#for anyone that is interested in what we were working on
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red tissues | ·˚ ༘ aaron hotchner ,,
summary - you get nose bleeds regularly, the alarming increase in their appearances gets aaron’s attention, especially when you wake up one day to blood covering your entire face for aaron to see.
genre - hotch x fem!reader, fluff
warnings - lots of mentions of blood, nose bleeds, mentions of being over worked, sickness
a/n - i’m going to open a permanent taglist for anyone who wants to be tagged in every criminal minds fanfiction i write, so either comment on this or make a request that you’re interested! ❤️
The office was buzzing with the sound of typing and chatting, pens being passed and chairs being adjusted. The night was surely coming, sun setting against the window panes to cast shadows onto piles of files. Your desk was dark and your pile was unfortunately much taller than everyone else’s.
Funny how shooting a criminal earns punishment through 10 more files to fill out.
But right now, all you cared about was filling your Snoopy mug with something. The coffee machine was broken by a certain muscly man, so some tea bags delivered that day were your only solace. Chamomile. Sounded tranquil enough.
As you waited for your beverage to brew, you glanced back to your desk and then to your teammates. You should’ve taken Spencer and Emily’s offers to take some files off you, but being a perfectionist and selfless, you kindly declined. Shoulder’s slumping, you pulled the mug close to your nose and took a long smell, closing your eyes in relief.
Suddenly, right before you could take the much needed first sip, a pang hit your head and your eyes and eyebrows ached, causing you to clench them. When you opened your eyes, the light brownish-yellow of the tea was mixing with red.
Blood. Shit.
You swiftly turn to grab some tissues as your boss, Aaron Hotchner, was grabbing his plain mug from the top shelf, you hadn’t even noticed him in your panic. He followed you with his eyes as he grabbed a green tea packet. The tissues held against your nose were turning red and soggy. And before he could ask what had happened, you had abandoned your mug and vanished from the room, heading for the bathrooms.
Aaron furrowed his eyebrows and noticed the discolouration in your mug, before grabbing it and washing it out for you.
A few days later, Morgan and Reid were sat in front of you, JJ leaning on your seat’s armrest as Aaron conversed with a lawyer over the phone. Prentiss covered the basic details of the case but all you could focus on was the slight pang in your heart when you heard Aaron chuckle at whoever was talking with him. Though your eyes didn’t leave the case files, your ears were suddenly attached to your boss’ voice.
Which was much closer, after he sat down next to you.
You felt stupid, being happier now that his attention wasn’t on some other woman, even though his attention still wasn’t on you. He sighed as he sat, a whiff of his strong cologne circling the group as they updated him on other details they had caught. You mentally scolded yourself for acting like a 14 year old girl crushing on her teacher, but alas, you would continue.
“We noticed all of the victims went to private religious schools, most of them went to church as well. Y/n pointed out how in all of their photos, they were dressed in a conservative way - which is a contrast when we look at their ages.” Spencer started before Rossi added,
“They’re all teenagers, nearly turning 20. They all had boyfriends, and we found that one of them was already engaged.”
You listened carefully, looking at the faces of the victims that were spread on the table, “As well as the common religious commitments, they all had one other thing in common.” You squinted your eyes with a short breath, feeling a headache approaching before you pointed something out that nobody else had noticed, “Same initials, all of them.”
Hotch nodded, “Amy Sanders, Alice Soo, Adriana Santiago and Alexa Smith. Nice work, Y/n.”
But before you could reject the complement and internally squeal, a throb attacked your head, and your eyes scrunched to create wrinkles you would try to massage away that night, before you threw your hand under your chin to swiftly catch a drop of blood. It was like a 6th sense these days.
“Excuse me.” You croak, leaving the back of the plane with Prentiss close behind you. You bent your head back before the raven haired woman’s hand pushed it forward.
“Don’t do that, the blood might go down your throat.”
You followed her instructions and raised any eyebrow, pinching the bridge of your nose.
“My niece used to have a lot of nose bleeds whenever she had a cold.” She promptly explained as she bent to pull out tissues from the white bathroom cabinets.
Around 5 minutes later, you and Prentiss returned to your respective seats, no one but you noticing a strong stare following you.
“Are you okay, L/n?” Spencer asks, squinting in curiosity.
“Yeah, sorry, sensitive nose, that’s all,” you lied.
These weren’t the first times you’ve had nose bleeds at work or around the team. There was one on your third day of work, the second time you went to a bar with Garcia, and one time on the plane around 4 months ago. You had been lucky that all your other nosebleeds happened either on the way to work or in the comfort of your own apartment. These days, when each case was followed by a heavier one, and each road trip was followed by a 10 hour flight, you were starting to get exhausted. You’re body has decided nose bleeds was the indication for you to take a fucking break.
The next week, you had almost forgotten about your unfortunate trait until a certain tall man called you into his office.
“I need those finger print files done by tonight, is that alright?” He asked, smooth voice cutting through your fatigue, leaning on the front of his desk only a metre away from you.
You glanced at him up and down. He was clad in a smoke grey suit, perfectly fitted to his muscles and wide shoulders, tie loose enough to show the amount of work he had been through that morning. He smelt amazing, like wood and petichor, like metal and…
“Yeah of course, sorry. I put the victims confirmed profiles on Spencer’s desk to check over before I could finalise the um…” Shit. Why did this have to happen right now?
But before you could even excuse yourself or hold a hand to your nose, a soft hand was cupped under your chin, careful not to touch you but close enough to catch droplets. Heat was radiating from the near contact, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the eye contact you were putting yourself through, or the blood that was currently pooling down your chin and into his palm. Aaron had appeared so swiftly, you wondered how he knew.
“We should really get you checked out.” He said, recalling back to your third day on the job.
“You can check- You’re right I should get… your hand is getting blood on it.” He broke your eye contact and glanced down at his palm, before taking a breath and nodding.
“Right, let’s get you cleaned up.”
His other, clean, hand is hovering over your lower back, and everyone’s eyes are hovering over the two of you, following you into the closest bathroom available. You can feel your cheeks heat up. As you pass the kitchenette, he picks up the box of tissues and you try to grab some from his hand, but instead of allowing you, he takes your wrists and holds one to your nose himself. His grip is soft, but restricting, warm. And you can’t help but look at him as he searches for an empty bathroom.
In the bathroom, he guides you to lean over the sink, washing his hands in a sink beside yours while watching you carefully. You look at him through the mirror, and you’re so distracted you almost don’t hear him tell you, “Lean forward more, don’t pinch your nose too hard.”
You comply and he crosses his arms and leans adjacent to you. “Do you know what’s causing all these nose bleeds?”
You thought back to shorter than 5 minutes ago and bit your lip, feeling your cheeks heat up once again. “Um, I think it was your cologne.” You glance over to him finding he was already looking into your eyes. You were embarrassed, he was your boss and you were basically insulting him. “You smell great, don’t get me wrong. My nose and I obviously have different… opinions.”
Aaron nods with a small smirk, compelling you to look away before you say anything more.
Thankfully, saving you from any more embarrassment, your nose stopped painting the porcelain sink reddish-orange. “Thank you for helping me, Hotch.”
Aaron returned to his computer and opened a tab, searching ‘Common causes for frequent nose bleeds’, and, ‘Ways to avoid nose bleeds’.
And the next morning, Aaron walked into the office to get his coffee (the machine had been promptly fixed after your nose bleed situation) before Morgan spoke up, “New cologne, Hotch?”
Hotch nodded, and turned back to his coffee, pocketing some chamomile satchels to dispose of later. The comment reassured Aaron.
He wanted to be someone you could be around without risking anymore red tissues.
Aaron placed himself next to you on the plane, the team had gone over the case six times already, and the plane flight was long. It’s always been long. You opened your mouth to greet him before he cut you off, “We can provide a doctor for you, if these nose bleeds keep happening.”
You blink in surprise, “I’m sorry they’re inconvenient but there’s not much I can do about it.” You bit the inside of your lip, unaware that your bleeds had caused anything negative other than a decrease in tissue supplies and unwanted attention (not including Aaron’s).
“I’m not saying it’s an inconvenience to me,” he shakes his head, “They’re an inconvenience to you. I’m worried it’s because you’re overworked.”
Oh.
You cleared your throat and avoided eye contact.
He continues, “You get to work the earliest, stay the latest, you’re always the one travelling the furthest when we have to split up.”
A smirk appears on your face as you finally look back up at the stoic man, “Sounds like someone I know.”
“I make time, Y/n.”
You wrung your hands in your lap and sighed, “I’ve had this problem since I was a kid, Hotch. My longest record between nose bleeds was three months, that's only because I finally found some medication.” Aaron raised an eyebrow. “They had terrible side effects, it wasn’t worth saving some tissues. I can deal, is what I’m saying.”
He nods and looks away in thought, that's when you allow yourself to look over his chest and arms, his posture and his… smell?
“You smell different.”
“I didn’t want a repeat of yesterday.”
You couldn’t stop thinking about Aaron Hotchner since what he said on that plane a little over five days ago. He changed his cologne, he offered to find a doctor, he listened to your reasoning. You thought he was being friendly. You wanted him to be a little bit more than that.
The plush seats and convenient seating arrangement that put you next to Aaron didn’t offer any comfort against the dry and hot weather of Nevada. If a place was your enemy, this was it.
You had already concealed a small bleed in the drive over, Spencer not giving you a second look when you pretended to sneeze into a tissue. With the increased frequency, she didn’t want any useless worry. You weren’t going to take a break, so you needed to hide any signs of exhaustion as best you could.
Even when the sheriff opened every window in the temporary office, JJ continued waving herself with a file, Morgan had already chugged three plastic bottles of water. Even Hotch only had a dark blue dress shirt on and damn did he look hotter than the sun.
But even with your best techniques and play-pretends (never looking down for too long, staying hydrated, avoiding the hotter places in the precinct), an unfortunate pang hit the front of your head and travelled to your nose. Your eyes shuddered, and you started to look for a tissue, before one appeared at the bottom of your chin before blood even trickled down your top lip.
It was Aaron holding it there, eyes on the case.
You looked at him in surprise and awe, before you took the tissue off him and excused yourself, getting a worried look from the old sheriff.
The tall man had learnt when you were about to get a nosebleed, a sudden stop in motion, scrunched eyebrows and eyes, stopped breathing. And as you left his line of vision, he tried not to worry about the amount of blood you would lose in this weather, and it motivated to close this case even more.
Everyone around the table glanced at Hotch and then at each other, putting on blank faces when Hotch looked up.
It wasn’t much better in the hotel rooms you had been given. They had aircon, and free water, but small windows, and broken fridges.
It was a relief to be able to sit on something that wasn’t covered in someone else’s sweat, even if it would be covered soon by your own. You had the coldest shower you think you’ve ever had, put on a larger t-shirt and a small pair of basketball shorts to fight against the heat during the night.
It came a surprise to you when you were blood free the entire afternoon and you counted it as good luck for the flight home, forgetting to place tissues or water on your bedside table. After denying an invitation to poker, you threw yourself onto the bed with crisp white sheets and soft pillow cases, in the direct shot of the air conditioning and only window in the room, and passed out.
There was a frantic knocking on your door, or maybe a pounding in your head. You couldn’t tell, and when you tried to investigate, you felt like your eyelids were sewn shut.
You were able to peak them open and lift yourself weakly, when suddenly a figure appeared in front of you with long blonde hair and soft hands on your shoulders.
“JJ?” Your lips felt tight.
“Jeez, Y/n. How long have you been sick?” Her voice was muffled, but as your vision became clearer so did your hearing. Hotch stopped in your open doorway, already dressed and bags dropped in the hallway, before walking in.
For a second you were going to try and stand to clean your room, realising how late it was. But as soon as you tried to stand, everything went hazy, and you could taste metal on your tongue.
“Y/n, we need to get you cleaned up.” JJ said sweetly, as if you were a child. She took your heavy arms and pulled them to the bathroom, light making your headache into a migraine.
You lifted a hand to the bone between your eyebrows, and when you took it off, it had dried blood on it. As JJ grabbed your body towel from last night and wet a corner of it, you stole a sight of your face. Your mouth and nose was covered in dry blood, some of it had travelled to your left cheek, and between your eyebrows. There was fresher blood on your chin and some even on your next.
You had a delirious thought that you had been stabbed, or you had stabbed someone, but when you looked out into the bedroom and saw Aaron taking the pillow case off of the pillow you were using, you wondered if you caused it to go from white to red overnight.
“What happened?” JJ asked, carefully placing her fingertips on the bottom of your jaw while her other hand dabbed softly at your face. You couldn’t answer, even though you had a fairly good guess. Aaron appeared in the mirror to hand JJ some pain killers, for you.
Swallowing was painful, but as your blonde friend wiped off the last bit of blood from your top lip, you looked worse than your throat felt.
“I’m sorry JJ, I could’ve cleaned myself up.”
“Don’t apologise Y/n. You worried me. You weren’t responding to your texts, not even Hotch’s,” she put the towel down and looked into your eyes with a motherly concern. “I think you need to listen to Hotch when he offers you a doctor again.”
And you nod, because she was right.
JJ left the room with a hug, leaving you with a very cross Aaron Hotchner.
“I’m-“
“You could’ve choked, or suffocated, or passed out- Actually I think you did.” He motioned towards your alarm clock that had been running since 5 a.m. “Y/n…” He looked confused, worried, sad? Your eyes hadn’t 100% cleared yet, a headache slowly throbbing, knees still slightly buckling. You wanted to lay down and be thrown into an ice bath.
“How was I supposed to know this would happen?” You croaked out.
“You’ve got one window open, cold and dry aircon on, and no water bottle on your bedside table. You should’ve asked to sleep in the same room as someone, in the same room as me.”
You looked down to your feet, only noticing now that Aaron had packed all of your things for you.
“I thought you had been…” He raked a hand through his hair and paced before placing his hands on your upper arms, “I’m going to get you to a doctor, and you can’t say no. That’s an order.”
His grip tighten only slightly, before he turned around and left with your luggage, heart beating fast in his chest.
You were back home, thank god. The air was cooler and clearer, and you didn’t feel like you needed to moisturise every two minutes. You stretched your arms above your head, squishing your eyes closed for some relief to the sting from the computer screen. Your chest expanded deeply, and your nose finally cleared.
And when you opened your eyes, you glanced over to your boss’ office windows to see if he was still working. But he was already out of his door, looking at you.
Butterflies played tag with each other in your stomach, a blush crossing your face and you both shot your gazes away.
His shoes were nearly silent against the floor, but when you quickly stood to pack your shoulder bag and take the sweater off the back of your chair, Aaron was there to greet you when you turned around.
