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mumms-the-word · 1 month

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Choosing to Live

Pairing: Gale x Tav (you/reader POV) Summary: Shortly after Gale decides to defy his goddess and not self-destruct in the caverns below Moonrise Towers, you turn and see him struggling with the conflicting emotional fallout of his decision. CW: death, suicidal ideation, panic attacks, survivor's guilt (implied), coercion (implied) A/N: I was inspired by @gangstagandalf's emotional fanart of Gale and Tav just after Moonrise. It's not quite the same scene as their art but I just couldn't resist writing my own angst version. Check them out, their art is lovely! @gangstagandalf I hope you don't mind if I borrowed a few of your lines from your original post! (Pic is of my tav Dani because that’s all I got) UPDATE: Now on AO3 woooo

You watch as the husk of Ketheric Thorm collapses at your feet, a hollow shell of dessicated flesh and heavy armor. You’ve done it at last—you’ve defeated the Bone Lord’s Chosen, the first of three enemies who have enslaved an Elder Brain through the power of some sort of crown it bears.

At the thought of the crown, you turn your head, seeking out the person who had first pointed out the crown to you. It was the thing that seemed to wake him from his reluctant obedience to his goddess’s command. There had been hunger in his eyes, more than you’d ever seen in him before, and for a brief moment you had thought yourself and him safe from the commands of the goddess of magic and mysteries.

But then he’d steeled himself. You’d watched as he physically and mentally struggled with the weight of the goddess’s demands, preparing himself for what he thought was inevitable.

Death. Destruction. Catastrophe. But one that would supposedly thwart mass enslavement at the whims of an elder brain and three evil Chosen. A noble sacrifice, but one that would kill dozens of innocent lives, too.

You don’t remember what all you said in those panicked seconds between him making his decision and you being dragged into a battle against Ketheric. You recall, vaguely, that you had clutched his robe in your hands and told him you loved him. There had been other words, too, but they were lost to your memory. Whatever it was, it had been enough. Because as of this moment, the elder brain has disappeared, Ketheric is dead, and you are not.

Your eyes find him, your love, your Gale, standing on a far platform where he had climbed to better aim and prepare his spells. He stands, leaning against his staff, panting, staring at the lifeless and inert body of Ketheric at your feet, and then his gaze shifts to you. You, covered in your blood and Ketheric’s black, fetid ichor, in bone dust and illithid matter. You probably look horrible, you think. You know you should bend down to examine Ketheric’s body and see what the glowing stone in his chest is all about, but you can’t look away from your love. Not now.

Not when you were so close to losing him to his goddess’s arbitrary and cold demand.

But you didn’t. He’s alive. He’s alive. The thought pumps outward from your heart, warm and reassuring like the blood rushing through your own veins, reminding you that you too are alive. Your only thoughts now are of closing the distance between the two of you and peppering his face with kisses, telling him how proud you are of him, how brave he’s been, how much you love him. But as you take a step toward his platform, a shift in him gives you pause.

He slowly kneels down, still leaning heavily on his staff, and for a moment you think he’s praying, in the same way Shadowheart kneels to pray to her goddess. But no, his eyes are wide, staring, unfixed, not closed and reverent. After a moment, he sits fully on the ground, his staff falling with a clatter against the surface of the platform, and he buries his face in his hands.

You go to him immediately, using a last rare scrap of magic to misty step directly onto his platform. He’s shaking with fine, shuddering tremors as you approach, your steps cautious and soft but your heart aching and yearning to rush over. You reach out a hand, your own fingers trembling as they hover suspended above him, and you whisper his name uncertainly.

“Gale?”

You hear his voice but his words are muffled by his hands. You bend closer, making out fragments as his words tumble forth in a soft, whispered babble.

“Oh gods, oh gods,” he gasps. “I nearly—I almost—I could have—the orb. What have I done—”

“Gale,” you say again, finally kneeling in front of him and laying a hand on his shoulder. He jolts at the touch, stiff and startled by you, but you don’t let it deter you. You squeeze his shoulder in what you hope is a reassuring touch, even as the tears threaten to choke you as you watch and feel him tremble. “It’s all right. We’re safe. My love, you’re safe.”

He lowers his hands, one clenching the fabric of his robe over his chest, his breaths coming shallow and quick. His gaze on you is so different than before, all the warmth and steadiness and gentle, shy uncertainty that came with looking at you replaced with abject horror and unfocused panic. You get the sense he isn’t really seeing you, but staring through you to some theoretical what-if nightmare. One where you didn’t make it out alive.

