if that's all there is to it, like being with Damien is the easiest thing in the world. Damien knows it isn't. The way that Shayne has always disagreed with him on that still makes him feel warm after this many years together. No matter how much time he spends with his best friend, he doesn't know that it will ever feel like enough. Sometimes the sheer luck of meeting Shayne, of being on the same set as him at the same time, it hits Damien in the chest. On a universal level, he was so close to never having this. He holds onto Shayne a little tighter just because he can. Shayne hums again, pressing in and nuzzling his face into Damien's chest.

"You wanna play something or you just wanna sit here, baby boy?" Damien asks, his tone making it clear that he doesn't mind either way, even if the words aren't so clear. Shayne makes a noise of protest and starts pushing himself up, but Damien keeps him settled in the cradle of his hips with a gentle hand; it's obvious from his face and posture that Shayne is only trying to remove himself because that's what he thinks he's supposed to want to do. Damien runs his fingers through Shayne's hair, making the other man relax against him nearly instantaneously.

"Would it be okay if we just sat here?" Shayne asks quietly, the exhale of his speech warm on Damien's shirt. Damien scratches over Shayne's scalp and it's like his best friend turns to liquid in his lap. Damien grins.

"We can sit here as long as you want," he says, sliding down a little bit more so that Shayne's face is against his throat and they're settled chest to chest. He pulls the blanket off of the back of the couch, spreading it over Shayne's back.

"Thank you," Shayne murmurs. His mouth is right against Damien's throat, his breath warm and the vibration of his speech something Damien didn't know he found comforting. He should know, as many times as they've done this.

"Any time, bud. You know that," Damien reminds him, pressing a kiss to the side of Shayne's head. That's not new either, a long time habit from when they were so much younger and so much more scared, broke as fuck all the time and never knowing what the fuck to do about it. Shayne tilts his head up to brush a kiss against Damien's jaw, settling back down quickly. If Damien didn't know to look for it, he might miss the proliferation of rose spreading across Shayne's ears. But he does know to look for it. And seeing it always warms him from the inside out. The idea that he can still make Shayne blush is one he'll always be grateful for, and maybe a little winded that he can. He loves this boy so much.

They don't talk for the next little while; Damien couldn't even hazard a guess of how long, his phone left abandoned on the coffee table and his watch missing entirely. He doesn't always put on everything when he's just coming over to Shayne's, leaving off accessories at random just because Shayne is one of the only people in the world that Damien doesn't feel like he has to present himself well around. Sure, he gives some of his best to Shayne, but Shayne has also been the person to handle a lot of his worst, to hold him after breakups and reassure him when he's scared and all of the bullshit that comes with being just a little bit too codependent with your best friend. Damien brushes another kiss on the crown of Shayne's head just for thinking of it. Boredom doesn't pick at him in this quiet place with Shayne as it typically would. The weight against his chest, the warmth of another body, Shayne, it's all very calming.

"I love you, you know," Shayne says quietly, virtually apropos of nothing. Damien hums, rubbing his hand up and down Shayne's back.

"I know, baby boy. I love you too," he replies, natural and easy. Shayne lays a kiss down on Damien's shoulder.

"I mean it," he stresses. Damien raises an eyebrow even if Shayne can't see it, his hand moving from Shayne's back to the back of his head, gentle as he pulls Shayne up to look at him, pushing back to sit up a little himself. Shayne reluctantly moves to support himself so that he can make eye contact. Seeing the question in his gaze, Shayne sighs. "You're my person," he whispers, looking at Damien with so much emotion that Damien has no idea how to pick through it. Instead of trying, he cups Shayne's jaw.

"You're my person, too, Shayne. No one I trust more than you," he assures. It doesn't seem as if this was the response Shayne was looking for, his head listing into Damien's palm and his lips pursed. Damien raises his eyebrow again, asking Shayne to elaborate without asking aloud. Shayne kisses his palm before resettling into his grasp.

"You're my best friend and it still never feels like enough," he says quietly, no longer making eye contact with Damien. A hard feeling settles in Damien's chest, the easy happiness of a moment ago draining from him. Not enough is something that Damien has heard before. It's never been a good thing.

"Did I do something?" he asks, unable to keep the shake out of his voice. Shayne's eyes snap to his and then go soft; immediately, he gets his knees more steadily beneath himself so that he can reach up and cup the back of Damien's head, careful fingers tangled in his hair. Unable to make himself think any better of it, Damien catches his hands on the backs of Shayne's thighs and pulls, shifting Shayne to have his knees spread across Damien's lap. Immediately, there's relief in every place they touch. Reassurance. Peace. Shayne is smiling at him. He looks fucking beautiful.

"Move back in with me." Shayne drops this suddenly, his gaze still soft where Damien can practically feel it against his skin, and it sends Damien blinking in surprise. Of all of the things he might have thought Shayne would say, that wasn't one of them.

"Beg pardon?" he asks. Shayne's smile falls.

"It's- it's just an idea," Shayne says, looking away from Damien and looking like he wants to disappear in his own apartment and Damien can't have that.

"Shayne, you live in a one bedroom apartment," he says gently, putting it ahead of any of the other protests knocking in the back of his mind, addressing the most practical first. Shayne tries again to push himself up and out of Damien's lap, but he's still doing that thing he does. Sometimes, typically when he's showing any emotion at all instead of handling the emotions of most everyone around him, Shayne tries to recede back into himself. He'll pull in all of his tells and shut Damien out and it's so fucking frustrating, not because Damien doesn't want to do the work of loving his best friend, but because Shayne thinks he has to. Because Shayne thinks this is what everyone else wants from him. For him to be easy. Damien has only ever wanted Shayne. Not so interested in easy. He keeps his hands on Shayne's thighs and Shayne isn't trying particularly hard, so in Damien's lap he stays.

"I miss you," Shayne mumbles nonsensically. After a moment, though, it makes a lot of sense to Damien, honestly. He misses those early mornings with Shayne, the nights when Shayne would climb into bed with him just because they were still talking, the reassurance of knowing that no matter what kind of day he had, he'd be coming home to Shayne fucking Topp. Damien lifts one of his hands and holds it to Shayne's chest, fingers brushing his collarbones through his shirt. Shayne looks at him with far too much melancholy for a face like that.

"How about when both of our leases are up? Mark can find a new roommate, you and me can find a two bedroom, we'll live together again, yeah?" he suggests, surprised then when Shayne's expression twists before he catches himself, smoothing it out into a smile. "No, no, I saw that. What's up, Shayne?" he asks, patient and even. Shayne closes his eyes.

"It's stupid," he says. Damien hums, encouraging him to elaborate. Shayne sighs. "I don't want a two bedroom apartment." When he opens his eyes, Damien tilts his head at him, confused.

"Come on, man, you know I don't really get the whole beating around the bush thing. We've gotten as far as you want to live together again, but I don't know what that part means. Tell me what the problem is." He moves the hand on Shayne's chest over to his side, thumb stroking over his oblique. With a deep breath, Shayne seems to steel himself.

"I haven't been sleeping well lately," he says, the words falling out of his mouth like they're the beginning of something, but Shayne pauses once they've hit the air. Damien nods, silently imploring him to continue. "Best sleep I've had in months was when we were sharing that hotel room in Vegas." His voice is thin, and it only takes Damien a second to figure out why. Their room had been scheduled incorrectly in Vegas. Technically, anybody in their party could have shared the room with one bed and let them have one of the rooms with two, but it was the room Damien and Shayne had been given and they hadn't made any sort of fuss about it. He'd woken up with Shayne beautifully sleepsoft, tucked comfortably into his chest all three days they were in that hotel.

"You want to move in together, and you want to share a bed," Damien says; Shayne's face colors a deep red, but he nods in confirmation. A smile creeps its way onto Damien's face. "I guess we're about to have a lot of sleepovers til my lease is up, yeah?" he asks, watching with delight as Shayne's expression goes from that melancholic fear to overwhelmingly pleased. Impulse control completely with the fucking wind, Damien leans up and kisses his best friend on the mouth. Like that's a good idea. He doesn't even realize that Shayne is kinda kissing him back before he reels backwards, putting space between their faces even if they're still touching more than they're not. Shayne makes a soft noise, quiet protest clear as he tugs Damien back into another kiss, harder but no less full of care. He's delicate with the way he holds Damien's face in both hands, his movements deliberate as he tries to tell Damien through touch alone that he wants this too. That this is all he wants.

"Dames," Shayne breathes out against his mouth. Damien leans up to catch him in another kiss. For this being the first time they've done this, it's the easiest this has ever been for Damien, the most comfortable, the only first kisses he's ever had that didn't feel like a hostage negotiation he was having with his brain to wrest enjoyment from the clutches of discomfort. Of course he's comfortable. It's Shayne. There's not a more comfortable place in the world for Damien's hands than on Shayne's skin, no more comfortable weight in his lap than Shayne's warm body. Damien pulls back again and this time Shayne lets him, makes no move to stop him from burying his face in Shayne's shoulder, breathing out his overwhelm as best as he can. His heart is fucking pounding. Still, he can't help grinning when he lifts his head to look at Shayne. It's Shayne. Loving him is the easiest thing he's ever done.

"Are we doing this?" he asks, smile coloring his words with fondness more overtly than he's ever allowed himself to display. Shayne's grin is confident, but when he speaks, his voice is quiet.

"Please," he says, broad hands warm on Damien's face, and this is it. It is different. His relationship with Shayne is different because he fucking loves him, not just the barrage of platonic affection that has bowled him over for nearly half his life, he loves Shayne like cracking his chest open and letting the other man stick his hand in. In that moment, it needs to be said again.

"I love you," he says, turning his head to press a kiss against one of Shayne's palms. At that, Shayne climbs out of his lap. Not expecting the movement, Damien makes no protest, instead raising an eyebrow at Shayne once he's on his own two feet.

"I'm in love with you. I also want to be in bed with you," Shayne says, pulling him up by the hand. Knowing it's not what he means, Damien leers suggestively anyway.

"Very forward, baby boy. Here I thought you were gonna treat me like a gentleman," he teases. Shayne huffs out a laugh and looks down at his socked feet, smiling at the floor.

"Not what I meant, you asshole. I mean- we can do that at whatever pace, like, works for us? But I want-" Shayne cuts himself off, that deep red taking over his face once again, trailing down his neck. Damien knows exactly how far that blush goes, but that doesn't mean he's not thinking about it still. He wants to taste the heat on Shayne's skin. He wants to hold Shayne so he'll sleep well. He leans further into Shayne's space, not quite close enough to kiss but close enough it definitely wouldn't be hard.

"What do you want, Shayne?" he asks, the rasp of his voice sending a visual shiver down Shayne's spine. He leans his forehead against Damien's shoulder.

"I want you to hold me," he whispers, less like he's afraid to say it and more like he's afraid to break this moment. Damien nods, grabbing Shayne by the hand.

"I can do that."

He leads Shayne by the hand to his own bedroom, strips him of his shirt gently, and then of his sweats, even getting Shayne to pick up his feet so that Damien can take of his socks for him, and suddenly he realizes that none of this is new so far. Well, the kissing, that's new. But holding Shayne's hand? Leading him to his own room? Undressing him? He remembers late nights in their shared space, Shayne's tired eyes strained from practice script after practice script, his energy scraped thin. Damien would take his hand then, get him comfortable, tuck him in. Stay if Shayne grabbed for him, which he almost always did. Damien never minded. Divesting himself of his own clothing, Damien has to ignore the way that Shayne's eyes roam over his chest, his stomach, his boxers. He never thought when they were younger that Shayne would ever look at him like this. Looking retrospectively at all of this, he can't imagine he would have done anything differently if he knew then what he knows now. Who knows how long he and Shayne would have lasted if they'd jumped into this young and unsettled? He wouldn't do it any other way.