“Let me walk you out?” He asked, as if the last words he said to you weren’t full of unprofessional emotions.
You were silent for at least 3 seconds, Aaron getting worried for a second before you stumbled over your words, “Y-Yes plea- Yeah. Sure.”
He smiled, a genuine smile.
Side by side, his briefcase touching your shoulder bag, you made your way towards the elevator. Aaron fiddled with his fingers and felt unfamiliarly nervous, heart thumping a little harder than when he walked out of his office.
“Thank you for everything. Caring, catching my blood. I would ask how you knew, but you are a profiler after all.” You smile softly, and he nods.
“I’m glad you noticed.” He presses on the car park level in the elevator, hands coming to discreetly fidget once again.
And you can’t take the silence, “You still smell good.”
“You always do.” Aaron looks as surprised that he said that as you do, looking away quickly before looking up and sighing, “Tomorrow is Saturday.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have any plans?”
“I have a movie I want to watch, maybe a recipe I wanna try,” you reply oblivious, shuddering at the sudden change of temperature when you both exit the elevator. Suddenly a thicker layer of fabric was draped over your shoulders, one that smelt like new cologne. You blushed, looking up at him.
The cold breeze was pushing his hair out of place slightly, making his nose a little redder, his eyes clearer. He looked like the word handsome humanised.
“I think that you should watch that movie and try that recipe at… my place.”
You widened your eyes chasing any regret or embarrassment in his eyes, but all you got was nervousness, something you had rarely seen in him before.
He is so handsome, I can’t believe this is happening, I have to tell Garcia- Can I tell Garcia? He’s my boss after all- I mean this doesn’t mean it had to be a date or anything-
Some blood dripped onto the jacket draped over his shoulders.
“You could’ve just said no.” He joked as you pinched your nose, smiling against the small headache. It must’ve been the last bit of blood from that morning.
“No, I wanna go, I do- Just, could you get a tissue from my glovebox? I don’t want to get anymore blood on your coat.” You reply, nasally and carefully.
“We’re definitely getting you to a doctor.”
“Sounds like a fun first date.”
#criminal minds#criminal minds imagine#aaron hotch oneshot#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch fic#aaron hotchner fluff#criminal minds fluff
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I come again w/ another Tim Drake au!!
So there's this fanfic "If We Could Only Utter the Words Left Unsaid" by TaintedCure on AO3
And now I wanna share an idea
TW for suicide because of Timothy + death-fueled-time-travel
Basically, whenever somebody kills Tim, they go back in time, and there's no limit to how many times he can die. they go back far enough to prevent his death or not do an attempt on his life
He dies during Titans Tower? Back in time you go Jason!
Cut his line and he broke his neck and died? Damian is now back in time!
Some goon cracked his skull too well? Say hello to the past bucko!
Hell, even accidental murders still register so if you were to accidentally push him off too high a ledge you're getting the Time Travel Treatment
Hey maybe Tim still is aware of his time travel powers, but only when it comes to natural causes (like hypothermia) or suicides, so as a result he thinks he knows it all when he in fact doesn't
So yeah, unless somebody spills, Tim is clueless to the whole truth of his powers
I imagine only old age would do him in at this rate
It'd be like real interesting to see all the POVs, especially if they think they know all the loops
Like there's Tim who's regularly exploited his powers to get perfect results but is trying to convince himself he isn't being too frivolous with his life since he's saving lives or making them better
Then there's the people who did him in and may or may not even be aware that the time travel they experiences was because they killed the Third Robin or got him killed
Then there's the people who've done him in maybe one, twice or multiple times and have clocked into the fact that murdering Tim is an exercise in futility
TW: suicide (powers revolving traveling time by dying), violence/abuse (skip the angst if you don't want the second one), and death.
Now, this is a very interesting concept, and I'm probably gonna get lost in the setup for a bit.
The way that Tim's powers work would have to be defined really well. How far back can he go? In the fic you mentioned, he has a save point, basically. He can die an infinite amount of times, but he'll only return to his save point unless he reaches past the OG time he died. He can play around as much as he wants between the savepoint and his death, but a new savepoint gets set up after he passes his OG death time. It also indicated a decrease in time he went back (or his savepoint was established) so that he'll eventually die for good if he kept using his powers. That solves a lot of continuity issues.
However, the setup for Tim's powers could be like SSS-Class Suicide Hunter. For those who aren't familiar, the MC revives 24 hours in the past. He ends up killing himself thousands of times to end up at least a decade in the past. It's been a while since I've read it, but that's the basics of it.
If we're working off of those rules, anyone who kills Tim is only working with 24 hours in the past. You can add more or less time to fit your AU better.
I have some questions about the setup. You mentioned that the person who kills Tim would get sent back without his knowledge. Therefore, in Tim's mind, has he never been murdered? Or, is it a two for one ride into the past? Does the villain get sent back into the past, but Tim doesn't know the past has been changed? Or does Tim get sent back as well, but he doesn't know the villain is also sent back?
Imma get into the angst in a bit if Tim doesn't get sent back into the past when he gets murdered.
However, the issue with this is fucking with the timestream. If a goon kills Tim, ends up 24 hours in the past, and past Tim kills himself within those 24 hours, what the hell is the timeline? Does the goon still get sent back in time? Does Tim get sent back, and then, when the goon is supposed to, his consciousness gets sent back during that time? Does Tim killing himself wipe out the goon being able to travel back in time?
Continously, I assume if villains found out about the power, they would gun for Red Robin with prejudice because they know they'll get a cheat that way. They get a ticket to the past if they kill the bird. They get a redo.
Alright. Angst time!
~~
Bruce is the first one to find out about Tim's power. He's training with Tim when, as per usual, he takes it a bit too far. The man has a habit of not pulling his punches in a fucked up version of trying to push Tim away from being Robin. This time, when he punches Tim, the kid doesn't get up. It's a wonder he didn't hear the awful crack or notice Tim's neck wasn't quite right. Only not recieving an answer after berating Tim about not getting up causes Bruce to pause. He doesn't hear breathing.
Oh gods. He doesn't hear breathing. Is Tim dead? Did he kill Tim? Did he break his nec-
Bruce snaps to attention mid lecture to Robin. They are both in the cave (not on the training mats not on the mats not on the mats), and it seems the exact same as it was yesterday when he was yelling at Tim about proper batarang maintenance.
Tim, ever the observant Robin, leans forward as if to ask if Batman was okay. Bruce flinches back.
Tim's eyes widen in shock as he takes a step back. In the year or so he's worked with Bruce, he's never gotten that response to initating touch. Tim's eyes flicker down to his hand in recrimination and puzzlement.
Bruce takes a shaky breath in before dismissing Tim for the night. The child is hesitant to flee but follows the request.
Bruce doesn't know what happened and he's not sure he wants to find out.
This cues Bruce being kinder to Tim and less harsh. The detective figures out that Tim has a time traveling power upon death, but it appears as if Tim isn't aware of it (he doesn't know that Tim constantly kills himself for better results in field). Tim never finds out that Bruce's change in behavior to him was born of guilt. He never learns that his dad killed him.
~~
Next angst!
Two concepts with Jason.
One, Jason creates a fucked up timeloop with Titan's Tower where he kills Tim over and over again in fucked up ways until he satiates his desire for bloodlust. If Tim is still aware of the Tower incident, that's because Jason wanted him to be. Whether Jason becomes guilty about this timeloop he created or not could also be explored. There is a fic out there kind of similar to this concept (timeloop Titan's Tower, not the added element of Tim's powers).
Two, Bruce does end up killing Jason in the showdown with the Joker. He batarang slices Jason's neck, the building blows up, and Jason never emerges. There's a few ways to add on top of this angst. If Titan's Tower happened before this (and Tim was left beaten), that means Tim chose to kill himself to save Jason. Jason will never know. That, or Titan's Tower happens afterwards and Jason tortures Tim not knowing the teen saved him from a second death at the hands of his father (ironically Tim also doesn't know that he's been killed by Bruce).
~~
Last Angst!
Damian finds out about Tim's power and abuses it constantly. He's a kid that was raised to be an assassin and found someone he can kill that also gives him the benefit of getting away with anything. As long as the kill goes through, he's golden.
Eventually, Damian starts to slow down on this. He doesn't really want to see Drake choking on blood again.
He one day finds that he hasn't tried to kill Drake in months and he doesn't really want to try to.
Then he finds that list.
Then he cuts Drake's line.
Then he has to relive those 24 hours again knowing he killed someone he was starting to trust.
Bonus angst if Tim finds out, jokingly asks his family members how many times they have killed them, and finds out Dick is the only one who hasn't (Tim killed himself after the 16th birthday incident and he somewhat blames Alfred for that, though he'll never tell him).
#dc comics#dc universe#tim drake#jason todd#bruce wayne#damian wayne#dc au#batfam au#thank you for the ask!!!!#i don't feel like editing so let me know if there are any errors!
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ADDICTED carl grimes x fem!reader
warnings — both are 18+, piv sex, begging, first times, subxsub, both are dumb and clueless about sex because duh, corny ass ending we all boo’d
it’s not often that you and carl get time to yourself. the two of you met at the prison, you were one of the people that had been taken in. you remember being the only person around carl’s age with so many similar interests. you both getting separated when the prison fell, and when you finally reunited you both realized the pain it caused the both of you.
the older you two got, the more the budding feelings surfaced. when you got to alexandria it’s like something snapped. the safety of it all, the familiarity, you remember confessing to carl one night. the two of you sat in his new room, in awe of this place.
it’s been at least a year since, and things have gotten rockier in alexandria, putting a slight strain on your relationship. nothing too serious, but plans to hang out together kept having to be pushed back.
but tonight finally, you get him all to yourself. the two of you are laying in his bed, practically your bed as well at this point. he’s laying on his back and you on your side, arm on his chest and legs entangled with his.
his left arm is resting on your back, chin propped on your head. your other hand is playing with his hair, your eyes closed as you listen to the repetitive rhythm of him throwing a ball at the ceiling over and over.
the silence and the comfort allows you to think, clearly and calmly for once. first it’s small things, how dates would go if the world hadn’t gone to shit. then things a little more… like making out with him, feeling his touch, his hot, calloused hands burning your skin.
your eyes travel to his hand that’s busy, the soft but scarred skin has you enamored. your mind runs even wilder, suddenly coming up with the very vivid mental image of his hands toying with your cunt. your body tenses and you feel your body get hot, a small whimper escaping your lips.
carl pauses his movements and looks at you worriedly, “are you okay?” you nod meekly, unable to look up at him. his hand drops the ball and his finger comes to your chin to tilt your head up. he smiles when your eyes meet his and pecks your lips.
“pretty girl…” he trails off, hand going from your face to your waist. his movements are agonizingly slow, leaving you wondering if he knows what you’re thinking about. he’s such a tease, could he really?
his face gets closer to yours, his eye trained on you. “what’s got you so tense?” you stay silent for a moment and then your words tumble out in an inaudible mess. your boyfriend giggles, “i didn’t quite catch that.”
you take in a deep breath, deciding to just go for something simple. “i need you.”
carl smiles happily, “i need you too, always. i’m sorry i’ve been so absent-” he stops when you move to hover over him, your legs straddling his thigh. he quirks his brow at you, ahh, how cute and naive he is. no experience, not really anyone to tell him to work these things. of course he couldn’t tell what you’re thinking about.
“i need you,” you whine, rolling your hips down as you speak to emphasize what you mean. his eye widens and his hands fly to your waist, his breathing is heavy and his gaze has already turned lustful. but not in the ravaging beast way, in the way he just looked clueless. you weren’t much better, but you found it so cute.
he leaned forward and your lips connected, slow and passionate to harsh and needy on both ends as you both groped and grabbed each other wherever you pleased. carl slid his hand up your shirt, rubbing your back before fiddling with the clamp on your bra. he laughs a little into your mouth at his struggle, unclamping it and sliding your shirt over your head to get it off.
"you're so pretty," he praises, sending heat to your face and between your legs as you kissed him again, feeling his hands guide the thin material on your chest off your arms. he then kissed down your neck, to your breasts, and back up again to meet your lips, sliding a hand down your body. you moaned into his mouth, breaking the kiss just as his fingers reach your clit.
"carl," you moan desperately, pressing your face into his neck. the tips of his fingers maintaining tight circles against your clit, occasionally asking you how it feels. you felt his heavy breaths against your ear, pretty groans leaving his lips when you grind down on his hand.
you stop his hand before you get to finish, his confused gaze following you as you lift yourself off his lap just enough to slide off your shorts and underwear. he placed his head on your shoulder, letting out small whines when you’d touch him.
you were so impatient, lining him up with your entrance, sinking down with a moan. his hands went to your hips, gripping the skin a little harsher than he intended. he leans in to kiss you again, the two of you finding a needy, messy rhythm.
carl gasps into your mouth, “feel good?” you lean back to look at him, flushed, sweaty face and blow out pupil looking at you like you were crafted by the gods. you nod with a moan, brushing his sweaty hair from his face.
he grimaces, attempting to cover his bandage again when you grab his hands and place them back on your hips. the feeling of your skin against him is enough to make his brain go haywire and forget about anything but you.
he leans into you again, letting his head fall on your shoulder again. “i’m close, baby.” he presses small kisses to your skin, pulling your body closer to him. eventually you’re left desperately grinding on him.
his hands grip your skin harsher, “i’m gonna cum,” he whines into your ear, panting and unable to speak. “with me, please.” you shiver at how breathless and spent he sounded, so desperate and whiny it sent you spiraling. you nod, telling him to let go.
he keeps chanting whispered ‘please’s in your ear, your bodies falling back on the mattress in an entangled mess. you feel carl move before he’s trailing kisses all over any bit of your skin he can reach.
“again?” he pleads, causing your eyes to widen. he slides his hand over your ass, pulling your hips into his again. “i’ve gotten a taste of you, you’ve made me addicted.”
#carl grimes x reader#carl grimes fanfiction#carl grimes x y/n#carl grimes x you#carl grimes#carl grimes smut#twd x reader#twd fanfiction#twd oneshot#twd imagine#twd smut#carl grimes oneshot#carl grimes imagine#carl grimes x fem!reader
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The First Date
Eddie Munson x Reader
Summary: Your first date with Eddie doesn't go exactly as planned after you and your friends get taken and drugged by Russian spies, making him think that you stood him up.
Warnings: A little bit of angst.
2k words
Eddie Munson.
You'd seen him around school. He was loud, rough, and slightly intimidating.