“I very nearly killed us all,” he mumbles, still clutching his chest. "I nearly killed you."

“But you didn’t—”

“I was so close to—to—th-the orb, I could feel it stirring, like it wanted me to—” He breaks off, his hand tightening in the fabric of his robe. The mark of the orb glows faintly, the barest hint of illuminated magic threading upward toward his eye, casting an orchid-purple sheen to his dark iris. He bends forward slightly, combing a hand roughly through his hair and clutching brown and gray strands tightly in his fist, his eyes wide. You half-expect him to be sick as he presses his other hand flat against his chest, breathing heavily. “And now I’ve defied my goddess. I—”

He turns suddenly, sharply, twisting to prop himself up on hands and knees away from you as his body rebels against him and he retches. Very little comes up—he hasn’t been eating well since you first stepped into Moonrise and he found himself faced with the very real possibility of sacrificing his life—but his body shudders and bucks violently as it attempts to dispel everything inside him. Not just the contents of his empty stomach but the fear and loathing and terror too.

You don’t shy away from him. You shift closer, sitting on your knees at his side as his body settles into little shivers, his hands pressed flat into the surface of the platform. Your eyes are burning with tears now and you want to sob, your heart shattering for this man, your love, your heart’s song, but you have to be strong for him. You smooth his hair from his face, fingers brushing against his sweat-slick skin, and you cradle his feverish cheek in your palm. You say the only words you know to say and you repeat them as many times as you have to before they break through the haze of his clouded mind and resonate within him.

“Shh. You’re safe, my love. I’m here. I’m here with you. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, my love. You are safe.”

He leans into you and you gather him in your arms, rocking you both gently as he rests his head on your shoulder and wraps his arms around one of your arms. His shoulder is awkwardly pressed into your chest and he’s half-curled into your lap, weighing your knees uncomfortably down into ground, but you don’t mind. Discomfort and awkwardness don’t matter. What matters is that he is alive and so are you. You remind him of that in words, in your stream of murmured comforts, along with all the rest.

It takes several long moments for his breathing to even out again, and another few for him to finally rest against you without an errant shiver wracking his body. But he calms at last. The tears on your face have since dried, but your heart aches no less than before. To think that your love would suffer so for making the right choice—the choice to live—but to suffer nonetheless out of a sense of guilt and fealty to a goddess that had thrown him aside like a broken toy.

It fills you with an uncommon rage. The gods are ever cruel, but the goddess of magic—you dare not even give her the honor of her name in your own thoughts—she is among the worst in your eyes. Even now, as your love struggles to compose himself, it isn’t a goddess’s arms or a goddess’s blessing that are there to comfort him.

The arms that are wrapped around him are your own. The comfort you have to offer is that of warm flesh and soft breath, mortal and precious. And it is better—better, you tell yourself with all the prideful conviction of a mortal soul—than anything an immortal, unfeeling goddess could offer.

He finally stirs, straightening up to look at you. Or look at your shoulder, rather, unable to meet your gaze. His expression is hollow, sorrowful, but calm. You know the road to him accepting and finding joy in his decision to defy his goddess is not yet over, and the path ahead may still be thorny.

But at least he has the chance to try and walk that path, rather than ending it all here.

"Forgive me," he says softly. He seems to want to say more, but the words don't come easily. You shake your head, not caring what he's trying to apologize for.

"There's nothing to forgive, my love. You made the right choice." You caress his cheek, wiping away the grime and the tear tracks that have collected there. “I love you, Gale.”

He finally meets your gaze and oh, your love, he looks so exhausted. But there is a flicker of his old self still there, a warmth that is familiar in his dark eyes. You press your forehead to his, still caressing his cheek, and close your eyes.

He’s alive. That’s all that matters. You can figure out the rest as you go.

“I love you, too,” he whispers.

You have to get out of here, out of this cavern of flesh and stone and brine. You have to face the problems of the world at large, the threat of the elder brain and more. You know that. But you steal a few more moments for yourself, breathing softly with Gale, treasuring every breath as though they were more precious than diamonds.

———

You set out to leave the shadow-cursed lands at what you think is dawn the next day. Even with the curse waning, it’s hard to tell the time with the sun still obscured. But the hope is that as the land fades away behind you, you’ll be walking forward into sunlight and not more night.