The chief sound of the two of them getting settled into bed together is laughter; they've never been able to share a bed without getting into some kind of wrestling match. Staring down at Shayne's pretty face with his best friend on his back underneath him, it strikes Damien that perhaps that wasn't always as platonic as it had felt. He leans down to kiss Shayne again, but they end up having to pull away given that they're both still laughing. His heart feels fit to fucking burst. Just looking at Shayne makes something catch in Damien's chest. Fuck, he loves him. Fuck. Shayne pulls Damien down on top of himself, knocking the breath out of Damien in the form of a surprised bark of a laugh. Grinning against his temple, Shayne runs his hands along Damien's back with eager hands, digging in his fingers in a way that feels good, and Damien groans.

"God, magic hands," he mumbles into Shayne's collarbone. The rumble of Shayne's laugh beneath him is probably one of the best things in the world. Right after Shayne's fucking magic hands, his wide fingertips digging into the knots in Damien's back, slight ache of it smoothed out by his broad palms. He's always liked Shayne's hands though. The feel of them, the weight of them, the look of them, the blunts of his nails, the scar between two of his fingers he got breaking a glass when he was thirteen. There's so much story in those hands. So much story in this boy. He kisses his way along Shayne's collarbone, not with any heat really, but just to move his lips across Shayne's skin. One of Shayne's hands moves up from Damien's back, clutching at but not pulling Damien's hair as he guides him up to look at him.

"I love you," he says again, voice laced with awe like he's lucky just to be able to say it, to be able to love Damien aloud. He gets halfway up on his knees between Shayne's thighs, making them fall a little wider to accommodate him. With the way Shayne is looking up at him, he doesn't think he minds.

"I love you so much." With that, Damien dips down and connects their lips. Shayne is pliable under him, soft skin and hard muscle both giving way to being manipulated by Damien's whims. His hands are hungry as he grabs at Shayne, nails skating across the other man's skin. He doesn't know what it would be like to love Shayne without a certain degree of violence. His love for him has never gone quietly, never been something that Damien could pack away into boxes like everything else, reduce the clutter of his mind and move on with his life. Instead, he built the whole world around him, the chaotic life of a performer in Los Angeles moored by the touchstone that is Shayne Topp. Things, in a lot of ways, make a lot more sense with Shayne's tongue in his mouth. Like, at least now he knows why he never really liked any of Shayne's exes. Just thinking of it makes Damien pull away from Shayne's mouth, laughing into his best friend's shoulder. Is that still what he calls Shayne? They should probably talk about that.

"You gonna share with the class?" Shayne asks, teasing in his tone as he nuzzles his face into Damien's hair. Damien kisses the junction of Shayne's throat and shoulder.

"I guess this kinda clears up why I never liked any of your exes," he says wryly, delighting in the bark of Shayne's laughter that immediately follows.

"I mean, yeah." He could have said anything, really, for as much as Damien is paying any mind to it- Shayne has freckles on his shoulders that Damien has always wanted to count, maybe in the back of his mind somewhere always wanted to kiss, and the opportunity begets compulsion. 

He traces feather-light kisses from one to the next, counting in his head with his mouth otherwise occupied. When he gets down Shayne's chest someways, he gets a giggle out of Shayne kissing one a few inches below where his armpit hair stops. When he gets to one not far from Shayne's nipple, the touch of his lips brings a gasp out of him. Another compulsion begotten by opportunity, Damien touches his mouth next to that nipple, already pebbled beneath the contact. Not wanting to take things too quickly, he abandons the journey down the route of Shayne's freckles, instead pressing kisses on his way up til he meets again with Shayne's mouth. He just brushes him with a kiss then, rolling off of Shayne and onto his back. Shayne tilts his head in question.

"How do you want to be held?" Damien asks, reminding Shayne of why they had moved to the bedroom in the first place. Half hard in his boxers, Shayne takes the pivot with admirable grace, still grinning as he pushes his way against Damien's chest.

"Like this," he says, tangling their legs together and nudging Damien until he puts his arms around Shayne's shoulders. His grip on Damien's waist is nothing to joke about either, his hands splayed possessively across Damien's lower back. Damien presses a kiss to the side of his head.

"I can do that."

#shaymien #i hope y'all like this i wrote 90% of it today in a fugue state #the hilarity of the fact that i haven't done the prompt in the middle yet so the context this ask was giving just. isn't relevant yet. #sorry katie! hope you like the fic anyway <3 #mine #ask answered #prompt filled #smosh fic #rpf

[vega-creates-things]

Muse (Part 4)

ROTTMNT Leo x GN/Rabbit Yokai!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Embarrassment, Aged-up Turtles

Synopsis: You've been visiting Run Of The Mill Pizza maybe a little too often just to see the blue clad turtle of your affections and draw him. You're pretty sure he hasn't noticed you at all, bad news for you, he has and he is far too curious about why you watch him.

A/N: Hey all, just letting you know I am so sorry It has been a while since I wrote anything for this fic. I’ve just been super busy and stressed from job hunting,  so I haven’t had the time and also just…. I haven’t been in the mindset to do anything but drink coffee and stay up way later than I should doing nothing but staring at a ceiling lol- but I digress. This is a repost from my old side blog since I wanted to make a main blog for this stuff. This is maybe going to be the second last chapter (that’s up for debate lmao). Now that all that is out of the way, shall we?

♡♡♡

Fidgeting nervously as you stop walking for what feels like the first time in hours, you pull your phone from your jacket pocket and click it on, going back and checking your last few messages with Leo.

Cobalt Blue: Hey, just a reminder, meet me at the brick store

Cobalt Blue: Shit, sorry, had voice to text on 🙄

You: THE BRICK STORE.

Cobalt Blue: Is that even a thing?

You: Does Home Hardware count?

Cobalt Blue: Donnie says no. I say yes.

You: Gotcha… Where am I meeting you then, if not the BRICK STORE.

Cobalt Blue: Central Park, the popcorn cart.

You: There’s a popcorn cart called Central Park? 🤔

You: I jest. I’ll meet you there.

Cobalt Blue: Awesome! 4:00?

You: Four o’clock.

Cobalt Blue: See you then!!!

Tucking your phone back away after you reconfirm the location you were meeting each other, you look around the area you’re in, wondering if you were close to the popcorn cart at all, giving the air a subtle sniff to see if you could even smell it, thankfully, due to your improved sense of smell, you catch the faintest hint of butter and fresh popcorn, swiftly heading in the direction it had come from.

Once you’re on the path, it doesn’t take too long to get there, and, as luck would have it, you got there before Leo did- or at least that was what you thought before you heard him offer a bemused chuckle to your right. Startled, you look over to the opposite side of the cart and blink in surprise at the turtle who is dressed in distressed black jeans with matching black undershirt that is form fitted to his torso and then to top it all off a fur lined brown leather jacket and a beanie. He looked… amazing. You could feel your fingers twitch with the desire to draw. You resist the urge to pull your sketchbook out of your messenger bag.

Leo beams at you and makes quick work of crossing over to where you were stood, dumbfounded. “What a pleasure it is for you to join me.” He offers teasingly, lightly nudging you with his elbow as a cocksure grin spreads across his face. “And only— twenty minutes late.” He tutted, completely pulling that number out of thin air, and yet you still nearly check your phone- the action causing his expression to become even more smug.

Instinctively, you punch him gently in the arm, rolling your eyes before offering him a faint smile. “It’s ten to four,  you ass.” You chuckle. “I’m punctual.” You insist. “And you’re a lot earlier than I thought you would be— I didn’t strike you for showing up early to things-“ You muse, noting how he had started walking already so you quickly catch up with him, intrigue painting your features since all you knew about this evening was that you were to meet here.

“I’m early when it’s important to me…” He offers nonchalantly, refusing to meet your eyes, even when you stop moving again, he simply stops and waits for you to catch up. When you do, he already has his bravado back up and that stupid smug grin again. “So, I was thinking, maybe we walk around here a bit, then go to the art exhibit? I hear they’re staying open later than usual today?” 

“Leo-“ you begin, stuck on him calling this important to himself. You furrow your brow, lightly brushing your hand over his shoulder. To get him to at least look at you. You hardly register that he is still listing off different things the two of you could be doing today. “Leo.” You try again, noting how he seems to only scramble for more things to list off.

“We could go try out the coffee at the new cafe that just opened up? Go to the art store? I’ll get you any one item you waaaant? Something in the hidden city- we could watch the Battle nexus? You know I won that with my dad once- we were up against Kraken Tom and the Evil Six. No? Yeah, I knew that wasn’t your thing… We could-“

This time you cut him off by walking in front of him, having had to do a quick jog to do so, and then you gently grasp him by his shoulders, forcing him to stay in place. He still refuses to look at you, his eyes locked on the ground between you both. Hesitating, you step a little closer, shifting your weight onto your toes so you can stand a little taller, nudging his face up with your hand so you can look at him. For the first time you see a nervous edge to him and even despite his efforts to keep his eyes from meeting yours, it’s inevitable. You swallow thickly, taking in a sharp breath. “What has gotten into you, Leo?” You inquire, tilting your head again. “I’ve never seen you get like this before- you’re usually “mister cool”.“ You try to explain, wondering just why it seemed like him calling this whole meet up “important” to him, seemed to be the catalyst for his suddenly jumpy behaviour.

Instead of explaining, he offers a weak chuckle. “Answer hazy, try back again later?” He offers the magic eight ball quote casually. The moment Leo sees you frown, he sighs. “Sorry.”

Shaking your head, you lightly brush your thumb along his cheek pausing when you see him lean into the action. You stop the simple motion and let him press his cheek firmly into your soft hand. “What did you mean when you said this was important to you? And why all of the jumpy behaviour?” You ask, noting that since you’ve stopped in the middle of the pathway there are people giving you annoyed looks. Taking that into account, you do your best to guide Leo with you onto the grass, trying not to break contact with him.

“I dunno.” He shrugs, trying instantly to force a smile. You respond with a serious expression and he instantly lets the expression drop as he pulls back and crosses his arms, taking a step away to try and centre himself for the conversation. It takes a moment, but soon he is facing you again. “Look, I just… really enjoy being around you- I can’t help it if I got excited and jumped the gun on showing up.” He offers, and, well, it wasn’t exactly the response you expected, nor did it entirely make sense, but it was close enough for now. “Aaaaand, I’m not being “jumpy” that’s your job. You’re the rabbit, here.” He sticks his tongue out.

Offering a light chuckle, you sigh. Clearly, you won’t be getting the real answer right now, but, to be fair you still had never answered his question about your sketchbook, though in the time you had gotten to know him, you were painfully aware of how observant he was, so the idea that he somehow DIDN’T know, and was just waiting for you to be open about it was almost hard to believe now. You still let yourself believe it though. “I’ll let it slide this time.” You muse, gently nuzzling your cheek against his shoulder in a lighthearted fashion. “Now, you said something about buying me “any one item” from the art store?” You reminded, smirking at the way his expression went from relief at you dropping the topic to instant surprise.

Chuckling timidly and rubbing the back of his neck, Leo gives you a crooked grin and murmurs, “IIIIIII didn’t think you were paying attention-“ blowing out a small breath of air, he shakes his head. “Art store it is?” He inquires, watching you with a gentle fondness as you carefully adjust how your ears are sitting under your own beanie- carefully drawn back to almost mimic medium length hair.

You link arms with him, allowing yourself to be cheerful about the evening ahead of you again, you hum in reply, having gotten your ears situated to your liking. “I think they actually closed a few minutes ago- if I’m remembering correctly. You can buy me a coffee though? You said a new cafe opened?” You muse, knowing full well the store hadn’t closed, but you would honestly rather sit with him drinking coffee over anything else right now. Just getting to sit and talk together would be nice.

Leo nods, already guiding you back onto the pathway to walk with him. “I can definitely do that, it’s not too far away actually-“

“Almost like you planned it.” You tease, casting him a playful look. “Or like you knew how much I love coffee and would never say no to getting some.” You add sweetly, batting your lashes up at him.