The first time you saw him was in the cafeteria, loudly speaking about the throes of capitalism, forced conformity, and the demonization of people whom society deemed 'different'. You mostly tuned people out during lunch, but it was hard to ignore Eddie. He was so captivating. You weren't sure if it was the way he used his entire body when making a point, aggressively gesticulating, or the way his face twisted and turned as he spoke, or just his general demeanor, that made everything he said sound so poignant. He hadn't really been in your orbit before, so outside your social circle. You were friends with people like Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler, not necessarily because you were popular but rather through shared trauma. There was something about going through life-altering events and near-death experiences that really bonded people for life.
The first time you spoke to Eddie was after you saw him taping a poster on a bulletin board outside the auditorium.
Hellfire Club. D&D.
"Hey, is that a D&D club?" you asked him.
He turned around, slightly startled, and looked at you with surprise.
"Oh, hey! Didn't see you there. Yeah, it's a D&D club. I'm trying to recruit new members since we're running a bit low..." He replied, giving you a hesitant smile.
He seemed a bit nervous, slightly tugging on his hair and anxiously tapping his foot. You're pretty sure you were making him nervous. You'd seen the way people like Steve treated people like Eddie, even though Steve had grown considerably after taking out a Demogorgon and watching his girlfriend nearly die. You'd seen the way Tommy and Carol used to laugh at the 'freaks', shoving them around in the hallways, making fun of their interests, like the time Tommy made someone in the band cry during a pep rally. The realization that Eddie was nervous because he expected you to do the same slightly hurt.
"That's cool! This kid that I babysit—his name's Dustin, he really likes D&D. He plays it a lot with his other friends. Whenever I used to babysit him, he'd drag me to their games. I never really got it, mostly because any time I asked a question, Dustin would scream at me," you breathlessly ramble, "He's not a huge fan of anyone who doesn't get the point, like, right away."
It seemed that the more you rambled, the more at ease Eddie became, and suddenly he was laughing as you spoke.
"Well, I promise that we don't yell at anyone in Hellfire. Only when we're excited," Eddie said, a small smile lingering on his lips as he looked at you, "Just in case you ever wanna join in."
"I might take you up on that offer. I've been pegged down the list of 'coolest teens' that Dustin knows, and my ego's taken a hit," you joked.
You hadn't ended up joining Hellfire. But you and Eddie had become sort of friends. You'd see him around school. You were both in some of the same classes, you'd see him in the hallways and you'd wave at each other. Sometimes you'd see him in the parking lot after school and you'd chat for a bit. But that was the extent of it. You didn't grow closer until summer started and you got a job at Starcourt. You worked at Café Nocturne, right across from Scoops Ahoy where Steve had started working. Most days, you spent your lunch break lounging around Scoops Ahoy, eating free ice cream, and making fun of Steve with his co-worker Robin. Sometimes you wondered what Eddie was up to, not having seen him since summer started, and you found yourself hoping you'd see him around Starcourt.
It wasn't until the second week of summer that you saw Eddie. The Café had been relatively quiet, only an old couple sitting in the far corner drinking lattes. You were trying to pass the time by making random drinks when you saw Eddie lingering by the cash register.
"Eddie!" you said, surprising yourself by how loud you were. You cleared your throat awkwardly and shuffled over to him, sending him a shy smile.
"Y/N? Hey, I didn't know you worked here," Eddie said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "It's nice to see you again, I was wondering where you went."
"Oh, just been making coffee...hanging out with my friends," you replied, "How's your summer been so far?"
"Erm, yeah, it's been okay. I've just been working, hanging out with Gareth and Jeff, writing some new music," Eddie replied.
"For Corroded Coffin, right?" you asked.
"Yeah, wow, how'd you know about that?" Eddie said, nervously twirling his hair.
"Oh-um...I heard you talking about it in the cafeteria once," you responded, hoping you didn't sound like a stalker.
"Right, yeah, you should come see us sometime. We play in the Hide Out every Tuesday," Eddie said, as a shy grin crept on his face, "We kinda get a crowd, actually...of about five drunks."
You let out a small giggle, "That sounds nice. Unfortunately, I work every Tuesday. Maybe when school starts?"
Eddie was slightly deflated at that, nodding his head in understanding. Not wanting to ruin your one chance at spending time with Eddie this summer, you hesitatingly asked, "Maybe we can hang out sometime? You could teach me D&D? I didn't get the chance to learn when you first offered..."
Eddie immediately perked up at that, nodding vigorously as he said, "Yeah! Yeah, that'd be great. I can totally do that. Erm, do you wanna meet here tomorrow at 7? We could grab some food-"
"Oh, I was hoping we could meet somewhere else. Maybe at Patty's diner? It's just that I spend all my time at Starcourt," you responded.
"Yeah, that works. Patty's at 7. It's a date," Eddie replied, before quickly backtracking. "Not like a date-date, I just meant, like, a platonic date. Like just friends hanging out, chilling, y'know? Unless you want it to be a date? It doesn't have to be! But, like-"
You cut him off before he could dig further into the hole he found himself in, giggling a little at how flustered he looked. "It's a date. A non-platonic, hopefully romantic, date."
"That's...that's great, yeah. I will see you then," Eddie said breathlessly, shuffling his way out as he raised a hand to wave goodbye, almost knocking into the table behind him as he left.
God, he's adorable.
♡♡♡
"I swear to God Dustin, if we die in this elevator, I will strangle you with my bare hands," you grit out, pacing back and forth as everyone tried to reel in their panic, "I have a fucking date in two hours and if I miss it, I will literally end you."
"No one gives a shit about your stupid date," Dustin yelled, throwing his hands around wildly as Erica slammed a bottle of weird-looking fluid on the wall. You weren't even gonna try and deal with that, it looked like Robin had it handled as you watched her snatch the bottle from Erica's hands.
Things escalated pretty quickly from there and suddenly you were lying on the floor of a bathroom cubicle, trying to make the room stop spinning.
"Is this what it feels like to do drugs?" you groaned out, stretching on the disgusting tiles and praying that your head stopped pounding.
"I wouldn't know," Robin replied, "But if it is, this sucks."
"Steve? Are you alive?" you asked, "I don't need you dying on me. You're my ride home."
"I'm good," you heard him croak.
"Think we puked it all out?" you asked.
"Let's check...interrogate me." Robin said.
"When's the last time you peed your pants?" Steve asked, and you heard Robin let out a cackle, "Today."
"What the fuck, Robin?" you laughed.
"It was when they took out the bone saw. And only a little!" she defended herself, giggling with you.
"I'm meant to be on a date," you moaned, "He's gonna think I stood him up. How am I meant to explain this shit?"
"We'll figure it out," Steve replied, "Also, who's this guy anyway? You've been moaning about missing this date for, like, hours?"
"Yeah, it's getting kinda annoying," Robin added.
"It's Eddie." you replied, crawling into the stall next to you and sitting down in front of Robin. "Eddie Munson. He's a senior. Long, curly, untamed hair. Really loud. Plays D&D."
"Wait, Eddie 'The Freak' Munson? Isn't he a drug dealer?" Steve asked, a little surprised.
"Don't call him that!" you said, slightly defensive, "And I didn't know that. But if this is what drug consumption is like then he needs to stop."
As the drugs slowly purged out of your systems, and Steve tried to hit on Robin only to get rejected and have a heart-to-heart, the three of you found yourselves giggling hysterically in the dingy bathroom. It wasn't long until Dustin and Erica burst in and dragged you all out. As the night progressed, things only got worse. And soon, all of you were facing off a thirty-feet tall Mind Flayer and reeling from the loss that followed. Then the dust settled, a different story was fabricated, and everyone had to pretend to move on. And you had an apology to give.
♡♡♡
You didn't see Eddie until school started again. It was the first day back, hallways busy and bustling as the freshmen teetered around cluelessly. This year felt different, like there was some cosmic shift in the air. Everything seemed duller, void of any feeling. You weren't sure what it was exactly, but if you had to guess then it was probably the Starcourt 'fire' that had brought on this change. Things weren't the same after. It was like all of Hawkins was reeling from the loss, despite not having known the truth. You wished that you'd been oblivious. Maybe then everything wouldn't hurt this much.
You didn't see Eddie around school until lunch. You were almost sure he was avoiding you. You finally saw him lingering in the hallway by his locker, putting some books in, and you immediately made a beeline for him.
"Eddie!" you called, startling him as he looked up.
You walked over before he could say anything, "I've been looking all over for you! I'm so sorry I couldn't make it to Patty's. I wanted to explain everything over the summer, but my parents grounded me, which was incredibly annoying since I didn't even do anything. But I think they were just super paranoid and didn't know what else to do and I didn't have your number so I couldn't call you and-"
Your rambling was cut off by Eddie as he held up his hands and dismissively waved, "It's cool, it's fine. Honestly, I don't know why I thought you would show up. If it was some joke or whatever, like, it's...whatever."
"What? No! That wasn't some joke. I really wanted to go on that date, but you know what happened at Starcourt, right?" you anxiously spoke.
"The fire? I don't see what that has to do with anything. Doesn't your shift end at 5?" Eddie asked skeptically.
"Yes, yes it does! But I usually hang out at Scoops Ahoy because Steve's my ride home. I was doing that and then the whole fire thing happened, and I just got caught up in all of that, and then, y'know the house arrest? My parents thought if I stepped outside, I'd die or something," you quickly explained, "I promise I didn't stand you up!"
Eddie looked at you for a while until a small smile crept up on his face, "Relax, I believe you."
You immediately let out a sigh of relief, "I promise I'm not an asshole."
There were a few moments of silence that stretched between you two until Eddie finally spoke, "I'm sorry about what happened. That must've been horrifying."
You don't know the half of it.
You let out a nervous chuckle, "Erm, yeah, it was. But I've had some time to recover."
"How about we re-do that date?" Eddie asked, "Except this time I'm gonna pick you up, can't imagine the types of trouble you get into when I'm not around."
"Sounds good, Eds." you smiled, leaning forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek. As you broke away, you could see a small blush settling on his face.
"God, Y/N, buy me dinner first."
#eddie munson x you#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#stranger things#stranger things 4#fluff#eddie munson fluff#stranger things fic#eddie munson fanfic#corroded coffin#starcourt#hawkins#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson fic#angst#drabble#slow burn#angst with a happy ending#light angst#stranger things oc#stranger things imagine#eddie munson is a sweetheart#eddie munson is shy#stranger things x y/n#stranger things x reader#stranger things x you
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Dick groaned as soon as he registered the flash of orange-and-black on the rooftop, automatically changing his trajectory to engage. It had been a long night, two gang busts and several muggings foiled, and he was not in the mood to fight with Deathstroke until the mercenary gave up on his objective.
Unfortunately, the mercenary was peering through a sniper scope and Dick wasn’t about to let anyone get assassinated on his watch.
A couple of wingdings and Deathstroke abandoned his position, twisting up to face the new threat. Dick drew his escrima before he landed on the rooftop, and went on the attack. “You know, we really should stop meeting like this,” Dick said with the flash of a smile.
“I don’t know, I definitely appreciate the view,” Deathstroke said, dodging a strike and somehow managing to stay still long enough to do a leering scan over Dick, obvious even through the mask.
Banter was good, banter meant that Deathstroke was not in a bad mood and Dick had a significantly higher chance of escaping without injury.
“Really? I think you’d appreciate it a lot better without that mask,” Dick said breathlessly, dropping underneath Deathstroke’s guard and lashing out with an escrima, straight at the mask. “And in better lighting, too.” It connected with a crack and Deathstroke stumbled back with a grunt, hand raising to his broken mask.
Dick took the opportunity to spin towards the sniper setup—with one kick, he sent the whole apparatus crashing off the roof and to the ground several stories before. He looked back up and gave the mercenary a bright smile.
“Oops,” Dick said.
Deathstroke regarded him for a long, stretching moment, ice blue eye narrowing as he tossed the mask aside, before exploding into movement.
Dick backpedaled, but there was only so long he could outlast a superpowered mercenary and Dick wasn’t surprised when he ended up pinned against the wall, his escrima sticks having followed the sniper rifle off the roof, staring up at that snarl.
“Someone should really teach you a lesson about how to treat other people’s stuff,” Deathstroke growled, fingers squeezing around Dick’s wrists.
Dick licked his lips, grinning when Deathstroke’s gaze dropped to the movement, and tried to stomp down on the mercenary’s instep. “You want me to ask nicely?”
“I want you to beg, little bird,” Deathstroke said darkly, leaning down until their faces were scant inches apart. “I want you to scream and cry and wail until you finally give in and promise to mind your own business.”
“Make me,” Dick retorted.
That was normally his cue for wriggling out of Deathstroke’s grip, throwing back a few more quips as Deathstroke’s faux flirting stalked deep into the territory of sexual harassment, and stall until the police got here from the tip he’d called in, but Dick was aching all over and not really in the mood to gain a few more bruises before Deathstroke cut his losses.
So instead he pushed up on his tiptoes to close the scant distance between them, and pressed his lips to the mercenary’s.
As a distraction technique, it worked. He felt Deathstroke grow rigid in surprise before kissing back, grip loosening slightly on Dick’s wrists. The mercenary deepened the kiss, pressing Dick back against the brick, so close that Dick could feel the seams of his armor.
It was a damn good kiss and Dick felt breathless and dizzy when Deathstroke disengaged, only to have to bite back a sharp moan when the mercenary sucked at the curve of his jaw, stubble scratching against his neck. Slade chuckled, diving back in for a kiss, and Dick could feel parts of his body perk up in interest.
The distant sound of sirens faintly registered and Dick couldn’t help the smile curving against the kiss. Deathstroke withdrew, giving Dick a suspicious look. “What did you do?” he growled.
“Me?” Dick blinked his eyes innocently. The effect was hidden by his domino, but Deathstroke still narrowed his eye.
The sirens got closer.
Deathstroke cursed and abruptly released Dick, stalking to the edge of the rooftop. Dick followed him and peered over the edge. A pair of police cars was already there, and there was an officer shining a flashlight over the pile of gear that lay in pieces on the ground.
Both of them ducked back before the officer could look up.
“Don’t worry,” Dick grinned, “I’ll make sure the BPD takes very good care of your toys.”
Deathstroke merely snarled at him. Dick rocked on the balls of his feet, ready to jump back if the merc decided to lash out, but Deathstroke spun around and walked away, grabbing his broken mask and heading to the other edge of the rooftop.
“We should do this another time!” Dick called after him, still smiling, and stretched in satisfaction at a job well done. He hadn’t even gotten punched.
It was a good night.
~#~
The next time he ran into Deathstroke, it was by complete accident. Dick was sneaking into a warehouse when he caught sight of someone else moving in the rafters and it didn’t take more than a glance to identify what their target was.