You and Gale walk at the back of your little group, your companions moving on ahead. With each step, the shadow curse lightens. There are hints and signs of new life all around, tiny green leaves fluttering against once-dead branches, thin shoots of grass poking upward from the cold, dry ground. It restores your hope for good things to come. Not just for these lands, but for you. For your love.

He’s been quiet since the fight against Ketheric. Contemplative. Thoughtful. You had spent the night wrapped in each other's arms, counting his every heartbeat and breath until you were pulled into slumber, suspecting that he had done the same for you. When you woke you both pretended that sleep had cured you of the previous day’s torments and used the task of breaking up the camp to travel onward as your distraction from your concerns. But you watched him across the camp anyway, a knot of worry in your stomach.

Sometimes, both this morning and in the moments traveling now, you see that hunger in his eyes as you did when he first saw the crown atop the elder brain. But sometimes you just see a lingering sorrow. You haven’t been able to bring yourself to ask him about it. Not yet. It’s enough that he’s here with you, and you trust him to speak to you about what weighs on his heart in his own time. But you still worry.

Just up ahead, the shadow curse seems to fizzle out entirely, like a fog that dissipates as the sun burns it away. Beyond the threshold is sun-warmed landscape. Though scarred by the smoldering and abandoned remains of the Absolute army’s campfires and shelters, nothing has ever looked so inviting to you before. You rush ahead, eager to feel the sun on your skin again.

The difference in temperature alone is enough to reassure you that the shadow curse is behind you at last. One second you are enveloped in the chill and dimness of the shadows, and the next you are warm and bright in the light of the sun. You pause just a few steps into the sunlight, stretching out your arms and lifting your face toward the sky, drinking in the warmth. At last. You feel as though you can breathe freely again.

You turn to smile at Gale, but he is not at your side. He lingers in the shadows, watching you. The shadow curse is like a sheer black veil between you, obscuring his expression slightly, but as you step closer you realize his eyes are glimmering with unshed tears.

“Gale?”

He blinks, as if awakening from the depths of his thoughts, and quickly rubs his eyes. “Ah…my apologies. Lost in thought, I suppose.”

You hesitate to leave the warmth of the sun, but you sense this is more important than sunlight. You step onto the threshold of the curse, reaching out a hand to him. You want to pull him out of the shadows and into the light with you. He stares at your hand a moment before taking it, but he doesn’t move. Like he isn’t ready yet.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, my love,” you say gently. “Tell me how I can help.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but for the first time, words seem to utterly fail him. He swallows, gazing at you with a stricken expression, and tightens his hold on your hand.

“It’s simply…I am…in awe,” he says at last. “Of you. And I am mortified with myself. No, more than mortified. I nearly…”

You sense the flow of his thoughts instantly, your minds connecting via the tadpole, his thoughts unconsciously opening up to you. At first he resists, his mind shutting down like a trap to spare you, but then the shields waver and fall away, and you are pulled into his memories. You feel the struggle within him as he stares at the elder brain. You feel the heat and pain of the orb inside, as if reminding him of his purpose. You see yourself through his gaze, the fear and love warring in your expression as you beg him not to go through with his sacrifice. You feel the moment he makes his decision, his resolve hardening like steel in flame, only to shatter, brittle and broken, the moment the brain disappears, the pieces transforming into needles of doubt that bury themselves in his psyche, his heart, his body.

As the familiar, terrifying sight of the colossal avatar of Myrkul rises into your vision once more, for one fleeting moment, you sense the desperate desire to end it all now, to end the storm of uncertainty in your mind, the pain of the orb, the fear of disobedience, the exhaustion of facing another battle with impossible odds. For one fleeting moment, you consider letting go and letting the orb obliterate you and everything around you.

And then the connection ends, and you are left standing at the threshold of the shadows with Gale’s hand in yours.

“I nearly killed us all with one rash thought,” he murmurs quietly. “The thought of my sacrifice never left my mind, even as I swore to you I wouldn’t go through with it.”

He takes a shuddering breath and a tear drips down his cheek. You catch it with your fingertips as you cradle his face with your free hand, your heart breaking for him all over again. His tears prompt your own and you struggle to hold them back, for his sake.

“And now,” he says, his voice altered, thick with tears. He swallows. “And now I see what I fool I was to doubt. To doubt you and your wisdom. To wish for death so quickly.”

He meets your gaze and you see a thousand words he hasn’t said yet there in his brown eyes. A hundred apologies, a hundred ways to beg forgiveness, a hundred confessions of love, a hundred praises, all about and for you. It’s a torrent of love and longing and guilt in his eyes and your knees nearly buckle at the sight of it.