Laughing whole heartedly, Leo gently squeezes the arm you have locked with his and shakes his head. “Maybe the last option, I don’t normally plan things too far ahead- that’s Donnie’s whole shtik.” He muses, splaying his fingers out and wiggling them slightly to emphasize his words.  The moment you start giggling, he can’t help but lean towards you, using his free hand to gently squeeze the shoulder not pressed against his plastron as he chuckles along with you. He releases you pretty quickly, but it isn’t sudden, it’s more that he was satisfied with the length of the makeshift hug- plus the awkward position. “So are we playing guess the coffee?” He inquires.

“You bet your ass we are!”

The author isn’t good at writing walking exposition so time skip baybeeee

This was it. Your chance to stump Leo. Stepping up to the counter first while Leo stood off to the side so he couldn’t overhear you, (his order for you already in hand) you lock eyes with the barista who nearly backs up at the intensity of your gaze, having never experienced it’s intensity before like the employees at your favourite coffee shop normally had. “Medium hazelnut latte with a shot of vanilla and a shot of espresso.” You state as if it weren’t even a question.

The woman nods, dipping her head slightly as she attempts and succeeds to input your order before looking at you. “Anything else?” She inquires, voice a little too low for most people to hear, but for you it was easy.

“Yes, two cake pops. One strawberry, one chocolate.” You insist, watching her input that as well before she lists off the price and then instantly nudges the payment terminal over to you once you had pulled out your card to show it to her. You tap it against the chip reader and then fish out a five dollar bill, putting it into the tip jar for her with a calmer smile that seemingly throws her off. “Thank you!” You muse, accepting the order ticket as well as the  bag of cake pops she had promptly handed you before stepping to the side to wait for the drink.

You glance at where Leo is leaned up against a wall, and gave him a thumbs up which he returns enthusiastically. Turning your attention to your bag, you dug your hand into one of the front pouches and pull out a sharpie so that you can cross out what the order was on the sticker once you receive the coffee.

While you wait, you look around. The walls are decorated with a rich terracotta wallpaper, the floors a deep, almost chocolate brown, wood alternating parquet. There were potted plants strewn about the room, some hanging from the ceiling, others neatly decorating windowsills where enough light poured through to reach them. There were a few bookshelves that matched the colour of the floor and were set up to divide the space- they were filled with books and magazines. It was all in all a very cozy space and all you could think was that it would make the perfect place to come every morning and relax- maybe do some art studies.

“-order number 317?”

You glance at the ticket in your hand, snapping yourself out of your thoughts and then perk, walking over and thanking the person who had made the coffee before stepping aside and scratching out the order on the sticker and throwing out your receipt. Wandering over to Leo, you noticed he seemed to be doing what you had just moments before. “It’s really cozy in here. Great location, Leo.” You comment, nudging his hand gently to let him know you were ready to swap drinks.

Perking, Leo nods in agreement, gesturing to the nearest empty table which was settled near the back of the cafe, tucked into a corner next to the window. “We swap over there, that way you can put your stuff down and we can get comfy— wait, did you get us a snack too??” He inquires, tone drastically shifting to pure excitement by the end of his sentence.

You nod, letting him practically herd you to the table. You laugh, noticing some of the amused stares and chuckles you got from other patrons, deciding to humour them by shrugging and grinning. “He’s food motivated.” You offer playfully, earning a bit more laughter. “Like a puppy.” You hum, glancing at the turtle in question as you sit down in the chair he had pulled out for you.

“M’rabbit.” He offers, trying to sound suave, but grimacing almost immediately. “That doesn’t sound as flow-y as “m’lady” he mused, scrunching his face up in displeasure before backtracking to what you had offhandedly said, “the cutest puppy though.” He grins, sitting in the chair across from you and setting down the brown takeaway cup in front of you while you did the same with the one you had.

You nod sagely to his statement, noting how haphazardly he had scratched out what his order had been with a pen he had no doubt asked to borrow from the barista. “Something like that.” You muse with a half smirk, pulling out both cake pops with flare. “Chocolate or strawberry?” You offer, noting the way he seemed to contemplate before answering.

“Chocolate, of course.”

“Strawberry, got it.”

“Exactly. See? You get it.”

“Mhmm, I know you so well.”

Grinning, Leo accepts the chocolate cake pop you hold out to him, observing it for a moment before- in contrast to your own actions- shoving the whole thing into his mouth at once, and almost looking like he regretted that decision instantly.

Taking the time to eat yours calmly in two bites instead of one as your counterpart had done, you have less of a struggle. “You’re such a goober.” You claim, a fond note to your voice as you observe him trying to get the cake pop down. Deciding to be nice, you get up for a moment, walking to the counter where there is a self serve water jug, filling two glasses before returning, handing one over to Leo before you set yours down.

He drinks it almost immediately, the liquid helping to break down the snack and then he is gasping for air. “You are a life saver,” he insists, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. After a moment he murmurs something about being too warm, and slips his jacket off, laying it over the back of his chair. This, of course, leaves his muscular arms exposed for your viewing pleasure, not something he had considered, but its obvious that he notices your gaze lingering a little too long. He smirks. “Are you checking me out?” He inquires, playfully wiggling his brow before striking a few poses.

An instant laugh leaves you at his actions, though you can’t help but feel your face heat up from being caught red handed. “No! I just didn’t realize how ripped you are! It’s a little startling!” You muse, starting to play with one of your ears by running your hands down it to smooth the fur there. “I mean— I know you’re strong, you’d have to be to have beaten Kraken Tom and such, but it’s still a little startling.”

“So you heard EVERYTHING I was rambling earlier?!” He inquires in disbelief.

“I listen when it’s important.” You counter, noting the moment it takes for him to process what you had said and how you had somewhat turned his earlier words back on him. “And everything you say is important to me.” With that said, you pull the plastic splash pick from the opening of your cup and put it into the paper bag your cake pops had been in. Taking a moment to carefully swirl your coffee just in case it hadn’t been mixed properly (something you had dealt with from multiple coffee shops in the past) you focus your attention on finally trying the drink. Sipping tentatively at it for fear that it was still too hot, you took a moment to savour the flavour, setting the cup down again.

Leo watches you with a flushed face, your words still ringing in his tympani. He cast his gaze towards his own coffee, following suit in swirling it around to mix it and then removing the pick from his own cup and discarding it much the same as you had done with your own. He seems to think for a moment before speaking up with a more amused tone than you would have expected, “everything I say?” He inquires mischievously.

Pausing, you narrow your eyes at him, realizing you had perhaps made a mistake by saying that. 

“What about if I said applesauce belongs on dino nuggies?”

“I’m going to kick you.”

“Do it, coward. You won’t.”

Instantly you straightened in your seat, making direct eye contact with the slider as you gently kick him in the shin. Afterwards, you level your expression to a bemused and almost mocking grin. “What was that about me not doing it?” You chime in a sickeningly sweet tone.

The slider narrows his eyes back, watching you sip your drink and waiting for you to set it back down before he returns the gentle kick. “Ohoho, you’ve done it now.” He retorts with no malice at all behind his words.

It only takes a moment longer for the battle of gentle kicks to come to full effect and neither of you seem to care that your legs will be bruised after this. You’re having a little too much fun despite everything, but after a few minutes more, the kicks begin to stop, and without even realizing it, your actions become more gentle and more along the lines of playing footsies with each other, your foot brushing lightly over his ankle and his gently nudging you in return.

It’s only when you’ve been staring far too intently at each other, that you move to reign yourself in, face heating with a warm blush as you quickly cease your actions and sip your coffee again. “So- um… I definitely taste cinnamon in here-“ you begin, forcing yourself to focus on deciphering this instead of focusing on how absolutely smitten Leo looks.

Blinking himself out of his stupor, Leo clears his throat and stretches by rolling his shoulders before leaning back on the table, his arms crossed as he watched you. “Hmm? Oh- oh. Yeah. Cinnamon.” He nods, glancing down at his cup again before returning his gaze to you as he waits for you to decipher the drink.

“Cinnamon chai latte with whip?” You inquire, forcing your brain to stay on track. When did it get this hard to focus on anything but him? Seriously. You knew you liked him, but you needed to control yourself, lest you spring forward and kiss him right then and there.

Leo nods, humming in a way that seems somewhat forced and yet resolute. “I don’t get how you’re so good at this. How did you guess that? I didn’t think chai tea would be that obvious.” He asks, curiosity bubbling in him despite the obvious lack of focus he currently seems to have.

You shrug, resting your elbows on the wooden table top and twining your fingers together so that you can rest your chin on them. “I noticed the slight flavour of pepper and ginger— it has that sort of bite to it that lines up with chai.” You inform, pausing to chuckle slightly. “Also when you say “chai tea” you’re technically saying “tea tea”. Just a fun fact.”

Snorting in amusement, Leo stares at you in bewilderment. “I will never understand how you fit so much smarts into that head of yours.” He sips his own drink momentarily, looking contemplative before quickly speaking again. “So you’d just call it chai then?” He inquired, watching you nod to confirm before he is sampling his drink again. “Tastes a bit nutty- so thinking about the kinds they normally use to make drinks…. Hazelnut?”

“Mhmmm-“ You hum openly, inviting him to continue his train of thought.

He takes another sip, really trying to get a feel for it, even closing his eyes as he does. “I’m also getting—“ He brings the cup to his nose and gives it a few sniffs. “Vanilla?” He looks to you for confirmation, and once he has it he gets right back to work.  “Hazelnut and vanilla… mhmm. M’kay. M’kay- espresso-?” Leo is incredibly focused, and the expression he makes while trying to figure it out is so cute you almost cave and pull your sketchbook out to draw it, but you hold yourself back as he finally seems to come to a conclusion. “Hazelnut latte with espresso and vanilla?”

You smile gently and clap for him. “You got it!” The confirmation causes him to light up as he opens his eyes again, locking gazes with you as one of his hands reaches out and firmly squeezes yours for a second before he pulls it back.

After the game is over, you both fall into comfortable silence with each other, both of you leaving one hand on the table in silent invitation to the other as you pick your different methods of filling up time when you’re not quietly chatting.

Leo surfs his phone, you take to absently drawing on your napkin with a pen you had fished out of your bag, not wanting to risk using your sketchbook here and now. It’s calm, relaxing, and you can’t help but smile every time the slider gets excited over something he sees and quickly shows you it.

It’s during one of those moments when he rests his hand over your free one to get your attention, that he notices that you’re drawing a little picture of him and things start fully connecting in his head, but he says nothing, focusing on the task at hand and redirecting his gaze to your face just in time to catch you looking at him inquisitively. “Did you know there’s a breed of goat that faint whenever they hear a loud noise? Just-“ he makes a big open gesture with his arms, breaking contact with you as he speaks, “-BAM! Goat down!” He grins.

Smiling instantly, you can’t help but chuckle at his theatrics. “I didn’t know that, that’s pretty funny though. Is there a video?” You inquire, tilting your head and then nearly squeaking in surprise at the sudden speed he uses to get up and stand directly beside you. You nearly miss the way he excitedly mumbles something about being “so glad you asked”.

The moment he is properly situated behind you, he rests his head on your shoulder and slips his arms around you so he can hold his phone on the table in front of you both. You don’t mention how you could hold the phone for him, too caught up in his warmth. He glides his thumb across the screen, hunting down what you assume is the video at the top of the article, and then once he has it, he clicks play.

The video is short, less than a minute long but it shows a man clapping and the goat fainting which causes the both of you to laugh at first, and then the questions start springing forth.

“Do you think it hurts them to faint like that?” You begin. “What causes it to happen?” You ask, leaning yourself back against Leo’s plastron until he finally pulls away, presumably to pull up the information you’re looking for. He doesn’t move far, just sort of adjusts his position so he can easily lean against your chair with one hand and hold his phone in the other, typing the question in quickly.