Starting a fight up here would alert Deathstroke’s target, true, but it would also alert them that Nightwing was here, and Dick hoped for a little more discretion tonight. So instead of barging forward, escrima out, Dick kept his weapons sheathed and slinked forward more quietly.
Of course, there was no such thing as quiet enough when it came to Deathstroke the Terminator, so Dick was still a few steps away when the man growled, “What do you want, Grayson?”
“Ideally, for you to stop taking contracts in Bludhaven,” Dick hummed, watching the merc tense up as Dick moved closer and finally sidled in front of Deathstroke, blocking his view of the meeting happening on the warehouse floor. “But I’ll settle for a kiss.”
Even through the mask, Dick could feel Deathstroke’s unimpressed look. “Get out of my way, kid,” he said tersely.
“Rude,” Dick pouted, letting Deathstroke back him up against a cross beam. The mercenary loomed above him, a hulking figure in the semi-darkness, and Dick felt something skate across his nerves.
“Don’t test my patience,” the man growled.
“That doesn’t sound like me,” Dick said, grabbing hold of a crisscrossing strap on Deathstroke’s armor to prevent the merc from turning back to his target. Deathstroke snarled and yanked off Dick’s hand, but Dick had already jumped up, wrapping his legs around Slade’s waist before his grip was removed. Dick smiled at the mercenary, face-to-mask, like he wasn’t currently holding them together with the strength of his thighs.
“What the fuck are you doing,” Deathstroke said flatly. He didn’t move to tear Dick off, but Dick was under no impression that it wouldn’t be ridiculously easy for him to do. Dick just moved forward with the half-ridiculous plan he’d formulated.
“We left things a little unfinished last time,” Dick said, dropping his voice as he slowly, gently placed his hands on the mercenary’s shoulders. The mask was an obstacle, and he lifted his fingers to the knot, loosening it carefully, heart hammering in his throat as he did his best to keep his movements slow and unthreatening.
Deathstroke let him slip the mask off, standing stock still on the rafter beam. Beneath them, the meeting was beginning to finish up. Dick looked into the mercenary’s impassive expression and smiled, trying to ignore how everything was fluttery from trepidation. “It’s not nice to leave a guy hanging.”
The mercenary made some kind of snort, but Dick didn’t let him get anything more out, cupping one gloved hand against that strong jaw and meeting his lips. Deathstroke let him set the pace this time and Dick took his time in exploring, curling the fingers of his other hand in Deathstroke’s hair as he lost him in the kiss.
He didn’t even realize that Deathstroke was gripping his ass until the man gave a deliberate squeeze.
“Is this what you want, little bird?” the mercenary murmured as Dick broke the kiss with a muffled gasp. “Do you get off on playing cat-and-mouse with villains?” Nightwing’s armor was made of high-quality kevlar fabric, but it felt like tissue paper right now—he could feel the slow, deliberate movements as Slade kneaded his ass. “Did you want the big, bad mercenary to hold you down and make you scream?”
Dick rolled his hips forward, re-wrapping his legs tight around Slade’s waist. “I don’t know,” he said, voice breathless, “you tell me.”
He dove back into the kiss, feeling arousal spike higher with every press and squeeze, his suit becoming uncomfortably tight. Dick was so consumed that he almost forgot what he was here for, but he remembered when he heard the quiet slide of a gun slipping out of its holster.
Dick broke the kiss but kept his forehead pressed to Deathstroke’s, reaching out to grab the gun before the mercenary finished aiming it. He didn’t try to wrest the gun away, just curled a hand over the muzzle and waited.
“You truly are a pain in my ass,” the mercenary grumbled.
“In your ass?” Dick said pointedly, wiggling against the tight grip Deathstroke had on him.
The mercenary merely huffed, not engaging as he let go. “Get off of me. They’re gone, anyway.” Dick darted a quick glance to check before he let go of the gun and unwrapped himself from Deathstroke.
~#~
~#~
“I trust you,” Dick said with a smile. It didn’t sound like a lie. He was too exhausted and injured, and maybe it was true. Maybe this was what trust felt like.
Slade’s face closed down, slipping straight into Deathstroke’s idle efficiency. Shit. That didn’t seem like a good sign.
“Okay,” Slade said, “Go to the bedroom. Take off your suit. Kneel next to the bed, hands on the blankets. Now.”
Dick was already regretting this. This wasn’t going to be gentle. But there was no point in protesting. Dick did what he was told, and knelt, bruised knees pressing painfully against the ground as he laid his arms out flat on the bed. He buried his face in the blankets, and let out a ragged breath.
Slade’s footsteps were deliberate, and Dick heard him walk to the closet. He didn’t look to see what he was doing, but he heard the harsh swish of something long and thin whistling through the air.
It’s worth it, some part of his mind attempted to soothe, it’s all worth it if it saves lives.
Slade had never been this rough before, but he was clearly trying to prove something. Dick hoped that he didn’t break skin—that wouldn’t be fun to deal with, or to try to explain to nosy siblings.
Slade walked back to him, and Dick could feel the long, thin stick press against his back. A cane. Or a staff, maybe, it was too dense to be a walking stick.
“You’re sure about this?” Slade asked, voice emotionless.
Dick pressed his face further into the blanket, and nodded, a quick jerk of his head.
“Say no,” Slade said, “And I’ll stop.” The cane pressed deeper against his back, before Slade drew it back.
Dick quickly calculated how hard Slade could hit, and bit down on the blankets. The agonizing part would be enduring without begging Slade to stop. Dick really hoped that this satisfied Slade, that he got whatever he was looking for, that this wasn’t going to be the tone for the rest of their encounters—Dick had enjoyed himself before, but this was only going to hurt—
He couldn’t stop the tears spilling out, and he tried to keep them silent. As long as he didn’t say no. That was all he had to do. Just keep his mouth shut.
The floor creaked, and Dick fought not to flinch. He waited for the whistling strike, the snap of wood against skin, the growing burn, the—
The hand on his shoulder, drawing him away from the bed, and Dick had to unclench his jaw before he pulled the blankets off the bed. Slade was crouching next to him, staring at him with a blank face and a narrowed eye.
“You don’t want this,” Slade said levelly, and the words felt like a death sentence.
“No,” Dick breathed out, because he could recognize that glint in his eyes—Slade was pissed, and Dick had no idea who he’d take it out on. “No, Slade, please, I want it, I—”
“Dick,” Slade said, cutting him off, “Stop.”
“Slade, I do—I trust you, I swear—” Dick could feel the tears streaming down his face, and he tried to wipe them away, but his hands were shaking, and Slade was angry, and—
And now he was sobbing into an expensive shirt, strong arms around him, careful to not put any pressure on his ribs, and Dick couldn’t stop crying. “I’m sorry,” he hiccupped, feeling the despair clawing at his heart, because he’d failed, because Slade had set up a test and Dick couldn’t pass it, and he abandoned that line of conversation entirely. “I’m sorry—don’t—don’t kill them, I’ll do anything, Slade, please—”
“I’m not going to kill them,” Slade said, something pained in his tone, “I told you, my job is over.”
“I—I’m sorry, I—just give me a minute, I’ll s—stop—”
A heavy sigh. “Kid, you don’t have to stop crying,” Slade said quietly, and Dick instinctively tightened his grasp on Slade’s shirt as the man stood up, carrying Dick fluidly.
~#~
“I know what consent is,” Dick said irritably—he wasn’t an idiot, and Bruce had been thoroughly obsessive in designing powerpoints to cover the Talk. “No means no.”
Slade observed him, his expression placid. “Yes,” he said levelly, “But consent means saying yes.”
“I said yes, Slade!” Dick snarled, unsure of what picture Slade was trying to paint but knowing that he didn’t like it. He knew that Slade would stop whenever he told him to. That had never been an issue.
Slade continued to stare at him silently. “If I held a gun to your head and told you to beg me to fuck you,” Slade said quietly, “Is that consent?”
Dick had absolutely no idea where he was going with this. “Of course not.”
“What if I held the gun to your brother’s head, whichever one pops up in your mind first,” he said, and Dick couldn’t help the shiver at the mental image of Deathstroke training a gun on Robin. “And told you the same thing?”
“It’s not consent.”
“How about a random civilian off the street? A drug lord? A cop? A—”
“Forcing someone to say yes isn’t consent,” Dick said through gritted teeth.
“Okay,” Slade agreed, “And what if I didn’t force you? What if I had a gun trained on a target and a thirty-second window to shoot, and you knew that dropping to your knees and blowing me would distract me?”
Dick went still. Slade’s face was no longer expressionless.
“Having sex with ulterior motives doesn’t automatically mean it’s not consensual,” Dick said slowly.
“No, it doesn’t,” Slade agreed. “But everyone draws the line somewhere, kid, and you’ve crossed mine.”
Dick felt that strike through his bones. “Slade,” he said, unsure of what he was going to say but desperate to say something, “I don’t—”
“You were ready to let me beat you bloody,” Slade said flatly, “Not because you enjoyed it, not because you thought it might be fun to try—both answers I would’ve accepted, by the way—but because you thought I was going to murder someone if you didn’t.”
“You—you didn’t say that you would kill someone if I didn’t have sex with you.”
“No, I didn’t,” Slade agreed. “But it’s clearly what you heard.”
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Sukuna's Fingers
Now that we know that Yuji was born with (or created with or being fed) a sealed finger from Sukuna, what does that say about the finger count?
First, being sealed means that the power of the finger was inaccesable to Sukuna and even its presence was hidden from him and anyone else. We can directly compare this with other humans who had been fed the cursed objects of the past sorcerers, especially Tsumiki.
From what we know, Gojo was never able to figure out how Tsumiki was cursed, in other words, even with the Six-Eyes the cursed object inside of her was invisible to him, which was definitely intended that way by Kenjaku. If he had met Yuji before he ate the finger from the school, then Gojo wouldn't have seen the first finger in him either.
(It would be interesting to know if Toji and Maki, people who can see souls, would've been able to see the cursed object.)
Still, the sealed cursed objects can have an effect on the hosts otherwise Tsumiki wouldn't have fallen into a coma no one managed to wake her up from for 1 and half years. The popular theory that I like that Megumi felt that sealed finger during his first encounter with Yuji can still work as well by assuming that Megumi (the 1 in a million chance at surviving Sukuna's finger) has a special compatibility with the King of Curses.
The count of the fingers in terms of strength stays the same as it was told in the story. When Sukuna fought Megumi he was 3 fingers strong, when he fought Jogo and Makora he was 15 fingers strong. Only after Kenjaku broke the seal of all the cursed objects he had given people, did the strength of that very first finger count towards the others.
Yuji did not react in that moment even though it would've made great forshadowing. It's logical that he didn't react though because Sukuna's strength is completely irrelevant to Yuji suppressing him. But Sukuna definitely felt the additional finger and used it later.
So when Sukuna took over Megumi it was with 16 fingers and their full strength. Consequently, Yuji, Maki, Ryo and Yorozu fought against a 16 finger Sukuna as well. When Uraume gave Sukuna the fingers she collected, we were only shown 3 with the remark that 1 finger was missing.
Sukuna compensated the strength of that last finger (somehow) by eating his past body's head (eating his own flesh and blood is a favourite pastime of him as we learned last chapter.) He was then 19 + 1 fingers strong. He said that Gojo probably hid the last finger to postpone Yuji's execution indefinitely and in his fight against Yuta that was confirmed.
So how and why did Kenjaku do this to Yuji? What were his plans for him? Most likely he wanted to own Sukuna in some way and him changing to Megumi probably derailed his plans somewhat. It also seems strange how callous he acted about Yuji's survival this whole time but that might be explained by
having replacement Yuji's walking around (secret Yuji twin anyone) but they would lack a Sukuna finger, or
having a plan to use Yuji as his next vessel so he would be able to suppress Sukuna on his own.
It was already said Geto appearing made Kenjaku change his plans in some way, so that might've saved Yuji from being killed and possessed by his mother.
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#sukuna#fushiguro megumi#gojo satoru#yuji itadori#itadori yuuji#kenjaku#ryomen sukuna#meta#theory
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labru, the winged lion, and ✨ trauma ✨
picking back up from last week's episode of me being cryptic, lets go!!
so, why do i find labru interesting and why does the winged lion matter?
first, let's go WAY back, back to the beginning when kabru was a kid. growing up he was ostracized because of his eye color, and he specifically notes that he must've been a monster.
jumping forward, who loves monsters? who breathes, eats, and thrives off of the knowledge of monsters because it is his second nature? laios touden, a man who would tell you everything there is to know on monsters because he finds them interesting. he loves them.
that, is why labru works so well, because for kabru to love laios... he has to love himself.
but first, he has to go off the deep end because he's kabru and that's what he does. why though? because growing up and being hated for standing out, only to find someone who loves the very thing you see yourself as. something that you have deemed unlovable is revolting, and like the situation you grew up in you choose fear over any attempt to understand.
but that's why kabru is different, because unlike monsters he has the ability to change his nature. so he does, just... not before the winged lion gets his hands on laios.
however before we delve deeper into the dungeon's clutches , let's look at how labru views themselves.
kabru -> " i'm a monster dressed in a persons clothes. "
laios -> " i'm a person dressed in monster clothes. "
obviously, they are both outsiders, just as their fellow party members are so why does it matter?
think back, just as laios loves monsters there is a man who knows people inside and out literally. that is kabru of utaya, who analyzes people like it's a sport going out of style.
that, is why labru again, works so well because like how kabru views himself as a monster to a degree. laios craves to be shed of his skin because his monster clothes fit all alright, but they itch... it's not quite right, because they were given to him just so people could have a reason to say " look it's a monster!! "
but it's just autism , and leading into that ... laios obviously has depression as shown when he gets grabbed by the spirits , having suicidal ideation because he thinks it'd been better if he had died in falin's place . so for kabru to be so fascinated by people , it's like rubbing ointment on laios' itching skin because he feels seen .
he feels like a person when kabru expresses that he finds laios interesting and engages with him , and it helps ease those out of place feelings when they make each other feel seen .
too bad something else sees laios too , and laios stares back into that void because while his itch is temporarily soothed , it comes back .
that's how trauma works , it can be eased but it's still there . like an insatiable hunger , and that's why laios is the subject of the winged lion's interest . Laios' desire is to be that of monstrous nature , as long as his nest is protected and he is full , all is fine .
The lion says as much, however that's just it turning laios' mental health problems into a reality. the desire to be a monster stims from being a outsider as a kid, and plus they're just cool- but it comes from never having a place in society, and detaching hence why laios doesn't care for anyone besides those he dubs as close.
but after the demon is defeated, that's when we really see kabru and laios grow close, because at that point they both realize. They understand and see each other, " I felt like like something I wasn't and I wanted to be loved. " so..
they love monsters, they love humans, and they finally have a home where they are loved back.