After a moment of waiting for the results to load, he hums and starts reading, “the Tennessee fainting goat breed has a hereditary condition called myotonia congenita—“ he begins, grumbling to himself a bit as he tries to focus on reading the sentence before finally shaking his head and handing you the phone so you can read it. “I keep wanting to read the same thing over and over-“

You nod in understanding, taking his phone carefully as he settles back in behind you, this time using your head as a chin rest. “The Tennessee fainting goat breed has a hereditary condition called myotonia congenita, a disorder that affects the skeletal muscles, which are used for movement.” You read calmly, pausing to frown and click something else related to that. “Many people wonder if it hurts the goat to faint, but rest assured, they’re not in pain. However their condition does have the potential to distress them because it can keep them from running away from things that frighten them. So avoid frightening them just to see them faint.” By the time you’re done reading, the both of you are frowning. “I feel like an asshole for laughing now-“

Leo nods in agreement. “Yeah… but, I mean- If it helps, we had no idea until we looked it up. In reality the guy that made the video is the asshole.”

You hum in response, still frowning. Leo pockets his phone and then brings you into a big hug and almost instantly you’re filled with a sense of comfort and calming. You find yourself leaning back into him heavily, just like earlier. “Thanks.” You mumble.

Leo nods, giving you one more big squeeze before he moves to sit back down. “Anything for you.” He replies without missing a beat, polishing his coffee off before resting his hand on yours again to still provide reassurance.

“Cheeseball.” You reply lightheartedly, turning your hand to softly squeeze his in response.

Leo smiles and dips his head in half bow, quickly glancing up at you. “The cheesiest.” He insists, thumb tracing gentle patterns over your knuckles. Pausing, the slider frowns, his phone beginning to buzz. Glancing down at the device with disdain, he checks the caller ID and sighs, giving you an apologetic look only for you to shake your head and gesture for him to answer it, assuming it’s probably one of his siblings.

He frowns a bit more, but gives in and nods, picking his phone up and answering the call, stepping away somewhat before he starts talking.

You can’t help but listen in after a few minutes, having noticed the exasperated l pinch to Leo’s face as he talks to whoever it was. You feel a little guilty, but you chalk your nosiness up to concern about his emotional wellbeing.

“Guys, I told you not to call me right now-“ he grunts, rolling his eyes as he listens in on what the person- or persons? Are saying in response. “No- you know  said today was important— No! I wasn’t joking. UGH. Raph- Raph, no.”

Quirking your brow ridge slightly, you can’t help but wish your hearing was better so you could have an even better grasp on this conversation— even if you know it’s probably not good to be listening in, in the first place. You try and distract yourself, going back to sketching to keep your attention in a more respectful place of not eavesdropping.

After a few minutes more, Leo comes back to the table and sits down again, grumbling as he sets his phone down after presumably putting it on ‘Do Not Disturb’. “Sorry about that- my brother’s forgot that I was going out tot day and were freaking out— and then they wouldn’t hang up.” He muses, noting that you were doodling again, this time around, though, he leans forward to get a good look. “Who are you drawing?” He inquires, still trying to get a better look.

Shaking your head, you let out a calm hum, nudging the napkin over to him so he can see. “Sounds like a chaotic time. I’m sure they were just worried though.” You muse, resting a hand under your chin as the calm washes over you again. “Just some characters I’ve been thinking up- silly really.” You shrug, finishing your coffee as you watch him pour over the drawings.

“Yeah, I know they were just worrying, but I wish they would listen when I tell them things sometimes- I mean… seriously… It’s not like I didn’t tell them I was going out. I did! Three times!” He huffs, getting frustrated for a moment before he shakes his head and dispels that energy, choosing to focus on what you had said about the drawing. “You thought these up? They’re so cute. They look like they could be in a children’s book.” He insists, tracing his fingers over one of the designs.

Sensing the first conversation wouldn’t be going anywhere further, you mostly set it aside, but not before saying gently, “I mean, you did say you guys never usually go too many places without each other, maybe they just assumed you hadn’t because they didn’t I don’t know- I can’t really speak for them since I don’t know much about them.” You chew the inside of your cheek gently, leg bouncing. “Anyway though— umm… yeah I actually want to make kids books, still in the starting part though.”

He nods, running a hand over his face, nearly shifting the blue eye mask out of place. “You’ve got a point, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He pouts, tapping his fingers on the table. “So, you should tell me about the book idea you have.” He points out, stretching his hand across the table to take your hand in his own again.

Biting your lip, you try and reign your thoughts in, looking at the tabletop for the time being until you begin to speak again, telling him all about your idea in as much detail as you can, though, for the moment, you mostly have details about the characters, and you can just tell by the look on Leo’s face that he is enthralled and enamoured with the idea which makes you feel a lot more confident about sharing this with him. You had been working on this for forever at this point and had never actually shared it with anyone. 

By the time you’re done speaking, Leo is practically bouncing. “I love the characters, especially Leaf! He’s so precious— and his favourite thing being stamp collecting?? It’s such a nerdy hobby, but its really cute to think about a leaf having a stamp collection! What if Shooting Star got him stamps from space!?” He gushes, visibly bouncing in his seat— it was almost like he was vibrating.

Giggling in response, you shake your head, smiling fondly and briefly glancing to the side at one of the potted plants by the counter in thought before you returned your gaze to the turtle. “I’m glad you enjoy it so far.” You begin, “maybe you’d want to help me with it a bit— you know, go over what I have eventually? I think any input you could give me would be really helpful.”

Leo blinks in surprise and then gets flustered, chuckling as he looks out the window at the people passing by. “I don’t know if I would be much help— art is more my brother Mikey’s thing, you know?” He admits. “But. I’m happy to look at everything!”

You roll your eyes and squeeze his hand gently. “I think you’d give me great advice, even if it’s not your strength, I mean just letting me know if you like it helps, or mentioning if something looks like it should be different- even if you don’t know what it is.” Tracing a small heart into the back of his hand absently, you shrug. “-but if you’re honestly not comfortable with that, I won’t force you.”

Mulling it over, he hums and returns the gentle gesture of squeezing your hand. “I mean, I guess I could, I mean the idea of being the only person looking it over is pretty cool!”

You’re about to speak when he suddenly nods and chimes in again.

“Yeah, you know what. I’ll do it. If it would make you happy, I’ll do it.”

—

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#tmnt muse fic #rottmnt leo x reader #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #leonardo hamato #leo x reader #rise leo #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt leo #rottmnt leonardo #rise leo x reader #fan fiction

[imarvelatthestars]

All Work, Some Play

Pairings: Tai x f!Reader

Warnings: 18+ horniness afoot, there is no plot; mutual masturbation, voyeurism, dirty talk, poor time management, some fluff at the end

Notes: this is not part of my Tai series, this is just a fun little 'the empire never happened' au thing that came to mind while I was working on homework.

This is all because you're greedy. It's a good kind of greedy, the kind that leaves you satisfied in bed, on the couch, on the table, anywhere he's willing to satisfy you, and you'd thought he would satisfy you again this time, but he put his foot down.

"You need to study, sweetheart."

And you'd whined and batted your pretty little eyes and promised him you'd do whatever he wanted, anything at all, if he'd just touch you for a bit, get your mind off the endless pages of text you've been dragging yourself through for hours now. But the one person who cares about your education as much as you, perhaps even more, is Tai.

He's not unkind, though. He knows just how to string you along and really make you work for it. He'd gently posed his counteroffer with his nose nuzzled into your neck: "Why don't you stuff yourself with something, if you need it so bad, hm? Sit at your desk like a good girl and do your work, pretend it's me you're riding."

The moan that bubbled out of you was damn near pornographic. You could feel your eyes rolling back, his breath on your skin. "Tai, baby, please."

"Please?" he echoed, pretending to be confused by your unfinished plea.

"You can't... can't say things like that."

He'd chuckled. "It's that or nothing, my love."

You're not sure how long it's been since then. You're as comfortable as you can be, perched on the literal edge of your seat, and doing your damnedest to gain as much friction as possible, to hit that too elusive spot that you only manage to get about half the time, all the while pretending you're not a whimpering, melting mess. You're trying to read, you're trying so hard, really, but he's not making it easy for you either. Sitting there across the room, watching you entirely unashamedly, smug and cocky and as handsome as ever.

"You focusing?" he rumbles once he notices how your eyes have strayed about as far from the console as they can go.

You huff. "Shut up, old man."

When he laughs, you feel the tension lighten for a moment and it makes your heart flutter. Even when you're in some contrived little scenario like this, he still feels like home. The desperate need for more arousal and more pleasure shifts then, it becomes some gentle, tender thing that simply longs for the light in his eyes and the smile on his face and the scruff he hasn't yet shaved.

"I was wondering where my little minx ran off to. Thought she'd gotten lost."

"Not lost. Just running circles around you." The remark isn't as biting as you want it to be when it's accompanied by a sharp, gasping whine.

Tai smiles and this time, it's like a loth wolf smiling at its prey. He tilts his head to one side and thinks, watches you arch and shudder and try and fail to stay focused on your work. You wonder how long he'll play this game before one of you finally breaks.

His eyes are like a brand on your skin as they drift up and down your body. "That's not what it looks like from here."

Fuck. Another lightning strike of arousal straight through your body.

"Then what does it look like?" you ask, and you pretend you don't want him to bend you over your desk right now and finish what he started.

The leather squeaks when he shifts his hips a bit, settles further into the seat and plants his feet on the floor so he can - oh kriffing fucking dank fucking farrik, so he can unzip his trousers and take himself in hand. You're mesmerized by the slow tracing of his thumb over his head, the way his fingers close around his dick and tug.

"Looks to me," and he's already breathless, "like someone won't get to come yet. Since she's not staying focused." He's watching you again, chin tucked into his chest as he starts jerking up and down along his length, looking up from under his lashes and fucking laughing again. "But I will."

Wait. No. No no no no no no, that's not fair, how is that fair? He's not touching you, you're at your desk, you're trying. That was the deal, wasn't it?

"Tai-"

"Unless you can finish the next page before I come, it looks like you'll just have to wait until your assignment's done."

If you don't get this man inside you in the next five minutes, you're probably gonna die.

"I can do that," you promise as your hips jerk forward unbidden, chasing the gentle sound of his grunts and moans. "I can do it, baby, I swear. Please."

You've never read something so fast in your whole life. You read it once, skim it twice, you mark a couple notes down on your flimsi pad for good measure because you know there's absolutely no chance you'll remember any of it after he puts his hands on you, and then you're slamming your hands down on the desk.

"I did it!" you pant. "I did it. I finished the page, I'm done, Tai, please-"

He's so close already. You can see how his forehead's all wrinkled and he's thrusting into his hand, biting down on the inside of his cheek to quiet himself, but he makes the most beautiful noises all the same. You need him more than you've ever needed anything.

And when he speaks, it's like fire in your belly. "Touch yourself. For me?"

Your hands are in your underwear in an instant and icy hot pleasure licks down your spine, head to toe, until you're shaking. Your head rolls back, your eyes squeeze shut, you're riding the edge of your seat with that damn dildo pressed so far inside you that you're seeing shapes behind your eyelids, and now you're careening towards your own end. An eternity of build up and you're about to crash and burn, and nothing's ever felt this good.

"Let me hear you, mesh'la. Come for me. When you're good and ready."

The moan you give him utterly wrecks your throat. You struggle against the sudden weight of your skull to sit up a bit, fingers rubbing over your clit as you fixate on the image of your man sprawled out in his chair, thighs spread, his exposed throat bobbing and choking on air. He's so beautiful. He's so beautiful. You could watch him forever.

"Tai." It's a hoarse whisper, much rougher than you usually sound. "Need you, baby."

He smiles for a moment, sends you a wink, and nods. "Show me. Show me, my love. I'll fuck you how you need, ner kar'ta, make you mine. Come on. Just, ngh, just show me."

It might be the way his eyes are tracing your figure like you're a work of art, like he can see you in every dimension, like he sees exactly how he makes you tremble, or maybe it's the way his tummy clenches when he runs his fingers over his head and licks his lips and pretends it's you he's fucking. Maybe it's the fact that you know once you both come, he'll probably fuck you within an inch of your life, but whatever it is, it makes you come hard and fast. Your head snaps back, your legs seize up, and you full-on scream when your orgasm finally hits you.

Everything goes kind of fuzzy for a bit. Your ears are stuffy and your vision is hazy, and your hand is soaked. Everything from the depths of your cunt to the tops of your thighs is sore. It's amazing.

There's a slight strain in Tai's voice when he finally speaks. "Still with me?"

The ceiling stares back at you. "Still with you." You can hear him panting and you can't help it, you really can't. "Need a break, old timer?"

The chair creaks in protest when he stands and oh, you're in for it now, but there's nowhere else you'd rather be. You're legs are still spread, your hand still caught under your underwear when he makes his way over to you, his waistband unbuttoned and belt undone but everything else is where it should be. Shame.

His pulse is still ticking in his throat when he settles between you and the desk. "The only thing I need a break from is your sass."

"You love it."

"I love something about you." His tongue steals out across his lower lip and his eyes are sparkling. "Not sure what." But when you beam up at him and spread your legs just an inch wider, he smiles. "Must be that little cunt of yours that always gets you into trouble."

"Must be."

Later, in your bed, after a handful of orgasms and pretty sighs and desperate pleas, the covers around your hips and your bodies pressed together, Tai nuzzles his nose into your sternum and presses a kiss to your sweat-slicked skin. "I love this." His fingers tap out the rhythm of your heart.

You kiss the crown of his head. Then his cheek. His mouth. The tip of his nose. "It's yours."

It always will be.

taglist: @moodymisty @rain-on-kamino @dystopicjumpsuit @temple-elder @wanderer-six @jambolska-grozdova @andrakass2 @curly-funk

#clone trooper tai #clone trooper tai x reader #tai x reader #star wars #he's not really a homeless veteran in this au so i won't add those tags. this is for the tai TM girlies (gn) #tai #he's so husband i want him so bad

[blackjackkent]

"It is absolutely preposterous that any of us are alive!" Hope cries out as Raphael's body collapses against the marble floor. A pause, and then her eyes widen. "Maybe we're not. PINCH YOURSELF AND CHECK WE'RE NOT DREAMING THE LAST OF OUR LIVES AS WE DIE SCREAMING!"

Hector looks at her blearily; leaning against the wall, he slides slowly down into a sitting position, feeling the slow creep of pain through him as the adrenaline fades and the burns all over his body start to make themselves known. "We're fine, Hope..." he mutters hoarsely. "We did it."

"Then we're not just fine - we're spectacular!" she says brightly. "What a wonderful, jubilant, glorious day!" Her head snaps sideways, looking to one corpse amidst the pile of bodies in the chamber. "OH BUT MY POOR SISTER KORRILLA!" she bellows, a sudden wail of grief. "It is not right that she died, and it makes me want to weep an ocean..."

Hector lets out a heavy breath, following her gaze. Korrilla is stretched on her back, staring blankly at the ceiling; her head sits at an odd angle where Yurgir broke her neck. "I don't think there was any way to save her," he says quietly.

Her eyes narrow thoughtfully. "When we were children, she always kept the last piece of pastry for me. And bloodied the nose of the bullies who pulled my hair... She was my sister..." A pause. She squares her shoulders and looks up at Hector with a sudden earnestness. "But as a wise woman once said, there's no point in crying over spilt blood. We must go on. And despite all the years I've lost, I have enough love in my heart to guide you home."

Narrator: For the first time since you heard her voice, Hope seems calm. And the peace flows from her into you, soothing your very soul.

Hector half-closes his eyes, focusing on the welcome moment of serenity. It does nothing to dull the pain of his injuries... but it means, at the very least, that this is over. And he can't help admiring the tormented dwarf's bravery in this moment - to still look forward after everything that has happened to her.

"What will you do?" he asks.

She smiles just a little. "I'll hope," she says simply. "What else? I hope I'll see Korrilla again one day, and that she'll say sorry, and I'll tell her she's forgiven. I hope I'll find all the pieces of my mind that fell out of my head over all those years, and that I'll be able to put myself back together again. I hope the echoes of pain will fade, and memories of sorrow will die, and that you'll visit me here some day."

She steps forward, rests a hand against his cheek. Her palm feels feverishly warm, and yet the touch is gentle and soothing. "And I hope you have a happy ending of your own."

He looks up into her eyes, and though he smiles back, it is a sad expression. Little chance of that, I think, little one, he thinks to himself. But the words are a blessing, kindly meant, and he folds them into his soul where they will live alongside all the other little bits of hope he carries with them, in the hope that they will bolster him when the dark times come...

-----

Minsc is looking around wildly, in search of another enemy to strike; the wild frenzy of the rage is in his eyes and he narrowly avoids slamming his trident into Karlach as he turns.

"Easy, buddy," she mutters, putting out a hand on his arm. She can feel that every sinew of his body is stretched tight, his heart pounding.

It takes a few moments for him to calm, for the mad rage to clear out of his eyes, for him to realize that Raphael is dead. "He has killed her!" he snarls at Karlach, who flinches back under the ferocity of his expression. "He has killed Jaheira! Another witch dead before Minsc's eyes!"

Were the moment less tense, Karlach might point out that Jaheira had insisted she was not Minsc's witch, but it's not the point, not really. Witch or not, Minsc has watched his best friend crumble in the fire, just as Karlach once watched Hector die in a similar sea of flame. And there is some greater weight in Minsc's words too - a history of other deaths that could not be prevented.

"I know-- I know," Karlach says hastily. "But it's all right. We can revive her. I've got a scroll in my pack--" She pulls one of the curled sheets of paper out, offers it towards him.

He snatches it from her wordlessly, crouches at Jaheira's side, beginning to mumble the words of the spell as Boo scurries back and forth in agitation on his shoulders. Karlach stands next to him, shifting uncertainly, not sure whether to stay with him or go to Hector...

The pale gold light of the Revivify spell begins to swirl around Jaheira's body; she twitches, coughs painfully, her eyes flickering open.

"Ah," she says vaguely, looking up at Minsc. "Is it over, then?"

Minsc's eyebrows lift and he smiles widely in relief and joy. Heedless of her injuries, he lifts her in a full body hug; she gives a soft grunt of pain and pushes weakly at his shoulder.

"Careful, you great ox of a man," she mumbles. "I am only so many inches from death's door; take care you do not knock me back over the threshold..."

"Should I do so, Minsc would travel into death to find you," Minsc says gravely. He loosens his embrace but does not quite let go of her. "I failed you," he adds soberly. "I did not protect you, my--" A slight pause. "My friend."

"Did you not?" she asks with a slight smile. "I am here, and our enemy is not. What more could be asked?"

Minsc narrows his eyes thoughtfully. "I think this is wisdom which Minsc does not form so easily in his brain," he says slowly. "But if Jaheira says it is so, then he must believe it."

With the situation in something resembling calm, Karlach draws back away from them, moves to kneel at Hector's side. "All right, soldier?" she asks quietly.

He looks up at her with a weary smile, presses his palm to the chest of her armor as if reassuring himself of her presence. "I never grow tired of this," he says dryly. "The pain in every limb, the feeling of having been run over by rampaging rothe."

"Glorious, isn't it?" she answers in similar tone, and ruffles her fingers gently through his hair. It's sticky with blood, like the rest of him, and her fingers come away covered in it. "But hey... not so bad, the feeling of going to rest afterwards, right? We should get to that part."

"I couldn't agree with you more..."

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #bjk writes her own party banter #drabble #casually doing more random jaheira drabbles #don't worry about it #and having minsc feels #as per usual #and hey we survived the house of hope! \o/

[waitmyturtles]

Alllllright, a quick and dirty late review of the BELOVED show, Bed Friend, episode 8, which I referenced yesterday as getting just BETTER and BETTER with each ticking minute. A warning in advance that I am dizzyingly jet-lagged, so this may be non-sensical at times, but just roll with me, because:

IT WAS A GREAT EPISODE. Like I said in the comments of the post linked above, god, this episode had so much! I love the beach-vacay-and-temple-shots trope. I love that King jetted to see Uea. I love that they reconciled. I LOVE THAT WE GOT TO SEE FAMILY THAT LOVES UEA. I love King’s thirst for revenge -- we didn’t even SEE Krit in this episode, buh-bye! I love King’s desire to continue to make things right for Uea vis à vis the private investigator.

King didn’t just say that he’d take care of Uea. He is showing the hell up and doing the job, and damn. Yes, yes, he’s gotta channel that repressed energgyyyyy somehow, heh, but no, seriously. 

King’s in love with Uea. And I love how this show showed that development, and shows how committed King IS to Uea. While the plot is complicated, and full of STUFF -- King’s commitment to Uea is UNCOMPLICATED. It’s piercing through our hearts. He’s a man in love, and he’s gonna do shit for the man he loves, period. 

Geez. I so didn’t expect this from this show (as @wen-kexing-apologist noted in their review of episode 8 -- the seriously complicated plot at the start of the series made me wonder if this script was going to weakly solve everything with Uea just falling in love and being like, ooooh, everything’s great now). I didn’t expect that the very uncomplicated DRIVE by King to dig into Uea’s issues and help him problem-solve through his past would be the ultimate anchor for this series. 

I fucking LOVE that this show spun me for a loop. In a little bit of a Bad Buddy-ish way -- it took a player trope, the image of a player, and totally spun it on its head. King is weak for Uea. The kind of power that we think a player would have -- welp, King is using that kind of power instead to help Uea resolve real and tangible issues. 

I love that Lampang serves as a place of respite for Uea. I love that he has that, in physicality, and that King met him there. I love that it becomes, through Uea’s aunt and Uea, a place of love for Uea. We know he fucking deserves that.

I love seeing Uea fall for King. The corner smiles, the teasing, the silent giggling. The intimate confessions at the table near the kitchen (love all the implications of sitting at a place that means so much to making a HOME together, à la Kinou Nani Tabeta). 

I FREAKING LOVE LOVE LOVE THE COMPANY TEAM, Y’ALL. JADE AND GUN AND THE LADIES, come awn! Jade = MVP, one of the best.

This isn’t so much of an analytical review (I can’t muster the energy right now) as it is more of a love letter to how this show has fucking just held. its. own. against a tremendously complicated plot line. In particular, as many have mentioned, especially @bengiyo‘s stray thoughts, it was SO IMPORTANT, SO SO SO IMPORTANT, to see Uea take meds and talk about how receiving mental health care is helping him get through his days (@bengiyo, I’m also curious about the question you pose about survivors being offered mental health care at their companies -- as someone in the social services, that strikes me as a good idea, but I wonder if survivors have other interpretations, particularly related to privacy and labor retention, and the company avoiding harassment lawsuits).

In other words, this episode simply had everything. It doesn’t reach the Bad-Buddy-episode-10 echelon by way of both acting AND writing, but damn, did it ever close a hell of a lot of loops in a very convincing way.

And we get more next week. With all props to @wen-kexing-apologist: #pransdaddarktimeline edition looks like it closes out (and I HOPE that fucking mom GETS HERS TOO, pardon my franche). And a new guy in Uea’s life... this show keeps throwing curves, but now I trust that it’ll be handled well. 