@sicklyworm hope you enjoy !!
#thank you all for your support#this ship means alot to me#dungeon meshi#dunmeshi laios#dunmeshi kabru#dunmeshi spoilers#delicious in dungeon#dungeon meshi spoilers#labru#winged lion#laios touden#kabru of utaya#no beta we die like delgal
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The Birth of a Hero was weird...
Putting aside the fact that it was actually written to be a guidebook for Kim Rok Soo, it was so obvious how weird The Birth of a Hero was as a 'novel' looking back, especially when you re-read the early chapters of TCF. It was weirdly detailed and descriptive about what should've been minor or unnecessary information if it was actually a novel.
For example, The Indestructible Shield, which was an ancient power that wasn't owned or found by anyone in the novel but just so happens to be in the Henituse Territory. It wasn't related at all to the main characters, but TBOAH went into detail about the ancient power's history, its original owner, its location, how to obtain it, and the response to expect once you feed the man-eating tree. I wonder whether Kim Rok Soo ever questioned why Nelan Barrow would write so much about something 'not important' while reading TBOAH, if whether or not the author just decided to ramble about world lore he made up but couldn't tie into the main story. Kim Rok Soo is better than me because I would've gotten really bored.
Also, TBOAH didn't just get into detail about the Ancient Powers either, since it also had a LOT to say about the Original Cale Henituse, his family, and the territory in general. From the very beginning, when Kim Rok Soo wakes up in the body of Cale Henituse, he goes to the bathroom to find the full body mirror the Original Cale Henituse had that was mentioned in the novel. That is INCREDIBLY random information to mention about a minor villain whose sole purpose was to get beaten up by the protagonist. But it doesn't happen just once. When Cale asks Deruth for an allowance, he recalls that the Original Cale also received a large allowance but the exact amount was never mentioned in the novel. Later on, when Ron serves Cale lemonade instead of cold water, he recalls again how the Original Cale hated sour things just like himself.
If he really was inside of the novel, he knew that there should be a large mirror inside.
As expected, the full body mirror was inside the bathroom. Cale Henituse, who had a lot of interest in his appearance and physique, had this mirror set up in here. Nobody else in the household had such a mirror.
The novel did mention that Cale received a large allowance, but it did not mention the exact amount. However, he could realistically understand how large it was based on the amount listed on the cheque.
He really is an insidious man. He knows that, just like Kim Rok Soo, the original Cale hates sour things. But he still chose to bring lemonade, which would take more work to prepare than cold water. [...]
It's pretty obvious by now that TBOAH went deeper into the Original Cale Henituse's character than a normal novel should have in just the first volume, like how he despised gangsters and scammers or how he had horrible aim when drunk, and his relationships with Ron and his family. Kim Rok Soo would recall reading about flashbacks to Cale being woken up by a servant that wasn't Ron which led to a ton of swearing, Cale breaking everything at his spot in the bar once, and Cale getting a scar on his side while drinking the night before meeting Choi Han. The novel also mentioned things that no one else but the Original Cale Henituse knew about, such as how he had high alcohol tolerance but just flushed easily which made people assume he was lightweight. if I were the one reading TBOAH, I would've started to wonder whether the author was planning to make Cale Henituse an important character later on (and maybe he was, but there were only 5 volumes).
The Henituse Family wasn't mentioned as much as Cale was, except for how people pushed the 15-year-old Basen to be the head of the family and how Basen started acting as the family's successor since 2 years ago, but it's odd enough that Nelan Barrow decided to describe characters that Choi Han never even meets (if we assume he only encounters Cale and Deruth and no one else in the family). There were even descriptions of the slums in the Henituse Territory and the Henituse Family business, like???
All of it further cements the fact that The Birth of a Hero was very much a guidebook written for Kim Rok Soo, who was going to swap bodies with Cale Henituse, and to help him adjust to his new life and plan for the future. The novel was fucking suspicious from the start!!!
#trash of the count's family#lout of the counts family#cale henituse#kim rok soo#original cale henituse#thebirthofahero#choi jung gun#nelan barrow#tboah#it felt off since my first read but it made a bit more sense on my re-read#50% of TBOAH was about Choi Han's adventures#the other 50% was CJG rambling about random side character facts and world lore
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Couch theory was a season 6 thing 🤷♀️!
OS said he's aware of the theory but he thought it was a season 6 thing.
IMO, it seems like TM moved on from it. Reminder, they were still with F*X then and after OS's earlier interviews both last week and this week, we all learned what happened with the shooting and how OS believes Buck first viewed Eddie in 2x1.
Apparently, TM moved on from the theory just like he did Buck’s relationship with Natalia, so he can focus on the end result which is Buddie CANON. If one were to look at all the care TM is putting into Buck’s and Eddie’s relationship by making sure he's hitting the "coupling" (his word from a pre-season interview) in every episode then it's evident where his focus remains.
He's been building their (Buck's and Eddie’s) relationship for 6 years and they have the history to continue to build on and I don't believe he'll just drop it for Buck and Eddie to end up in relationships with 2.0 versions of their seasons 4 and 5 love interests. That would be redundant. Eddie and Maris*l and Buck and T*mmy don't have any substance or history just like BuckTaylor and EddieAna didn't, so there's that.
But that's my interpretation and observation of the tone included in all the OS interviews that have been released. (He can't just say BT bones the same way he couldn't say it about Buck and Taylor because if he does, then it will spoil everything TM, OS and RG are working on).
Everyone has their own interpretation along with their own opinion so this post isn't trying to convince anyone of anything.
People can ship whoever they want but I always have and I always will ship BUDDIE!
I ONLY SHIP BUDDIE!
#buddie#eddie diaz#evan buckley#christopher diaz#the buckley diaz family#buckley diaz family#911 abc#911 on abc#911 speculation#911 spoilers#911 season 7#911 season 7 speculation#oliver stark#ryan guzman#I ONLY SHIP BUDDIE!#OTP BUDDIE#OS and RG are the captains of this ship!
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A question of loyalty: an analysis of two perspectives in season 1
The past few years, I have loved rewatching season 1 with the context of the finale, because it has been so interesting to really see things from Crosshair's perspective.
Our first hint that maybe Crosshair's motives aren't what we first thought:
Hunter's (and our) perspectives on the issue are further challenged:
And then we reach the ultimate accusation:
So, let's take a look at both sides.
POINT #1: "Crosshair was the one who kept attacking the squad! How could he POSSIBLY accuse the squad of betraying him??"
COUNTERPOINT: Because from his perspective, they had. We as the audience know the whole plan was for the squad to get Crosshair back after they escaped the brig on Kamino - in fact, Hunter was prepping to go back for Crosshair at the same time Crosshair was coming for them - but Crosshair doesn't know that. He had been arguing with his squad ever since Order 66, trying to get them to understand how important it was for them to follow orders, and they had yet another disagreement right before he was singled out. His inhibitor chip gets intensified, he gets sent after his brothers (as if Tarkin needed to do anything else to thoroughly disgust me...), and he finds them in the hangar prepping the Marauder to leave. (Just to reiterate: from Crosshair's perspective, he had recently been arguing with his brothers, and now he finds them readying to leave.) Hunter never tells him that they were coming back for him; instead, they engage in some back-and-forth about surrendering and following orders before the shooting begins.
Having left him on that note, it would be all too easy for Crosshair to work himself up over the perceived abandonment - especially if he started feeling any sort of regret over his actions toward his squad (finding a way to blame the other party is, after all, a common defense mechanism).
And every time they cross paths thereafter, instead of his brothers apologizing or listening or trying to come with him, they keep running away from him after arguing with him about how he's being controlled and forced to obey orders. I can't help but imagine that any mention of "programming" only served to stoke Crosshair's ornery side: he and his squad are "superior," after all; he can't be controlled, he is being a good soldier and following orders because HE chose to, not because of some stupid chip. (Cue Crosshair claiming it "doesn't matter" when he got his chip removed: his ideology remains the same, thank you very much.)
And so, from Crosshair's standpoint: his brothers abandoned him, they won't even talk to him except to try to convince him he's wrong about everything, and they're ruining any chance they have of finding "purpose" by remaining soldiers and serving the Empire.
POINT #2: "Hunter and the others didn't try hard enough to get Crosshair back - actually, they didn't try at all."
COUNTERPOINT: I think we overestimate just how much time passed between the Batch escaping Kamino and the events on Bracca (unless the squad was just hanging around in open space for weeks at a time, which I doubt). Consider how quickly events occur in the first eight episodes:
The squad narrowly escapes Kamino
They try to lay low at Cut and Suu's, but that lasts maybe two days before they are on the run again
The Marauder crashes
It's necessary to find a way to scramble the ship's signature, so they have to make a quick landing on Pantora
Enter Fennec
Well, now they have to find out why a bounty hunter is after Omega
Enter Cid
Cid pretty much immediately starts blackmailing them
They have to do another job for Cid - we don't know exactly how much time passed, but Cid doesn't seem to be one to wait to order the Bad Batch around, especially as this next job reasserts her claim on them.
Rex reappears - we don't know exactly how much time passed here, either, but I would guess Rex sought them out as soon as he was tipped off about them.
(Lest anyone think Tech must have just given up on the chip scanner after the Marauder crashed, remember that he needed comparative data in order to properly use the scanner. I can only imagine how much it must have eaten at Tech to not have any way of finding a source with the necessary data to complete the scanner - especially considering everything else going on - until Rex miraculously showed up.)
So, until reuniting on Bracca, there is precious little time or opportunity for the squad to formulate a plan to get Crosshair back... And then Bracca happens. Here, they are confronted by Crosshair, who responds to genuine pleas to reconsider his stance by hitting them where it hurts: "Aim for the kid." Crosshair then sets things up to literally incinerate them, and they barely make it out alive before being attacked by Cad Bane.
Now, they had seen what the chip had done to Wrecker, true; but Wrecker had previously acknowledged that he understood the chip existed and was willing to have it removed, AND it was squad+Rex against Wrecker (and even then they barely managed to subdue him). Crosshair refused to acknowledge even the possibility of a chip influencing his actions, obviously wasn't willing to have it removed at that point, had never shown any inclination of wanting to rejoin them, and squad+Rex against Crosshair+vast Imperial resources would have been suicide - ESPECIALLY since Crosshair proves time and again that he can predict their moves. There's no way around that.
So what does the squad decide to do? They run. They can't take Crosshair with them, but they aren't going to try to kill him either.
Crosshair remains too well protected for the squad to go after him, but we can see on Hunter's face as the squad leaves Ryloth after peripherally tangling with Crosshair that the situation REALLY doesn't sit well with Hunter.
And yet... WHAT ELSE CAN THEY DO?
So, from Hunter+squad's perspective: as far as they are aware, Crosshair is refusing all offers of help, and trying to go after Crosshair would be suicide. Crosshair can't be rescued if the squad is all dead.
An impasse, then.
ANOTHER FACTOR TO CONSIDER:
But the accusation of disloyalty goes far beyond Crosshair believing the squad left him behind; he sees disloyalty in the fact that they apparently don't share the same views. It's not just a conversation about why/how Crosshair was left behind; it's also an argument over ideology, as Hunter tries to point out the Empire's flaws while Crosshair is determined to remain a soldier with the one purpose he has always known.
And then we reach the climactic revelation: Hunter is trying to convince Crosshair that maybe his views are being controlled by the chip - only for Crosshair to tell Hunter he already knows about it and the chip is gone, AND he won't even tell Hunter when it happened. We can make educated guesses as to when Crosshair's chip was removed, but Hunter has been spending all this time trying to keep everyone else on the squad safe from a fellow brother who is being controlled by an inhibitor chip... only to find out that maybe Crosshair was acting of his own volition for who knows how long. This, I believe, is the point where Hunter started to consider Crosshair as having actually betrayed the Batch.
And no matter when the chip was removed, Crosshair is still convinced that the Empire is the right side, and believes that anyone who won't join the Empire is against him.
So, before the confrontation on Kamino: Crosshair is convinced the squad has abandoned him. Hunter and the squad can't feasibly do anything about it.
During the confrontation on Kamino, we learn that unless the squad is willing to join Crosshair and the Empire, he's going to continue to believe they have disowned him. And the squad will not join the Empire, much as they love Crosshair.
CONCLUSION: Crosshair's and Hunter's perspectives are both equally valid, especially based on what they know and later learn of the other's stance. Hunter rightly points out that wanting different things doesn't mean they have to be enemies; but as long as the rest of the squad members aren't willing to support tyranny enforce order, Crosshair will consider them disloyal to him, since they are opposed to the views he stands by, the views that - at that moment - define him. It will take other perspectives, outside the squad, to shift Crosshair's views (but that's the topic of another essay 😉). In the meantime, having finally had the chance to hear the other's side - even if they don't agree - Crosshair and the Bad Batch separate on at least marginally civil - if strained - terms... Though both still consider the other to be guilty of betraying the ideals of Clone Force 99.
#the bad batch#tbb#star wars#star wars the bad batch#clone force 99#this is longer than i intended it to be#sorry not sorry#from a certain point of view#tbb hunter#tbb crosshair#tbb analysis#just passing the time until the series finale#by (over)analyzing certain topics#still rooting for a full reunion#i love them all so much
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re: cannibal kabru
I’m listening 👂-> please take all the time you need
i’m glad.
i read in a book about hunger being desire and the hundreds of year old history of anorexia and starvation as a psychological stress response. there it mentioned that if one looks as hunger as desire, therefore a lack of hunger can be considered withdrawal, disinterest and shame, particularly shame around sexuality. i wish i had the reference because it was a fascinating passage.
anyways that got me naturally thinking about dungeon meshi, its themes about desire, hunger and relationships with different people.
normally when we jest about cannibalism in the context of the animanga we say it’s laios who’d eat people. but i disagree.
much of the animanga shows us that laios doesn’t have that interest in other people. he loves monsters, knows so much about them and eats them out of that fascination. his hunger for monsters is what drives him.
kabru is his opposite and his foil. kabru at the point of the anime is shown to have zero interest in eating monsters because of his hatred for them after what they did to his home town. he cannot stomach them both figuratively and literally.
but what he loves is people. like it was said, hunger or apetite may be viewed as desire and kabru desires to understand people. thinking about it this way, it makes sense he’s had a lot of sexual partners. to him, it could be that sex, a very vulnerable act where people’s guards would be down, lends itself useful to knowing the truth about them. what turns them on/off, what makes them tick etc.
he craves knowing the mentalities of others for the purpose of the greater good where laios understands monsters so well for his own goals and pleasures.
obviously i don’t think he actually would eat people because he would be bringing them harm tbrough that process. but if there were a way to do it without hurting people, i feel like of anyone in the show it would be kabru.
and if cannibalism doesn’t work out then the closest thing he has to eating people is oral sex so hey maybe that’s how he gets his fix!
after all, “to consume” and “to consummate” have similar etymological roots. sex may be kabru’s own way of satiating his hunger to understand others he’s interested in.
but that’s just me ✋🙂↕️
#it’s still half baked an argument because i just woke up from a nap#but i hope that makes sense#dungeon meshi#kabru#laios touden
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I talked about this during the live discussion but my theory for the reason the RatGrinders where so interested in the Thistlespring Tree and the soil is because by infecting the soil, they can infect the pollen of the plants of Elmville. Then, that infected rage pollen would be used to make the Devil’s Honey that Gertie was talking about. It will then be used to infect the whole school through the food trucks. In their state of rage infection (where they worship the rage god), the devil’s honey would cause their worship and belief to be much more stronger as the infected will have no doubt that they ever worshiped anyone else and will start believing the lie.