#bed friend #bed friend meta #king x uea #uea x king #james supamongkon #net siraphop #net has been EATING THIS ROLE FOLKS #EATING THIS ROLE FOR EVERYDAY BRUNCH #the way he can reflect like FIFTEEN DIFFERENT EMOTIONS IN ONE GAZE TO JAMES #LIKE #that them some acting CHOPS

[dibbiedabbiedoobie]

A Taste of Amontillado

Word Count: 3072 

Tags: soft vore, oral vore, micro vore, implied fatal vore

Author’s note: I really went and did this huh. Man. Wild. Sorry @novorehere​ I stole ur idea, I got too hyped up on writing juice. Apologies for typos and what not, I finished this and got too excited to not post.

I tried to mimic Poe's style, but he is simply so verbose that it was kind of killing me a bit? So it's probably a bit more modernized, though I did steal some lines/phrasing here and there (mostly in some of the dialogue) but for the most part it's an attempt at mimicry.

I don't usually write fatal but like... y’all know what the source material is, there was no other way for this to end. It’s non explicit, really only vaguely implied, so hopefully that isn't too off-putting because I think it came out well enough.

The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne best I could, but his venture into insult was when I vowed revenge. You knew so well the nature of my soul, I could not fathom that you would imagine me foolish enough to utter such a threat; however, that same intimate knowledge, I imagine, will let you know that my conviction in vengeance - a vengeance so through and lengthy that Fortunato would know each and every depth of the misdeeds and misfortunes he had forced upon me - was resolute. My actions would, of course, go unknown, for he did not deserve the satisfaction of any retribution in his name.

You must understand, I ensured he would have no pretense to suspect this. In all word and deed, I was as well-mannered and courteous as I had been before; it would do no good if Fortunato came to realize the smiles I gave him now held beneath them the righteous fury of the archangels themselves.

My plan would have to be of the utmost cleverness, and of the utmost thoroughness. You see, he had a weakness, this Fortunato, though he might be respected - and perhaps even feared - in other regards: he prided himself as a connoisseur of wine. Very few Italians have this trueness of virtuoso spirit; most have their enthusiasm of the fine arts derived not from a passion, but from expectation, an attempt to match the effortless opulence of their British and Australian peers. As it came to painting and gemmary, Fortunato was no different; but with wine, he was one of the foremost experts. I did not differ from him in this fashion, either, having a palette similarly refined and a cellar stocked with the finest Italian vintages. Indeed, it was this palette we shared which coalesced in my mind the seed of the perfect act of vengeance.

I found my way, after this strike of inspiration, out of the comfortable villas in which myself and Fortunato made our homes, and into the darker, crowded slums of the less fortunate. I took great care to disguise myself, lest word spread to Fortunato or his cohorts of a man of my status mingling in with the beggars. I donned a ragged cloak of rough, beige fabrics borrowed from one of my newer servants, one who had yet to put to use the salary I offered to him. From another, I procured a dull white shirt and simple dark pants, to ensure I would look no different than those around me. In this dress in the late hours of the evening, carrying with me some wealth concealed in a small sack, I wove into the winding, silent streets.

My destination was to be a shack dull, rundown even by the standards of the neighborhood in which it lived. Within lived a man whose identity I shall keep vague, for purposes that will become clear to you by the end of this letter. I had met him a lifetime ago, when I lived in these very streets, before my name joined the ranks it had now. He was eccentric, enough to be avoided even by the dull-eyed, weary working class for whom very little could phase through the exhaustion of the daily toil for their bread, but not for me. Then, I held close the little bit of vitality that led me to my current station, and this man drew forth a curiosity I had thought almost gone from my spirit.

Through observation, I learned of a science so curious that it might be likened to magic. He carefully crafted elixirs for every occasion, ones that would give a man the strength of an ox, or the swiftness of a falcon. His wares were not cheap, and I had seen more than a few men and women scrape together the last of what they had seeking a cure for their ailment of poverty. What I carried with me was more than enough to cover not only typical costs, but the cost of what I suspected was to be a particularly tricky concoction to make.

There were few pleasantries between us after my arrival. He recognized me, and I him, but we did not acknowledge it. A lifetime of difference has made me into little more than another customer to him, though within my heart I still held some of the curiosity I had developed as a boy, which had matured to an odd fondness in adulthood. "I require a drink that will change the size of a creature," I said, not impolitely. "I wish them to be only a few inches tall, able to fit in the palm of a hand."

Typically, the man did not ask questions for those he provided services for, and it seems I was no different. Instead, he simply wished to know the specifics of what I needed made. "Permanently?"

"One to shrink, another to restore to previous size," I answered. I had no intent on using the latter, but I did not need him considering what I might do. If I asked for both, his assumption would most likely be smuggling - not that he was likely to tell anyone of this encounter at all. He had many secrets given to him by many people, and he would no doubt take all of them to his grave.

He told me the price, which was well within what I had budgeted for, and asked for my patience as he prepared it. This was to my shock, as I had expected such a spell to take far more time and resources, and yet in hardly 30 minutes he was handing me two small vials. One, a dull, deep sanguine, nearly the color of blood, he said was to shrink; the other, a deep, tarrish black, was to grow. I placed them both securely within my pouch and turned to exit.

As I left, he spoke to me. "Montresor," he said, voice thin and wispy. I had not expected to be addressed, least of all by a name I imagined he had long forgotten. "Take care that this rage does not drown you."

"I do not intend to," I replied, voice again not unkind, and took my leave.

It was during the dusk hours some months later, during the frenzy of carnival season, that I encountered my friend. Fortunato accosted me with a gregariousness only gotten from drinking very much in little time. In place of his usual fine silks, he wore motley, a tight fitted, parti-striped dress, and upon his head rested the fool's cap, tipped with bells. I was so pleased to see him, I had nearly wrung his hand dry.

"My dearest Fortunato! How wonderfully well you look today! I am in great fortune to have found you this evening. You see, I have received a pipe of what I was told was Amontillado, but I have my worries."

"How?" he demanded. "Amontillado? A pipe? In the middle of the carnival?! Impossible!"

"I have my doubts," I replied, "yet I was silly enough to pay the full price Amontillado without consulting you in the matter. You could not be found, and I was fretful of losing a bargain."

"Amontillado!"

"I have my doubts."

"Amontillado!"

"And I must satisfy them."

"Amontillado!"

"As it seems you are occupied, I am on my way to Luchesi. If anyone has a discerning taste, it is he. He will tell me-"

Fortunato sneered, an ugly, exaggerated contortion of his face. "Luchesi could not tell Amontillado from Sherry."

"Yet some fools will have it that his taste is as much a match for your own."

"Come, let us go." Fortunato's tone changed abruptly, from a drunken rage to a drunken focus.

"Where to?"

"To your vaults."

"My friend, I could not! I will not impose upon your generosity. I see that you are engaged. Luchesi-"

"I have no engagement. Come."

"No, my friend, you do not understand. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you to be afflicted. The vaults are insufferably damp, encrusted with nitre. I do not wish for you to fall ill."

"Let us go. The cold is nothing. Luchesi cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado, and I will not have you fooled." Thusly, Fortunato took my arm, placed upon his face a mask of blackened silk, drew a roquelaire closely about my person, and hurried me to my plazzo.

I had ensured that there would be no attendants home, releasing them to make merry at the festivities. The kindness was not an unusual trait for me, and in fact was what made me desirable as an employer to many, as I did not have the cruelty endowed from birth into wealth as the others around me had been. They did not need to stay out the entire night, but I knew that they would jump on the chance to relax from their duties and would not return until they had thoroughly sated their carnal desires.

I pulled from my pocket the red elixir. "Here," I said, offering it to him. "It is a drink that will warm you from the inside, better than wine. I acquired it intending to use it during cold winter nights, but I feel it may suit you better now."

Fortunato took the vial from me, and, without hesitation, removed the top and drank it all. He shuddered a moment, face contorting again in response to what I could only assume was an unpleasant flavor. "Next time, ask your friend to make something that tastes more akin to the wine it is meant to mimic."

"I shall be sure to inform him," I replied, then waited just a moment. Though I didn't know what exactly to expect, I came to realize that Fortunato's quivers had not ceased, and instead had increased in strength. "Are you alright, friend?"

"That liquid you gave me... what was in it?" Fortunato doubled over and dropped to his knees. I swiftly dropped with him.

"It should have just been some herbs," I said. "It should not have-"

I cut off in shock as, beneath my fingers, Fortunato's frame began to dwindle. His back dropped from my touch as he shrank in stature, falling from a man taller than I to hardly a few inches tall. With him diminished his clothing, leaving him with the appearance of a life-like jester doll. "My god! Fortunato!" I cried.

Fortunato seemed to be in just as much shock as myself, frozen stiff and staring down at himself as if he had never seen himself before in his life. I imagined my face was similar, but unlike Fortunato, I recovered quite quickly as I had expected exactly this result and had only been shocked by the process itself.

"Montresor! What on earth was in the vial you gave me?!"

"I truly do not know. I have used them many times in the past, including from the very batch I gave to you." I offered my hand, for Fortunato had begun shaking quite badly in what I believed was not a transformation, but of chill. "Here. You are trembling, and it was not particularly warm here before. I do not wish you to freeze tonight."

Fortunato stumbled forward, obviously unsure in his body at this size, but managed to pull himself into my palm. Now, with my hand to provide scale, I could see that he was roughly 4 or 5 inches tall, and there was a weight to him which one would not expect from such a small frame, and an odd sort of density to him that my experience with animals of a similar size did not prepare me for.

I rose and adjusted my grip to securely hold Fortunato about his middle, tilting him upright and allowing his hands to come and rest upon my fingers, legs left to dangle beneath him.

"My god..." Fortunato muttered, doubtless staring at the fall he would have if I let him go; I was not particularly tall, but at his stature it would surely end in death. "Montresor, you must fix this!"

I considered, for a moment, if I would continue to play along with Fortunato. I did have the whole night to do so, but did not want to test whether or not one of my servants would return at some point during the night. Further, the front with which I had maintained the illusion of care had become more and more burdensome to maintain as revenge grew closer to my grasp. Now, with him at my mercy, I did not wish to pretend as if I was going to help him.

No, instead I said, "I will, my friend. However, you continue to shiver. We must get you warmed."

"We must get me fixed!"

"You mustn't fight me, friend. I am only trying to help you." I lifted him higher, to my face, and opened my mouth. From here, there would be no more taunting, but I did not find myself so inclined to verbal cruelty as to be bothered - truly, I would follow in Fortunato's footsteps in causing pain in deed, not word.

He, however, would not follow in mine, choosing instead to resist his fate rather than accept it silently as I had for so long. I lowered him onto my tongue, and his boots kicked upon it in the most peculiar way. They tasted of dirt and rubber, as one might expect, but I had not gone into this concerned with ensuring Fortunato tasted pleasantly.

At this point, I knew that Fortunato's intoxication had worn off in great measure, for he was moving with greater fear than that of a dulled drunk, and seemed to be growing more aware of the peril which he was in. From his throat came a low wail, a cry that came coupled with writhing against my grip. Then, as I continued to lower him, now curling my tongue about his legs to ensure they would not catch my throat.

He was about half way into my mouth when I found myself needing to readjust my hold. I paused, pinning him with my lips. I pinched his sides, ensuring that his arms would be pinned, and found myself supporting him upwards much akin to how one would hold a canape. During this, his moans subsided, and he began to struggle with a renewed vigor, a vigor that went largely unappreciated as he was so weak and frail at this size.

With my hand positioned properly, I pushed him in further, until I could just feel his feet scraping the back of my tongue. It was at this point, in which he was chest deep into my jaws, that shrill, loud screams burst suddenly from the depths of his throat. Of course, at his size, the volume would have never been heard by anyone but myself and perhaps another within the room, but he was most definitely shrieking himself hoarse.

I removed my hand, now focused on ensuring that Fortunato was thoroughly soaked. His clothes tasted of little, and I found myself only observing that they became drenched quickly enough. Within the tight confines of my mostly closed mouth, his struggles were all but negligible. Certain now that he would not cause me to choke, I flicked my head back and swallowed very strongly.

For all of his resistance, Fortunato's small body slid very easily into my throat, and his head slipped out of view with a similar alacrity. Instinctively, I swallowed again, and just barely felt the dusting of metal upon my tongue before it slipped downwards. I placed a hand to my throat, beneath which came a sizable bulge, working steadily deeper into my body. 

Evolution crafted a finely effective machine in the body of a man, and very swiftly Fortunato had disappeared from view beneath my collarbone. Soon, borne from the same efficiency that had begun his journey, I felt a tightness within my chest, and then Fortunato spilled into my belly. I gasped, for it was a feeling I had never conceived possible. 

The same odd density I had felt with my hands had turned into a weight within the pit of my stomach that I had never felt with any meal I had in the past; I would liken it almost to swallowing stone, but be not mistaken in the concept that it was somehow uncomfortable. Rather, it was intensely pleasurable. It was a fullness that I did not think any traditional food could ever match, and the predator that had long been dormant within my hind-brain rose from its slumber to express as such. It felt that, now that I had fed so thoroughly, I should swiftly find a place in which to rest and process what I had eaten.

Within me, Fortunato began to move, and yet again I found myself with an experience no other man had been privy to in Earth’s history. I did not imagine a stomach was exactly meant to process the sensation of food moving within, yet I could place, with some level of uncertainty, the directions and intensity with which he threw his limbs about. With time, however, his movement subsided.

Muffled, yet audible, I heard his voice. It was a sad voice, one so laden with sorrow that I would not recognize it as Fortunato if I had not the absolute certainty that it was his. “Ha! Ha ha! A very good joke, Montresor! An excellent jest! It will be a fond memory, one we will have a rich laugh of over our wine when you release me!”

“The Amontillado!” I said.

“Ha! Yes! The Amontillado! But it surely must be late. Will they not be expecting us at the palazzo, Lady Fortunato and the others? We should be gone.”

“Yes,” I said. “We should be gone.”

“For the love of God, Monstresor!”

“Yes,” I said. “For the love of God!”

To these words, however, I got no reply. Impatiently, I waited, then gave my middle a firm probe. I called, “Fortunato!”

No reply. I called again, “Fortunato!”

Still, no reply. Indeed, he did not respond to my ministrations either. My heart grew sick, no doubt from the chill of the night. I left Fortunato to be, and closed the door to my cellar. Softly, soft enough that not even Fortunato might have heard, I whispered, “In pace re quiescat.”

#dibbiewrites #asterposting #v.ore #v0re #soft vore #fatal vore #english lit vore

[jamiewintons]

A Pleasant Surprise (Jamie Winton/F!Reader)

Summary: You decide to surprise Jamie when he gets home from work, by wearing his hoodie and not much else.

Tags/Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Fingering. Kitchen Counter S*x.

A/N: This was prompted by an anonymous prompt sent to me a while ago which was: 'For the smut prompt "Are you trying to seduce me?" if you are comfortable with it. With Jamie?'. I'm sorry it took so long, anon, but it ended up much longer than intended so I hope that makes up for it!

Word Count: 1441

***

It was your day off today, and you were beginning to get bored. You'd done everything you'd planned on doing; you went out for coffee with some friends, you'd done a bit of shopping, and you'd caught up on some TV shows you hadn't had time to watch for a while. Hell, you even got so bored at one point that you decided to do laundry!

After the laundry was all washed and dried, you began neatly folding and hanging everything. One garment happened to catch your eye - Jamie's favourite red hoodie, which he pretty much always wore on days when he wasn't at work. No matter how many times it had been through the wash, it still somehow managed to smell like him.

At first, you'd just put the hoodie on innocently. You liked that it smelt like Jamie and that it was so nice and warm from being in the dryer. But that was the moment that an idea sparked in your mind. Your eyes went to the clock for a second - it was only about ten minutes until Jamie would be home, plenty of time to get ready - and immediately, you got to work. The rest of the folding could wait.

You raced to the bedroom, quickly undressing until you were down to your underwear. Then you put Jamie's hoodie back on, zipping it up just enough so that he would have a perfect view of your cleavage. You spent a few minutes fixing your hair, making sure it looked right, when you heard Jamie's car pull up in the driveway. A smile found its way onto your face, as excitement and anticipation filled you.

Casually, you walked out into the living room, waiting for the sound of the front door opening. When you heard it, you lay down on the sofa, smirking to yourself.

"Y/N, I'm home!" Jamie called out, carefully shutting the door behind him. You sat up, peeking over the back of the sofa to look at him, watching him take off his jacket and loosen his tie a little. God, he looked hot like that.

"Hey, babe! How was work?" you asked, trying your best to hide the excitement in your voice.

"Oh, same old. Nothing too interesting." Jamie had moved into the kitchen, and you took that moment to stand up from the sofa and make your way toward there as well. You didn't reveal yourself yet, instead standing just outside the room. "What about you? How was your day off?"

"It was very nice, actually. I had coffee with some friends, watched some TV, did some laundry..." You leaned against the wall, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. "But really, I'm just glad you're home."

You could hear the smile in Jamie's voice as he responded. "I'm glad to be home too." He moved over to the refrigerator, opening it up and inspecting its contents. "What would you like for dinner? Maybe I could do–"

Now, you stepped into the kitchen, a devilish smirk gracing your lips. Jamie was still completely clueless. "Actually, I think we should order in. I have a feeling that neither of us is going to feel up to cooking."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Jamie. Turn around."

Jamie did as he was told, and when he set his eyes on you, all thoughts seemed to leave his mind. He simply stared at you, his eyes wide and his cheeks going pink. He was so out of it, you even had to walk over and close the fridge door for him before he let all of the cold air out.

You couldn't help but giggle at his expression as you walked over towards him, placing a hand on his chest and looking up into his eyes. You could feel his heart racing beneath your palm.

After a few moments of mere staring and appreciation, Jamie finally broke the silence, his voice strained. "A-are you trying to seduce me?" he asked, unable to keep his eyes off you.

"What gave it away?" The fact that he had even needed to ask somehow – you thought you were making your intentions quite obvious – made you want him more, and you decided to not waste any more time. Your hand took hold of his tie, taking a moment and raising your eyebrows at him, before using it to gently pull him down into a kiss.

Jamie's hands immediately came to cup your face, deepening the kiss. You began to undo his tie but eventually gave up, it was too difficult to focus when one of Jamie's hands left your cheek and started to trail downwards, settling at your lower back to bring you even closer to him. Already, you were able to feel the evidence of how much you had affected him.

You were so caught up that you didn't notice Jamie moving you over to the kitchen counter, and you only realised what he was doing once you had been placed on top of it. His lips were on your neck now, and one hand was slowly trailing up your thigh.

Once Jamie reached your underwear, he stopped kissing you, pulling back slightly and looking into your eyes. His own pupils were blown out with desire and yours probably were the same. "Can I?" he asked, breathless, and you nodded, enthusiastic and impatient for him to continue.

He dipped his hand into your panties, making you gasp when you felt his fingers brush against your clit. For a moment he stayed right there, moving the digits in gentle circles before they travelled lower, teasing at your entrance.

Jamie didn't have the patience at the moment to tease for very long, and soon he had carefully slipped one finger inside of you, having to bite back a moan at how warm and wet you were. His mind couldn't help but wander to how much he'd like to be inside of you right now, but he wasn't the type to start a job he wasn't going to finish, and once you were ready, a second finger joined his first.

You gasped again as Jamie steadily began to move, crooking his fingers so they pressed against your sweet spot. You grabbed onto his shirt to urge him to go faster, and he did, the heel of his hand rubbing against your clit and increasing your pleasure tenfold.

Shutting your eyes tightly, you moaned Jamie's name out loud, your voice shuddering as you struggled to think clearly. He'd always been so good at this, and he had only improved with practice, so it didn't take you long to begin approaching your end. You whined in a particular way, a way that let Jamie know that you were close, and he sped up his movements again, and it only took a few more strokes before you were tumbling over the edge, nearly sobbing in pleasure.

As soon as he knew you were coming, Jamie's lips were on yours, swallowing your moans and keeping them from being heard by anyone who might have happened to walk past the house. Your hands grabbed at his back, your fingernails digging into him to the point that you were sure it would have to hurt, but he didn't seem to be bothered by it.

Jamie continued until you were completely spent, going limp and almost smacking your head against the wall behind you. Thankfully, he was quick enough to prevent that, using his free hand to steady you and keep you upright.

"Holy shit," you said, more to yourself than anything, tipping forward a little so you were leaning against Jamie, who was breathing just as heavily as you were.

"My hoodie, it... it really suits you," Jamie told you, once he'd caught his breath and withdrawn his fingers from you. You smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

"I thought you might like it." Now at least somewhat recovered, you wrapped your legs around Jamie's waist, pulling him close. You could feel he was hard through his trousers, and you moved yourself against him, tearing a moan from him.

"I... I think we should probably move this to our room," Jamie suggested, struggling to get the words out. "Dave could be home any moment now, and I don't want him walking in on this."

You agreed, and the two of you rushed towards your bedroom, Jamie locking the door behind you as soon as you were both inside. He turned towards you, where you were now kneeling down on the bed, and you began to unzip the hoodie, slowly and deliberately.

"No," he said. "Keep it on."

Requests for fics/drabbles, headcanons, and character preferences are currently OPEN!

#jamie winton x reader #jamie winton imagine #jamie winton fluff #jamie winton smut #jamie winton fanfiction #ymata imagine #you me and the apocalypse imagine #ymata fanfiction #you me and the apocalypse fanfiction #x reader smut #x reader fic #x reader fanfiction #mari's stuff #nsft text

[fangedup]

drabble under cut

One, two, three strikes to the sandbag, and a pause. You had tired enough of the simple-minded motions after just the first few, knuckles pressed to the bag while you simply stare off in another direction; distracted, frustrated, but by what?

That's the thing. You don't know. Your life has been... rather fulfilled as of late. Plenty of sex, plenty to eat, victory after victory, Damien entering your life. You were, possibly, the most content man alive right now.

So what is this lingering feeling in your chest? Eating a hole into the center of it where you now touch fingers to, head angling down to look as though you'll see anything. See the edges of frayed flesh, the sound of something quite physically munching into you. Of course, you see nothing, but you do get a few strange looks.

Perhaps it's best to cease your training for the day.

A quick shower, and you're out on your way.

You're driving aimlessly through the city, not quite wanting to go home and, well, Damien is busy with work. Your car slows to a halt at a red light, and you idly flip through the contacts of your phone before you finally select one.

A few rings pass.

"Mary? Can I come over?"

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

Mary, your eldest sister, was always... the least likely to get on you about shit. You often took refuge in her home when you needed time to think about something, and she always welcomed you with open arms.

It's now that you're seated at her kitchen table while she balances her infant in one arm and prepares a pot of tea with her other. In the meantime, you're far too content entertaining two of her four little ones. Amalia is babbling something about her class and Rafael is currently climbing your leg to try and sit on your lap. You huff out a laugh and scoop him up, settling him on your thigh just before he smacks your chest with his toy car.

"Rafael, o que eu te contei sobre bater no seu tio?" comes the scolding voice of his mother, to which he pauses immediately, all wide-eyed and staring up at her like he's never done a thing wrong. And you can't hide the grin that comes about with it, gently sifting fingers through his dark curls and ruffling his hair a bit.

"He was just having fun, let the lil bro live a little."

The look she gives you is enough to crack you up, and she clearly does not appreciate your outburst of laughter. Neither does the baby, evidently. The poor little thing starts crying in earnest and she tsks, setting down a mug before you.

"Wait until you're a father, Alec, then tell me to let the kid hit people at random with his toys. He'll grow up hitting people like you."