I agree with most theories that the party died in the Mountains of Chaos and were brought alive by the rage god, but I find it more interesting how this god is operating. I’m not too sure if they’re directly controlling the actions of the RatGrinders or if it’s by proxy and the RatGrinders can control themselves to some degree, but the theme of loopholes and fairness is still prevalent in this plan. We have seen other gods be changed by their followers, like Cassandra and Tracker’s goddess, but what happens if the followers are essentially mind controlled into worship a certain god? especially one that is unnamed and largely unknown? Their plan is to actively shape the identity of their followers into being rageful and make those followers believe in the lie that they have always worshiped this rage god. Is this a loophole to the way worship in the FH universe works? Because based on what we have been shown, all worshipers were in some degree willing participates in their worship of any specific god, only social pressures and manipulations to keep them worshiping rather than being literally forced. So is this god trying to essentially build a brainwashed rage army to worship them in order to become a powerful god rather than building up followers? Is this rage god buying bots to artificially inflate their follower count rather than posting good-quality shit posts and amassing a loyal fan base?
Going over the whole villain plan so far: KettlePitty CopperFucker already has preexisting rage and jealousy toward the Bad Kids and specifically Riz. Her rage stems from her understanding how she’s an NPC in a DnD game. She’s essentially she’s an incel, wanting the world to revolve around her but not doing what’s necessary and thinking her conflict free life is boring and wanting the trauma of the Bad Kids. The idea of it all was much cooler in Kipperlilly’s head than it actually was for the Bad Kids, and the Bad Kids actually were able to work through that Trauma, leading them to be who they are. Anyway, Kipperlilly is a vulnerable teen who got too lost in her own emotions, and drove herself insane with her own jealousy, making her into the easy target for the Rage God. The Rat grinders’ treck into the mountains of chaos was most likely KipperLilly’s attempt at replacing the Bad Kids’ cool adventures but something went wrong, they weren’t prepared as they lacked experience with big threats, causing themselves to die. They all then chose to be revived by Rage God (TM), minus Lucy who stayed dead and who they hexed into never going into the afterlife as revenge(?) for not following the Rage God. (Begs the question of why they brought her to the Elmville forest rather than leaving her behind?). Anyways they go back to Elmville and slowly begin their plan, consisting of 2 steps.
1. Expel the Bad Kids as revenge.
2. Make everyone worship the Rage God.
The second step is much easier to explain. Kipperlilly sets up the food trucks and establishes them as legit. Then, at Frosty Fair, Ruben was supposed to infect all of Elmville’s soil through his ritual at the Root Guardian, being the Thistlespring residents. As discussed earlier, this would have caused all the soil and thus pollen and thus Devil’s Honey to be corrupted with Rage God and spread amongst the Aguefort student body. This creates a super army of Angy Bois who would all worship this one god. Now I’m not to sure if the ritual actually worked, but this sure seems like the original plan. Also somehow all of this is related to Ankarna and Cassandra and their marriage but I’m not sure how specifically. The Rat Grinders going back to the Mountains of Chaos might be for a ritual or meeting of some kind and we might get to see the Rage God in action as the RatGrinders report how their plan is not doing great, especially with the Bad Kids catching on and surviving. Also the Sky Engine stolen from Fabian’s basement might have something to do with the expulsion plan, but I’m leaning toward it relating to their trip to the Mountains of Chaos.
Now the first step is much more complicated and visible. First time, they try to expel them using the robit principal and catching the Bad Kids doing drugs at the Frosty Fair. This fails due to robit murder. This also leaves a power vacuum and due to Aguefort’s dumbass and Aguefort (the schools) lack of plan Cs, the Class President becomes the true principal in case of emergencies, leading Kipperlilly into furiously campaigning for President to become principal. I’m not sure if this is because she wants to expel the Bad Kids herself, a gun for more power, or something relating to the Rage God plan, or maybe all three? Idk. She is also most likely colluding with Jace Stardiamond, who we can assume gunned for Kristen to be failed for step 1 and for the bot not to be rebuilt for the above. The failing of Kristen also forced them to the Last Stand-ard Exam, where Buddy was probably planted by Stardiamond at the request of Kipperlilly and where Buddy and the Bad Kids were probably were going to be left for dead, hoping they may take the Rage God’s deal for life in exchange for worship and further indoctrination. Stardiamond is may be rage-compromised or is just being manipulated idk.
#tldr: kipperfucker tittynuts is a bad guy#rage god is bigger bad guy#and bad kids ain’t GOING DOWN WITHOUT A FIGHT#HOOT GROWL BITCH#this may be a load of gibberish but I wanted all my thoughts to be straightened out#holy shit that’s a lot of words#dimension 20#dimension twenty#d20#d20 fantasy high#fantasy high#d20 spoilers#dropout#fantasy high freshman year#dimension 20 junior year#dimension 20 spoilers#dimension20#d20 fhjy#d20 fh#d20 tag#fantasy high junior year#potatcatposts
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Kiss, Maime, Kill - Chapter 2: The Louisiana Butcher
Pairing: Alastor X killer! fem reader
Warnings!!!: Reader is a serial killer, convinced she is in the right, descriptions of murder, it goes without saying but I really don't condone this, Al's surname in this is Altruist cause it's even more ironic, but yes I know that's not canon
Wordcount: 1k
1928
Louisiana, New Orleans
The partnership you forged with Alastor woke something inside you. In the year that had passed, you felt alive; quite possibly more so than you had in your whole existence. Killing became even more of a thrill, something you had previously thought to be impossible. But with someone to share in the sadistic glee, it was only natural you'd be even more enthralled with the act of slaughter. How strange it was to dream whilst awake.
Murder aside, Alastor himself was truly something else. He understood your twisted mind in ways you never thought would be possible, always reassuring and calm, even in the face of utmost danger. You became close, closer than you were to anyone else, a strong friendship that broadened beyond the constraints of a mere work acquaintanceship.
Therefore, the once fortnightly affair of serial killing became more frequent as time progressed. And, proportional to the increase in your escapades was the time in which the two of you spent together outside of 'work'. Long, leisurely strolls through the park as he rambled became the highlight of your day. There was something about Al's voice that soothed you; there was a good chance that you were the top listener to his radio show, tuning in daily and without fail.
Sitting by the radio, warm mug of coffee in hand, you fiddled with the dials, the exact pattern to Alastor's show ingrained in your memory. Twisting the knobs, it felt as natural as breathing. The radio whirred into life, Al's voice rang out, clear and comforting, like a peaceful white noise.
"Salutations, dear listeners! I say, it's so good to be back on the air." You couldn't help the smile that appeared in response to hearing as he spoke.
You listened intently as Al discussed recent news topics, and, though mostly mundane and repetitive, the host managed to spark interest in even the most boring affairs.
"Now my friends, I urge all of you to stay safe out there."
A sentence which sent shivers hurtling down your spine.
"Rumurs of another missing person have spread like wildfire, and, although we must wait for confirmation of the police report, there is good reason to suspect that this is the work of the illusive Louisiana Butcher."
The Louisiana Butcher. That was what the press was calling you. It all came from Alastor's idea of how to spice up the slaughter further.
*graphic description warning!!*
You leant over the body as you slowly sliced along the man's clavicle relishing in sadistic delight. Your breath came out in sharp pants as you stared into the soulless, unblinking eyes of your victim. Sweat plastered your hair to your forehead, the exertion straining your muscles as you paused to catch your bearings.
Behind you, Alastor chuckled darkly, applauding your lack of mercy.
"Well done, Cher, quite the display."
You basked in his praise, eyes gleaming with manic pleasure.
"Thanks, Al." You stood, wiping the knife on your prey's shirt and moving towards the shovel.
"Wait-" Alastor's gentle yet firm grip on your wrist was a surprise, sending a wave of adrenaline through you, matching the high you felt following a kill. What was he doing to you?
"Leave it." He smirked, a dangerous spark lighting up his eyes.
"And get caught? Oh, Alastor, don't make me laugh!" You smirked, though your smile dropped when he remained insistent.
"I'm serious, dearest. Don't you want to make this adventure so much more exciting?" Bastard knew your weak spot: your penchant for criminal adventure. "Give the law a lead in our case. It isn't like we're at risk of actually being discovered; it will just add to the thrill of the chase when we make the front page of the tabloids!" His hand took your own, his face bearing an expression only present as the aftermath of a brutal killing. But this time there was something else in the mix of those rarely heightened emotions: affection.
Alastor liked you more than be had initially expected to. At first you had been but a mere pawn in his game, an opportunity to deflect the blame should he ever slip up. But now? You were so much more than that. His partner in crime, his best friend, his moitié. (Louisiana Creole for better half)
~
True to Alastor's word, the two of you made the cover of the paper the following evening.
"The Louisiana Butcher. That's what they're calling us, Al. Oh isn't it just so exciting?"
He smiled at the clear rush of ecstasy flowing through your veins. "Quite."
You were sitting on the plush, brown leather sofa in his living room, two mugs of coffee on the small table before you. Leaning into him slightly more than you knew you should, his arm draped over the back of the couch, directly behind where you sat. The broadsheet newspaper you had picked up in the way over splayed across your laps, the two of you intricately studying page one, the title practically jumping out of the sheet.
"Alastor?" You asked after a moment's pause.
"Hmmm?"
"What do you think would happen if we were to be caught? Y'know, just in case." Something foreign weighed down your voice, fear.
Alastor folded the paper and placed it on the coffee table, turning to face you entirely. He took your chin between hos thumb and forefinger.
"Well, first of all, Cher, you needn't fret in the slightest. Not a single officer would ever suspect a pretty little thing like you as a cold blooded killer. And regardless, even if the whole world was against you I'd still proudly stand at your side, my darling." Your cheeks heated at the compliment, drawing a smile to your lips, reflected on his own.
"But what if you were suspected?" Al let out another laugh at your concern.
"Ha, ha! My dear, don't make me laugh! You know I wouldn't slip up in such a way!"
"You promise?"
"You have my word." He drew your knuckles up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to them.
"Thank you, Al."
"Whatever for?"
"For being here." You moved further into his side, to which he froze for a long moment before reciprocating.
"Not a problem in the slightest, Mon Cher."
#hazbin hotel#hazbin#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin alastor#alastor imagine#alastor x reader#alastor#hazbin hotel alastor x reader#hazbin alastor x you#hazbin alastor x reader#alastor x y/n#alastor x you
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Assistant Noah's World Tour!
After Newfoundland...
Noah listens as he hears Alejandro angrily rant in spanish, while brushing his teeth.
The sarcastic assistant is covering his mouth and trying his best not to laugh, as he stood near the confessional door.
Apparently, the charmer doesn't like the sock flavored chowder that Heather made for him.
Even though Noah mostly forgives Alejandro for almost leaving Owen behind back in the Amazon, he may have been the reason Heather had gotten Owen's socks in the first place.
Alejandro opened the door to give Noah the stink eye. Did he already find out what Noah did?
"I'm glad that you find my suffering so hilarious." Alejandro grumbled.
So, he didn't.
Noah shrugs with a chuckle. "Well, you were kinda asking for it, considering that you tricked two guys into kissing fish and stole Heather's possible alliance with DJ."
"What can I say. She had a clever idea and I wanted to steal it for myself. And be honest with me Noah, would you rather kiss a fish or have someone else do it for you?" Alejandro asks smugly with a raised eyebrow.
Noah squints his eyes and purses his lips. "...Touche."
"That's what I thought, amigo." the charmer then winks playfully, wrapping an arm around the assistant and leading him to first class.
Noah leans into Alejandro's touch, the back of his head by the taller man's strong chest, as he asks a curious question. "By the way, how did you have time to paint those eyes on the fish?"
"I'm sure that you're smart enough to figure that out on your own."
"I thought you were supposed to be a gentleman."
"Come now Noah, we both know that I'm not."
As they entered first class to enjoy its comforts, Noah allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts.
Noah wishes he could hate the guy. He wishes he could hate the True Alejandro as much as the Fake Alejandro. He wants to hate that greasy eel. It'd make things so much easier. But the truth was, he didn't hate him at all. The true Alejandro was clever, crafty, cunning, a bit dorky and had a sense of humor that Noah could appreciate. The Fake Alejandro was just a Spanish Prince Charming Wannabe.
Alejandro's brain was even sexier than his body, and that was saying something. It was the thing that drew Noah in, made him want to be near him, even when he knew it was wrong. It was the one thing that made Noah feel like he wasn't the only one with a mind like this. They were two misfits who had found each other in this mess of a competition, and somehow, it worked. It was a strange, twisted sort of bond that they shared, and Noah wasn't sure if he could ever explain it to anyone else.
Although Noah acts like he's not interested, deep down he honestly wants nothing more than to drag Alejandro to the cargo bay and kiss the beautiful, brilliant evil genius all day long. It's the last thing he'd ever admit to, but it's the truth. They could give Bridgette and Geoff a run for their money.
Even though the True Alejandro is interesting and fun, at the end of the day, Alejandro is only here for the money. He doesn't care about Noah or anyone for that matter. Noah has seen with his own eyes and Alejandro himself told the assistant. Nothing and nobody else matters. Only the million dollars matter.
As much as it hurt Noah's little heart, it's the truth and the cynic can accept that.
He accepts it... if only he knew about the conflict in Alejandro's own heart.
#assistant noah's world tour#assistant noah#total drama#total drama world tour#td noah#alejandro burromuerto#alenoah
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— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers
— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort
— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?
— Chapter summary: The killer has the police fooled. Meanwhile, you and Eren enjoy more of each other’s company.
— Content warnings: slightly nsfw, dry humping, make out, mention of stalking, murder, mention of torture, mention of rape.
— Notes: Welcome to chapter 7 <3 If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list, lmk. Happy reading!
Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist
lost signs
“Detective.”
A meek voice pulls Levi's attention from the paperwork scattered across his desk, as a fresh manila folder is promptly set down before him.
“The notes on the autopsy.”
Every other task is instantly abandoned as the raven-haired man grabs the folder and goes through the pages of the autopsy report, along with the notes provided by his subordinate.
Less than an hour later, Levi's knocking on the door of his captain's office, staying true to his habit of walking in before being invited.
“What do you have there?”
Erwin Smith barely spares a proper look at Levi as he continues scrolling through a file on his computer.
“Carly Stratmann's autopsy notes.”
Erwin simply nods, not showing much interest in the topic but not yet doing anything to shoo the stoic detective from his office.
“You're the lead detective on this case. Don't tell me you need me to hold your hand for this.”
Levi clicks his tongue at the remark, but straightens his posture to keep up his stern appearance.
“I think we need to raise a few alarms.”
Erwin shoots a menacing look in his direction, but purses his lips before he can spout another sharp remark.
Levi Ackerman hasn't been working the homicide department for long — just barely a couple of years after transferring from property crime, and just as many major cases under his belt.
His sudden need to raise alarms doesn't come as a surprise to Erwin. The man's got good instincts, albeit he's a bit too quick to act on them for Erwin's liking at times. And that's when he intervenes to rein him in.
On a day when he's so burnt out from work, the task is even more annoying to take on than usual.
“Is it the same M.O. as the Langnar case?”
“Not exactly, but—”
“I'll stop you right there, then,” Erwin firmly says, holding a hand up to make his point, hoping he can cut today's coolly disguised frenzy short.
Though calm and collected — practically icy — on the outside, detective Ackerman has been letting his personal convictions sway his thinking since the Langnar murder.
Erwin doesn't care to know much about his subordinates — it's just a job — but he knows Ackerman has a beloved niece of similar age to the recent murder victims living in the city, and it doesn't take much to deduce that's where his hidden worries stem from.
“There aren't many coincidences, it's true,” Levi states, resisting the urge to harshly spit the words at his superior. After all, a man who wants to be heard, has no need to raise his voice. “But even if these are isolated cases, it wouldn't hurt to… I don't know, set up a curfew… send out more units to patrol at night. Erwin, two women were murdered without a trace of DNA from the culprit.”
He sighs, then mutters the next few words under his breath.
“That's not a fucking coincidence.”
Erwin leans forward into his desk.
“Alright, Ackerman, I'll humor you for a minute.”
His hands clasp together, his chin resting on top as he formulates a question.
“Aside from the lack of DNA and the fact that they're women, is there anything in the autopsy reports that's enough to suspect we've got a serial killer in our hands?”
Levi tenses his jaw, tongue rolling against his cheek before sourly replying.
“No.”
Erwin's eyebrows rise as a sign of finality. But Levi stands his ground, taking his gesture as defiance.
“I get your point. Stratmann could have nothing to do with Langnar. Maybe it was someone they knew or maybe it's not. If that's the case, are two criminals better than one? Is that what we're hoping for?”
Erwin's stern gaze falters for a split second, but he recovers just as quickly.
“How do we discard a serial killer in the making? What if this person hasn't fixed themselves on their M.O.? We can get them early in their career if we make a move right n–”
“We can't make moves based on gut feelings.”
Erwin's statement makes Levi shrink back for the first time since walking into the office.
“Langnar was tortured. Her injuries were consistent with weeks of trauma. Choked, handcuffed, cut, beaten, sliced at the mouth post-mortem, and dismembered. A very tedious and meticulous process, wouldn't you say? She had to have spent weeks in captivity and that points to either a person who was close enough to lure her into their trap or a stalker who observed her before kidnapping her.” He gestures for Levi to hand him the file in his hands, snatching the folder and ripping it open once he's close enough. “Stratmann was sliced at the neck, choked beforehand, raped post-mortem. It's sloppy and clear to have been done on a whim.”
“She was left in a dumpster, too,” Levi reminds him. “Just like Langnar.”
Erwin presses his lips into a thin line, his thick eyebrows weighed down with severity.
“That's not enough to go off of. We can't cry ‘serial killer’ over one measly coincidence.”
Levi can feel himself wavering at Erwin's arguments.
“Can we at least impose a curfew?” he asks.
Erwin heavily sighs, enough for the movement to be caught on his now slumping shoulders.
“As I said, bring me solid proof of a connection and we'll talk.”
“Okay. Spill,” Mikasa orders as soon as she scurries out of the bathroom and plops down criss-crossed on the sofa.
It's Saturday night and you and Sasha are staying over at Mikasa's place for a girl's night.
The living room floor is littered with blankets, cushions and pillows, and the television is playing a random horror movie that has gone ignored since Sasha wondered out loud how Eren was doing a few minutes ago. She seemingly asked nobody in particular, but it was clear you were meant to respond with both girl's eyes set on you the moment the green-eyed man's name came up.
You figured the sleepover was a cover for an ambush. The girls formed a separate group chat for just the three of you, coincidentally the day after your first date with Eren and have been asking to get together for the past week.
You tug nervously at the sleeve of your pajama top, shying away from the expectant gaze that seeps through Mikasa's face mask.
You shrug.
“What do you wanna know?”
“Who made the first move?” Sasha asks, scooting closer to you as if that means she'll get more details.
You ponder for a moment. It's hard to tell. Eren was first to ask you out two months ago, but you were the first to kiss him last Saturday. In a way, you both had a chance to steer the wheel.
When you explain this to the girls, they swoon, falling into a fit of excited giggles.
“I never pegged you for the bold type,” Mikasa grins, lightly smacking your shoulder. “I bet Eren loved that.”
Sasha nods in agreement, giddy.
“I can't believe you didn't tell us right away,” Mikasa pouts.
“I don't think you would've remembered, Mika,” you say. “You had three Long Islands that night.”
“Still, it would've been nice to know,” she sighs dramatically.
“Okay, so you got together the night of the Halloween party,” Sasha reviews. “But what about the day we went to Sunrise? I totally thought you guys had a thing going on back then. I mean, Eren never left your side, even before you got hurt.”
The apple-picking trip seems like so long ago, but the memory remains fresh in your mind. You smile at the mental image of Eren's serious expression as he claimed to never have been so curious to know anyone before you.
“Oh my gosh,” Mikasa squeals, aggressively smacking Sasha’s back as she's reminded of something. “She was feeding him peanuts on the way there. They were so shy, it was adorable.”
Instinctively, your hands come up to cover your face in embarrassment. It didn't even register until now that the people in the backseat witnessed the awkward exchange.
Now that you've tasted the lips that brushed against your fingertips that day, the reminder seems even more embarrassing.
You smack your cheeks lightly in an attempt to ground yourself. The girls watch you amusedly, exchanging knowing glances in between.
“Have you guys… you know.” Mikasa raises her eyebrows suggestively.
Warmth floods your cheeks again.
“Not yet,” you murmur. “We're taking things slow.”
She looks surprised, but nods in support.
“Of course,” she says. “Slow is good.”
“Says the girl who pounced on Jean after one of his gigs because she was jealous.”
“Hey!” Mikasa whines, growing shy at the accusation. “I had to get a message across. He was being petty.”
Sasha throws her head back in laughter.
“No, he was just stupid. He had no idea you liked him back until that night.”
Your gaze flickers between the two girls as you piece their conversation together.
A blushing Mikasa picks up a cushion and chucks it at Sasha’s face who easily avoids the blow and laughs at the raven-haired girl's pout.
“Whatever,” Mikasa groans. She turns to look at you, features instantly shifting into a more cheerful expression.
“So how do you feel?”
“What do you mean?” you ask.
“About Eren.”
“It's only been a week,” you explain.
“So?” she shrugs. “You guys have been spending a lot of time together, haven't you? Armin told me Eren's been driving you to work everyday. That means you've had a lot of one-on-one time.”
Shyly, you lower your head, focusing your gaze on the black and white pattern of the comforter laid beneath you. Your fingers mindlessly trace over the texture of the fabric.
“I guess so.”
Both girls smile.
“So what's the verdict?” Sasha asks.
“I… I really like him,” you sigh, lips tugged into a smile. “Like… really really like him.”
Another round of excited squeals and giggles echoes through the room.
Their thrill only encourages you further, pushing you into a tangent of how thoughtful Eren is and how he always manages to hold you with so much care, bringing you peace each time he's close.
“He makes me feel safe. Is that weird to say?”
Mikasa shakes her head as she peels off the mask from her face, wrinkling the sheet into a ball and chucking it across the room to the trash can in one corner. She misses by an inch.
“Not at all. I don't mean to sound old-fashioned but you have to be with someone who makes you feel cared for.”
Sasha hums in agreement as she shoves a handful of popcorn into her mouth. She holds a finger up, asking you to wait for her to gulp down the snack.
“And someone who makes you laugh, also very important.”
You nod along with Mikasa.
“Oh, and… well, when you get to it… someone you're sexually compatible with,” she adds. “People like to pretend it's not a big deal but it really is. Sex is okay but great sex with someone who knows how to touch you is where you find out if you're in sync. There needs to be communication and understanding and care. It's so fucking important.”
Mikasa looks down at her friend as she pats her head affectionately.
“You're so wise for someone who doesn't have a boyfriend.”
Sasha quirks an eyebrow.
“Hey, just because I'm not blurting it out to everybody doesn't mean I don't have anything going on.”
Mikasa hums contemplatively.
“Do tell.”
The conversation takes a turn to Sasha’s latest sexcapades, and you take turns with Mikasa to look surprised at the stories she shares.
By the end of the night, when you're all teetering the edge of sleep with a third movie serving as background noise, your mind drifts back to the emerald-eyed boy who makes you laugh so easily, draws every emotion from you, and cares for you like it's what he was put on this earth for.
Water pools at your feet out of thin air. You’re stuck in a dark void with no end, yet the water you’re eyes frantically search the source of keeps rising at a startling speed, soaking little by little into your clothes until it weighs you down.
Running seems futile. The void has no end and the water keeps steadily climbing up your body, so who knows how long you’ll have until you’re fully submerged — with no exit in view. Even if you could run, the weight of your drenched clothes would only pull you back. But you can’t even move anyway, you realize. You’re stuck in place, feet unable — or unwilling — to even take a couple of waddling steps.
The water is up to your hips now. With trembling hands, you reach down and scoop at the liquid. It’s thick and with a smell so rancid it stretches through the infinite length of the emptiness you stand in. The water’s filthy.
Your hands drop at your sides in an unsettling daze. The next second, your breath grows shallow and you start pulling at your feet as the water reaches your neck. Tears prick at your eyes as you cry at your feet, begging for them to move, to lift from the ground so you could at least make some weak attempt at reaching the surface for air.
Suddenly, a light. Pure white shines brightly from far ahead, where a golden silhouette stands at the threshold between darkness and light — the void’s borders. The other person bangs their fists at the invisible wall keeping you apart, yelling something you can’t make out. Are they yelling at you? No, they don’t even seem to notice your presence. So who are they yelling at? Up at the sky… They’re yelling something up at the sky. But what are they saying? Who does the golden silhouette even belong to?
Your left foot unsticks from the ground unprompted. A sharp breath is all you take before you make your first step toward the light, hand midair to call for the figure’s attention. Just then, an unknown body pulls you into them from behind, crashing your body down into the murky water, where your lungs fill with filth and your eyes flutter shut.
You wake with a small gasp coming through your lips. Still stiffened by the strange dream, your eyes are all that wander the unfamiliar room. The television is set to a screensaver, likely triggered by an extended lack of attention to whatever on-demand production was playing before you fell asleep. There’s a clutter of takeout containers on the coffee table and used glasses with remnants of soda that can safely be assumed to be flat by now.
Slowly, you stir on the velvet green sofa you’re lying on, when you take note of the firm hold around your waist, followed by the soft exhales released onto the crown of your head. You look down at the familiar watch wrapped around the wrist of the hand that holds you in place.
Oh, you think. That’s right. I’m at Eren’s place.
He’s been having trouble catching up on work, meaning he’s had to stay up late for the past couple of nights. He’s a stickler about getting a good night’s rest, so the temporary change in work shifts has thrown him off quite a bit. You told him to stay home and rest — that you could go to the movies another time; next Sunday was fine with you — but he insisted on seeing you, even if it meant a more casual hangout in his living room with Chinese food and a comedy-drama film from the 2000s playing on the TV.
At some point in the evening, the late hours caught up to him all at once and he even managed to get you to stay with him, wrapped in his arms as his sleepiness found its way to your body as well.
Craning your neck, you peer at Eren’s sleepy face from the corner of your eye. You smile. He’s got an innocent look about him even in his sleep. His lips are parted just enough to take and release soft breaths. You sink back into the couch, wiggling around to find the comfortable position you were previously in.
Eren feels you moving and his arm instantly pulls you closer to his body. His warmth transfers through every layer of clothing, enveloping you in a warm embrace. In his sleep, he mumbles a string of words you can’t quite comprehend under his breath, but the vibrations against your back coax you back into a peaceful slumber.
The next time you wake up, it's already getting dark out. The coffee table has been cleared of its mess, and the body lying behind you is no more. Forced by the absence of his arms around you, you trudge out of the living room to look for him as you rub the sleep from your eyes.
He's in the kitchen, back to you, filling a glass with cold water from the fridge.
Leaning against the threshold, you watch him adoringly, marveling at his toned figure from behind. He chugs his first glass of water down, refilling it as soon as he finishes. As he brings the glass to his lips once more, he turns around, eyebrows rising slightly when he takes in your presence.
“Boo,” you smile, standing straight and making your way over to him.
He abandons the glass of water as soon as you meet him, opting to use his hands to push you closer to him by the small of your back as yours rest on his shoulders.
“Did I wake you?” he asks.
You shake your head.
“Just felt lonely, all of a sudden.”
An amused air blows through his nose.
Your hands find a way to his hair, fingers carding through the strands as he keeps his gaze fixed on your face.
His hair has gotten longer, and the strands around his face now cover his forehead, tickling the skin. It’s not messy, by any means, but it gives him an edgier look. The duality of Eren Jaeger’s appearance is a wonder to you. He’s got a way of tipping the scales between cute and sexy with every little thing he does.
You smile at the few rebellious locks that poke out, still fixed in the angle provided by his nap.
“What?” he asks, mirroring your smile.
“Your hair’s getting long,” you murmur.