She's... not wrong, really. You were a terrible child until your mother stuck your ass in the gym to get some aggression out. So you say nothing, only motion for her to pass little Rosie your way. She obliges all too gladly, looking far too relieved to have her arms empty when she places the infant in your awaiting arms. You instinctively cradle her close to your chest, rocking gently to quiet her down, and eventually she does; staring up at you through those big, teary, green eyes that just make your heart melt.

Suddenly, that aching feeling subsides.

#ooc. #drabble #alecs got the best family

[quirkle2]

HC's for Warriors during the War of Eras? Please? :)

HMMMMMMMS please forgive the late response my head is made of Hollow Rocks . and also my memory of the happenings of hw is bit fuzzy so sorry for any inconsistencies or incorrect stuff

i personally headcanon that everything during the hyrule warriors dlc/legends parts never happened. meaning he never met toon/wind there; nor mask/time; doesn't know marin, tetra, ravio, etc. this isn't rly anything to do w an actual problem w the dlcs i have, it's just that i generally dislike time travel shenanigans (it is a Miracle i like lu in general actually, now that im thinkin abt it). it makes everything confusing and it's VERY hard not to create paradoxes and paradoxes make me so . sosossoso os [explodes]

basically anything past the shining beacon scenario is Not In My Head and therefore has not been experienced by our dear boy warriors linked universe

it makes it a bit less confusing for me, rly, and it also means that wars didn't let two children (toon, mask) fight in a war . i don't think he'd Ever do that if he could help it (unfortunately wind is not spared from a journey w him later .... even then, wars wishes he could've prevented him from the physical/mental harm lu may have brought on. he may be a damn good hero and very capable, but that doesn't mean wars doesn't regret letting all the trauma seep into him)

other than the many, many (many) scars and burns he gets throughout the war, it obviously deals a great amount of damage to his mind as well. he was fucked up Before the war in a sorta different sense (terrible father, stifling home, forced to dedicate all his time into being smth he didn't want to be, conditioned to overwork himself, fear of abandonment). but the war brings a lot of new stuff:

paranoia is a big one. every time he enters a room his eyes dart to all the exits. he is Never unarmed and always carries at least his dagger w him. sometimes he gets days where the Dread is too much and he's jumpy and easily startled and keeps looking over his shoulder. there's been times where somebody taps him to get his attention and he Whips around and has his dagger to their neck in a second (he always feels terrible abt it afterward and apologizes profusely)

^ that extends to the paranoia he has abt people not actually being who they appear to be. a wizzrobe during his game could shapeshift into other people and be nearly indistinguishable from the real deal. sometimes when his friends/allies have an off day where they don't quite act like themselves, he can't help but be wary of them and watch them closely. he doesn't mean to not have faith in his allies, he just,,,has trouble thinking of anything else

i've mentioned his big fear of fire. in the future, any moment he's ever w the chain and they visit the deku tree he can't look at it without seeing it up in flames. after his final fight w volga and having the memory of a giant dragon pinning him down and shooting fire at him at point blank range, he's likely . never going to get over that fear

ohhhmy god he is FUCKED UP!!!! FROM THE GREAT FAIRIES!!!!!!!!!!

bad claustrophobia 100%. but the great fairies also just like . straight up take him out of the bottle they trap him in and just . torment him. it's Fucked Up actually. they slash at him w swords, rain Giant Bombs down on him, summon Levias to Fucking Strike Him with Lightning Several Times. literally WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!

in the future Anytime the chain goes near a great fairy wars just . stays near the back. or better yet he simply waits outside/a very very far distance away. he's terrified of them for numerous reasons

i also like to think that most of his men adore him and think he's a damn good captain. and during the war there was a certain lil band of em who would dare stray out of line to simply ask him if he's Okay. it may seem,, rude, to speak out of line and out of turn, but wars was never the type to gripe about little things like that anyway. and he ? rly appreciated the fact that they bothered to ask. especially when they thought they might've gotten in trouble for it

and lastly, when he was younger wars was !!! a bit naive. and while his mother had always taught him that the world was good and there was sm good In It and so many reasons to love it, it might not have had the desired effect on him in the long run. he grew up thinking that everybody was simply . good. and that made it all the more challenging for him to identify whether or not he was being used or played or even abused. he's told that everything is good and he should be good too, and then he's immediately thrust into an environment that is decidedly Not Good, but he's 9 years old and who is he to think his mother wrong ? mom Must be right. This must be good

aaalllll the way up until he's 18, he's sorta convinced that the world would never need this many soldiers to defend their land, bc who in their right mind would kill people just for the sake of power ? it's a very innocent way of thinking, and it isn't until literally his First mission out in the field, right before he's revealed to have the triforce of courage and he's promoted, that he learns that not everybody is good. he's ripped from believing such nice, tame, wonderful things and immediately faced with literally some of the most horrible sights a person could ever witness. sure, his father prepared him for a war, but his mother had prepared him for a world that's much softer than this. and he tended to take his mother's advice much more to heart than his father's

#qktalks #silvercaptain24 #tw trauma #qkhcs #SIDE NOTE . UNRELATED #silver i Swear i will read ur homeless wars fic soon my mind's just been a bit frazzled #apologies </3 i've been havin Days

[itsladykit]

Well. I wasn’t quite able to finish @deck-of-dragons‘s present in time, but here’s a little teaser. (Not due to lack of trying, mind you--this gift fic has just stretched into a 10,000 word monster that I lost control of about 6000 words back).

I’m hoping it’ll be ready for you tomorrow, Deck. But here’s something to whet your appetite in the meantime.

This piece is pretty tame, but the full piece is explicit dark fic. That will be fully tagged, but no warnings apply to this piece except some vague references to slavery and murder.

-

Rus would never really know what happened. Maybe the machine malfunctioned. Maybe he punched in the wrong code. Either way, instead of Undertale, he found himself transported to a universe he wasn’t familiar with.

The machine wasn’t in Snowdin, wasn’t in any version of the brothers’ basement. It was still in Hotland, still in the hidden laboratory. And when he stumbled out, looking for help, he was snatched up by a sympathetic seeming Knight-Knight.

Things went downhill quickly after that.

A mana dampener was snapped around his neck before he could so much as think of teleporting away, and a nightmarish version of Napstaton—Mettaton?—purred over his pearly white bones. He kept expecting someone—Blue or Sans or Alphys, hell even Red—to appear, to save him.

But nobody came.

Just as real panic was starting to set in, a Spider monster that bore a striking resemblance to his Muffet came to pick him up. Relief washed over him. Muffet was a friend of his. A close friend. Surely, she couldn’t be that different from one universe to the next. And this Muffet, shorter and more curvaceous than his, didn’t look Fell at all. Her hair was festooned with ribbons, and she walked with a little bounce in her step that reminded him of Blue. And her smile when she saw him was all gentle reassurance. “Oh, dearie~. What a mess you’ve gotten yourself into, ahuhuhu. Don’t worry. We’ll get you straightened out soon enough.”

She led him through the back alleys of Hotland, and any lingering fears he had were assuaged when she brought him to her bakery, decorated lushly in shades of pink and purple. She plied him with spider donuts and cinnamon skulls—?!—and assured him that he’d be safe here, with her. “When I heard what that robot and his cohorts had found, I simply had to go get you. I hope they weren’t too rough…?”

He was busy shoving a cinnamon skull into his mouth when she asked—he hadn’t eaten since before he’d landed in this ‘verse, and his soul howled with hunger—but he washed it down with tea, scrubbing the frosting from his face as he said, “well. they weren’t—“ He cleared his throat, trying to keep from squeaking. “let’s just say i’d rather not go back, okay?”

She giggled. “Understandable. Don’t worry, dearie. I’m certain we can keep you safe here.” She eyed the donut still on his plate. “Don’t let me interrupt—I do love a man who enjoys my cooking.” He obeyed but ate more slowly now—less like a half-starved animal. She introduced herself more formally, then laughed when he told her his name. “Oh, dearie~. You tease! Really, now, what’s your name?”

So, he offered his nickname instead, and she seemed to accept that, sipping her tea. She hummed, stirring sugar into her tea. “Papyrus will be so happy to have a companion,” she said, patting his knee. “He’s been so lonely.”

His sockets widened. “papyrus is—he lives here? with you?”

He couldn’t believe his good luck! A friendly face and one of his own alternates under the same roof. Stars, he’d be home by dinner time, so long as his alternate knew where to get parts for the machine.

Muffet, somehow, misread his elation. “Don’t worry, dearie. I know he has a bit of a reputation, but he’s got a soft spot for sweet-pieces.” She winked. “It’s gotten him into trouble in the past.” She patted his knee again. “He’s a little rough around the edges, but I’m sure he’ll warm up to you in no time.”

He blinked, and his soul dropped. Of course his luck wouldn’t be that good. Considering Muffet was in Hotland, this looked to be a non-Swapped Fellverse. He shouldn’t be surprised that this version of himself would be an uptight asshole like Edge. Still, he would need his help, and even if he didn’t like Edge, he knew the edgelord wasn’t the type of skeleton to just leave one of his alternates in peril. This Papyrus couldn’t be any worse.

He forced a smile. “hey, i can be charming! i’ll have him eating out of my hand in no time.” He’d yet to succeed with the edgelord but never mind that.

She smiled over her teacup. “I like your confidence.” A bell tinkled from the bakery’s front entrance, and she winked. “Here’s your chance.”

He blinked, and before he could gather himself, a skeleton walked into the bakery’s kitchen and went over to the sink. He was—

Rus swallowed. He was washing the dust off his hands. “Job’s done, boss. Ya wan’—“ He turned and fell silent, but not for long. “What the fuck is—?”

“He’s really more of a ‘who’,” Muffet said, stirring her tea. “He says his name is Rus.”

The Papyrus shook his head. “No. Hell no. I don’ know what the fuck ya think yer doin’, but I ain’t havin’ any part ‘a this.” He gestured to the two of them, scowling.

She didn’t seem bothered by his outburst. If anything, she seemed amused. “There’s blood on your face, dearie.” He blinked, then touched his cheek, and when he saw the blood staining his phalanges, he swore again and used a dishtowel to wipe it away. “Why don’t you get cleaned up, and we can all have dinner together?”

“That what he’s for?” the Papyrus asked, still glaring. “Ya gonna eat ‘im?”

“Don’t be ridiculous—I’m not going to eat him! How absurd. And you are being inexcusably rude to our guest. I think you should apologize.”

“Yeah, well, I think you should send ‘im back ta whatever auction house ya bought him from. Fuck’s sake—ya don’ even like sweet-pieces! Whaddaya wan’ with ‘im anyway?”

“I can think of a few uses for him….” She squeezed his knee and offered a flirtatious smile. “Is that the issue? Are you jealous?”

Papyrus stared at Rus, and Rus could feel his sins crawling on his back. He swallowed and tried to think of something to say to this version of himself. But the words died in his throat. This Papyrus was taller even than him, and he was broad at the shoulder, with thick bones that bespoke his strength. Even without the spiderweb of cracks across his socket—the dead eyelight—and the positively menacing projections pouring off him, he would have been intimidating. As it was, Rus could barely hold his head up as he looked him up and down.

A sudden Check caused Rus to wince. The other Papyrus scoffed. “Hope yer not planning on playing too rough with ‘im. Only got 5HP. Ain’t gonna be up ta yer usual games.” Something flickered in his eyelight, and his brow-bones furrowed.

She just took another sip of tea. “Don’t be ridiculous, dearie. I still have you, don’t I?”

He scoffed and turned away. “Not tanight ya don’—‘m headed out.”

“Really, now, Papyrus. There’s no need to be jealous. I’m perfectly willing to share~.”

“Not in’erested,” he said, storming down the hall and into their living quarters.

Muffet grinned at him. “Well,” she said, smoothing out her apron. “That went better than expected.”

He swallowed. Hard.

#twistfell #twist papyrus #twist muffet #swap papyrus #my work