“I’ll get a haircut soon, don’t worry,” he replies, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth, amused by the way you follow after him once he starts retreating from the contact. He kisses you once more to keep you from pouting.
“I didn’t say anything,” you chuckle. “If you want to grow out your hair, that’s fine. You don’t have to keep it short. I was just pointing it out.”
He shakes his head, humming in denial.
“Nah. This part’s starting to bug me. I just haven’t had time to get it cut,” he explains, brushing back the hair covering his forehead. He proceeds to squeeze your waist on either side. “But what do you prefer?”
“I don’t know,” you mutter with a shrug.
“Gun to your head, which looks better?” he smiles.
His extremist question earns him an eye roll but you answer him nonetheless after a beat.
“I like your short hair,” you finalize earnestly.
He grins, cupping your face with one hand as he places a kiss on your cheek — then on your jaw, and one in the crook of your neck.
“Yeah?” he murmurs against the sensitive skin.
You nod, a small smile dancing across your lips at his tender affections.
“You look very handsome with a clean undercut. The day I met you I actually thought you were really good-looking.”
He pulls away from his task on your neck to stare at you in disbelief.
“And yet you refused to go out with me. I can’t believe you.”
He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment.
You laugh. The sound swells him with pride — it lights up the room.
“Looks aren't everything, dummy. You're so shallow.”
It's your turn to feign disappointment while he stands there, amused.
“Right, right,” he nods. “I forgot you fell for me because I'm a strong and dependable man.”
He flexes his muscles, making a whole show out of his pointed remark.
You roll your eyes, but the warmth creeping up your face is hard to deny.
“Isn't that right?” he teases.
You don't humor him with an answer — there's no real need for it.
With his hands settled comfortably on your hips, he guides you backward, until your back is pressed against the counter, before he hoists you up and sets you onto it with ease. You welcome him between your thighs with a smile, breath hitching when he caresses your knee over your jeans and buries his face in the crook of your neck.
“My baby,” he coos, pressing an open-mouthed kiss onto your skin.
You giggle at the teasing meaning behind the affectionate name, heart fluttering at the feeling of him smiling against your skin.
The both of you keep your positions for a while — him breathing in your perfume while you stroke his soft hair tenderly.
Being with Eren feels so easy. It's a wonder how comfortable you feel with barely a week tallied for your relationship. Each morning and evening when he drives you to and from work have definitely helped.
After your sobbing confession outside of your apartment, you apologized for making Eren feel as though he was troubling you by being so attentive.
All the accumulated trauma in your heart had ironically made you the perpetrator of making him believe there was no real place for him in your life even after you accepted his liking for you. He didn't ask any followup questions that night, but he understood and vowed to be patient.
You're still trying to be okay with that — his unmoving loyalty. But it's easier to accept when you remind yourself he wouldn't stick around if he didn't want to.
Looking down at the boy in your arms, you smile. He can be so childish at times — teasing you, insisting you hold him, easily shaken by a few late nights. And yet there was something so comforting in his behavior. He's always so happy to see you, making sure to clock in quality time hours — not that he didn't enjoy the daily drives, but it wasn't exactly a date. Not to mention his unwavering need to make sure you're safe. At least his rare stubbornness has good reason.
Reluctantly abandoning the comfort of your neck, he lifts his face to meet your eyes. His gaze bores into yours, engulfing you in warm pools of emerald.
A lazy grin takes over his features.
“I like that,” he murmurs.
Your eyebrows twitch in confusion.
“This,” he explains, bringing a hand to your head and mimicking the strokes you've weaved into his hair. “It feels nice.”
An airy chuckle escapes your lips and you make a point to stroke his hair more.
His face hovers over yours. His hands rest on either side of you as he leans into your affections. His eyes flutter closed as he sighs at your touch.
You look up at him mesmerized by his angelic features. It's true you've always thought he's handsome, but this closeness makes you appreciate every detail of his face even more. His long lashes, the faint freckles on his nose, the thick eyebrows that are softening with each feel of your fingers combing through his hair, the perfect plump lips that whisper your name.
It makes your heart pound against your ribs loudly, the sound echoing in your ears as your hands grow sweaty.
That's when you decide to pull him in for a kiss. His eyes flutter open for a split second of surprise before they close again, at peace and happy. Your hands lose themselves in his hair as his wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter by the small of your back.
The contact is painfully slow, with measured pecks in between deeper kisses. He melts into you, lips softly grazing yours, breath fanning across your mouth as he nips at your bottom lip with his teeth to later soothe the area with his tongue. His lips slot warmly between yours, dragging out at a snail's pace before coming back.
The tip of his tongue pokes between your lips, shy but determined to be granted the access you so easily provide. A soft moan bubbles up your throat as his tongue caresses yours with vehemence. It's unusually hot, but the foreign feeling of his tongue in your mouth is greatly appreciated, marked by the way you desperately try to pull him even closer, in hopes that he can swallow you whole.
The pit of your stomach flutters and stirs with the most pleasant tingle when one of his hands travels to the back of your neck and he pushes his hips against yours. Despite the layers keeping you apart, it's easy to tell he's grown hard from the sweet exchange. He's rock solid under his pants, the delicate moans that bounce off your tongue and onto his making him bigger with every passing second.
He knows you can feel it, but you don't seem to mind, your head too dizzy with the collective sensations being fed to your body — his warm tongue, his bulge brushing your most sensitive spot over your jeans, his left hand holding you in place by the back of your neck while the other firmly squeezes your waist as he's consumed by the passionate kiss.
You cling onto him, thighs drawing closer to keep him flush against you. His hips roll against yours, brushing so deliciously against the spot that's growing wet beneath your clothing that it sends a tickle up your insides.
He sucks on your tongue, the act drawing more lustful mewls from the back of your throat.
You're feverish, your face burning when your shirt happens to rise, exposing your midriff to his calloused fingers which were so careful not to touch any new skin before the incident.
There's a string of saliva that connects your mouths when you finally break your fervent makeout. His lips are swollen and glossy with your saliva, as you're sure yours are with his.
“Eren,” you weakly whine in between breaths.
“Hm?” he hums, as he parts from your mouth to leave a trail of wet kisses down your neck.
You shudder when he swirls his tongue against your sweet spot before gently kissing it.
You whine his name again, though your voice has a stronger shape to it this time.
He turns to face you, pecking your lips just once before easing his grip on your body.
“I know,” he murmurs. “Slow, I remember.”
“Yeah,” you breathe.
His nose brushes against yours as he tilts his head to press a calmer, cooler kiss onto your lips.
“I want to, by the way,” you admit bashfully, avoiding his blown pupils and opting to look at a blank point on his shirt. “Just… not yet.”
When your gaze flickers to his, he's looking down at you warmly.
“I understand,” he murmurs.
Your eyes flit toward the window, reminding you of how late it's getting.
“I should go, it's already dark out.”
Eren nods, pulling back from the counter until you both notice the tent in his pants. You tear your gaze from the area, searching for something of interest elsewhere.
He blushes, ready to express an apology for his body's reaction to your wanton moans and feverish kisses, but you hop off the counter and trail off to the living room to search for your jacket before he can, leaving him to softly laugh at your meek behavior as he makes his way to the bathroom.
When he comes looking for you in the living room a couple of minutes later, you're seated on the couch, waiting patiently for him.
You smile upon his return, no trace of embarrassment left on your features.
“Do you really have to go?” he asks.
Your expression softens but you nod.
“We have work tomorrow. And I know how you get if you don't get your beauty sleep,” you tease.
He rolls his eyes, but wears a playful smile nonetheless.
“No. I mean,” he takes a deep breath. “You could stay the night… if you want to.”
His voice grows timid with every word as he gauges your reaction to his offer. He doesn't want to be pushy, by any means, but he hopes you'll accept.
He watches you chew on your bottom lip, unsure of what to say.
“Unless, of course, that goes against the whole taking-things-slow agreement,” he awkwardly laughs. “But I just… figured you should know… I wouldn’t object to you spending the night. No funny business. Just… to sleep.”
A breath of relief pushes past his lips when a small smile finally grows over your previously troubled features.
“Maybe not tonight,” you say. “But I’ll think about it.”
His lips curl inwards to hide his smile before he holds his hand out to you so you can head out the door together.
Eren swings your linked hands as you travel down the hall from the elevator. It's a habit he's developed over the past few days after seeing you cry for the first time.
The image lingered with bitterness in his head the entire night. It still pops up every now and then, reminding him he has to do everything in his capability to keep it from happening again.
As you walk to your door, hands comically swinging more aggressively each time with Eren's playful attitude, he marvels at your laughing face, feeling at ease with everything concerning you.
He finally eases up on his swing when you reach your door, but your fingers remain laced with his until you absolutely have to part ways.
“Sorry I was so tired today,” he says, holding your hands up to compare the difference in size. He presses his palm against yours, eyes shimmering at the sight before he grabs your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. “I'll make it up to you next time.”
“I don't mind just hanging out,” you say, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “It's fun.”
He smiles as he watches you fish your keys out of your jacket pocket with your free hand. The click of the lock always comes before letting go, but it's fine because he still gets to see you tomorrow morning for the drive to your office.
You turn to him, leaving the keys dangling on the lock as you drape your arms around his neck.
“By the way,” you murmur, pressing yourself further into his chest when his arms wrap around your waist. “You can spend the night at my place, too, if you want.”
His features twitch and his eyes light up with interest at the offer.
“No funny business,” you add, before pressing a kiss on his cheek. “Just to sleep.”
He laughs.
“Of course. What kind of guy do you take me for?”
You smile, affectionately brushing your nose against his with your eyes closed.
“Just thought I'd let you know.”
“I’ll think about it,” he murmurs mockingly, echoing your response from earlier.
You look up at him quizzically.
“Do I sense some competition over whose apartment we stay at first?” you accuse.
“I’ll get on my knees if you want,” he quips without missing a beat, not bothering to be cool about the topic.
You giggle.
“Perfect. I love pathetic men.”
He stifles a laugh, eyes twinkling in amusement as a reflection of yours. Then he turns on a comically serious expression.
“Baby, I’m as pathetic as they come,” he firmly states, which makes you laugh even more.
“You're such a dork,” you giggle.
He hugs you tightly, playfully rocking your connected bodies in the middle of the hallway as he peppers your face with kisses, relishing in your amused squeals.
The giddiness in your expression remains even after you're both standing still and he's no longer attacking you with kisses.
“Thank you for making time for me,” you smile. “I mean, you already do so much with driving me to work and everything. If you’re ever not in the mood, you can—”
He cuts you off with a chaste kiss to your lips.
“It’s my pleasure.”
You bite back a grin and nod.
“Goodnight,” he murmurs before letting go and beginning his journey out with backwards steps.
“Bye, Eren,” you smile.
Before he can turn on his heel, you catch up to him, instantly making him drop his confused expression for a much softer one when you press your lips against his in one last kiss goodbye. When you pull back, he's got a goofy grin on his face as he waits for you to explain yourself.
You smile shyly.
“For the road.”
November 4, 2024
I found out where my angel lives. It's not too bad a place, but I'm sure she'll like the room I'm fixing for her better. I'm working on a way to get some of her favorite things over to my place. Hopefully she won't miss them too much before I can reunite her with them.
I'm so relieved. It was worth keeping an eye on her for the last few days. The only downside to come out of this is that I have to see that jerk's stupid face everywhere. He just can't leave her alone for a damn second.
It pisses me off to see him touch her like it's nothing. That should be ME kissing her and making her laugh. Not him. He shouldn't be allowed to touch her. Still, she looks so happy each time. But I can't be mad at her. I could never be mad at my angel. She'll realize soon enough that I'm the one meant for her. I just have to suck it up in the meantime. It's bad enough that I have to keep my distance for now but do I have to see her smiling at the wrong guy, too? I can't take it.
She's gotten prettier. It seems impossible but it's true. I could look at her for days on end — and I have the past week as proof. Her smile is brighter and she's practically glowing. It only makes the wait even harder but I still have so much to get done for her arrival. I can't wait to see the look on her face when I finally bring her home with me so we can be happy together.
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#eren yeager x reader#aot fanfiction#snk fanfiction#aot x reader#eren x reader#eren jaeger x reader#eren jaeger fanfiction#eren jaeger smut#eren jaeger x y/n#eren jaeger fluff#eren yeager smut#eren yeager fanfiction#eren yeager x you#eren yeager x y/n#snk smut#snk x reader
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*A lot of speculation about how the internal hierarchy in the Sakuma clan works and what happens to Rei and Ritsu's parents.
I have been digesting the theory in my head for quite a long time that something like a communal system is practiced in the Sakuma clan. I mean, there is a feeling that the children in the clan are brought up by everyone at once and by no one specific at the same time, as if the concept of "parents" in their family is akin to the concept of "clan".
And if you are lucky enough to have a close relative of your age, he will be your "family". And parents for children are all the adults of the clan who are free and who can and want to take part in the upbringing of a child.
I've been thinking about this for a long time, because both Rei and Ritsu, when mentioning a close family, mean only each other, and "parents" are referred to by them as some kind of distant and detached concept, although we know that Rei constantly interacts with clan members and has been dealing with his relatives since childhood. But he never mentioned how close his relatives were.
THEREFORE.
From these preliminary considerations, I have deduced a theory that, in my opinion, has the right to exist. Probably, Rei and Ritsu simply don't have parents. Perhaps they died under some unfortunate circumstances or something similar, given the health problems within the clan, I think that the mortality of some members is quite likely, especially considering how damn much energy a woman takes away from bearing and giving birth to a child (especially two children in such a relatively short period of time).
The thoughts about this came to my mind because Sakuma siblings considered, according to Rei, "the most noble and pureblood members of the clan," and often children receive nobility by birthright. Therefore, their parents probably could well have been noble members of the clan as well. And after Rei and Ritsu's parents died, random relatives took over the upbringing of the children (and as we know, raising two children is difficult, especially if you're not their parents, and especially if you're simply incapacitated most of the day).
Relatives probably tried to give them proper upbringing, but their state of health and complete isolation from the world, coupled with the lack of real "parental" affection for the Sakuma brothers, Rei and Ritsu were forced to be raised themselves on their own, hence also some of their problems with social norms.
I think Rei they're really the only people close to each other, because they don't have anyone else.
Consequently, Rei and Ritsu were the only truly close people to each other, and hence their strong, sometimes painful attachment to each other, which often occurs in children who have lost their parents and remain single.
sigh.
A little messy, as always, but still.
And the more I think about it, the more interesting it becomes.
#ensemble stars#enstars#rei sakuma#ritsu sakuma#my profession is to come up with some sad things about Sakuma siblings#And I'm doing a great job with it HEHEH
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