“I would have condemned the brightest of stars to death,” he says. “I would have robbed the world of its greatest treasure. And for what?”

“Oh, Gale,” you whisper. You abandon the sunlight to join him in the shadows and embrace him, holding him tightly as he struggles to regain his composure. “No more. You made the right decision. You’re here with me. I’m here with you. We’re alive, my love, because of you.”

“But I could have—“

“But you didn’t.” You pull back to cradle his face in both your hands and wait until he’s looking you full in the face. You want him to see your own resolve, but also your love, your faith in him, your pride for him. “You chose to live, my love. That is the most important thing. That is all that matters right now.”

He stares at you, letting your words sink in, until at last he smiles. Though it’s still tinged with sadness and guilt, it’s genuine. It soothes your spirit and settles some of your worries.

“I don’t deserve you, you know.”

You shake your head. This isn’t about deserving, but you know that’s a battle you won’t win here. Instead you kiss him, your lips soft against his, and you let that suffice for words for a moment.

When you finally pull away, he seems a little restored. The love is back in his eyes and his smile isn’t weighed down as it was before.

“I love you,“ you say.

“And I love you,” he responds. “Immensely. More than I scarce dreamed I could love anyone.”

“We will find another way to deal with the brain and quiet the orb inside you. Some way that keeps us both alive and together. I swear it.“

“I believe you.” There isn't a trace of uncertainty in his voice when he says it. “I want that more than anything.”

“Want what?”

“To live. With you. To see the dawn of a new day with you, the dawns of a thousand more days. To know that the road ahead, whatever it holds, won't be spent alone, because I'll have you by my side.” He pauses, as if a thought is only just now coming to him. “I can...I can have that hope, now. Thanks to you.”

You smile. You take both of his hands in yours and step back, placing yourself once more on the threshold between shadows and sun. “Then will you join me in the sunlight?”

He looks at you, then at the sunlit road beyond, and then back at you. He nods, letting go of one of your hands but tightening his hold on the other. “Yes. I’d love to.”

Without another word, he keeps his hand in yours as you lead him forward step by step.

Away from the darkness and into the light.

#bg3 #bg3 fix #my fic #gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #angst fic #kinda #gale x tav #gale x reader #i don't normally write you/reader pov fic so #hopefully i did okay #please check out the art that inspired this

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thelastofhyde · 1 year

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i. the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!

word count. 12.9k

hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it

taglist. @kayleezra @newavenger + add yourself to the taglist here !

read on ao3 ! ( capitalization available )

distaste is not new in the life of joel miller.

in particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. he is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. the years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.

if anything, he’s made himself more empty.

rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.

an apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. the man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that miller guys passed between cowardly members of fedra and the keep away from mr. miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.

this plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become dead-weight.

“so that’s all i am to ya, huh? dead-fucking-weight?” his brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving joel to do what joel does best: endure.

somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the dead-weight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.

she was an exception, his tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. they’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.

she never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.

which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of tess’ foot against his shin.

“... and then,” frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. with a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. we were finding paw-prints for days!”

joel’s unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. as if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the german shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

“which means i was cleaning paw-prints for days.” bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.

frank is quick to shush him.

“i’m sorry, again, bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “i’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”

there you sit, parallel to him.

the sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. it hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.

you catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.

the threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which joel can account for, mouth to keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. the battle ends swiftly as you surrender to bill’s hardened stare, and frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.

“you, sit. no one should have to clean up the food they made.”

they get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.

silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and painting you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun hind a large cloud that causes such a thing.

being alone, with you, is something joel’s never mastered. the affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.

were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.

something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. the dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.

just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.

the ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. he’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.

the pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.

“he likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.

as if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.

to envy a creature that licks it own shit off its ass is a new low for joel.

“thinkin’ he might like ya more, sol.” the nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.

“most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.

he takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and tess have made.

“you’ve got a whole load in common, you know? i think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”

“how the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” there he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. it helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.

“well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. he’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “and have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”

he’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.

discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘s easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”

with you as its protector.

he doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. he watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.

survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.

but i could keep you safe.

he toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. it’s not the first time he’s thought it. truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.

his memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just bill, frank and you. a few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was frank who’d prompted the question. “where were you all when... this started?” tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’ll never meet.

he never imagined her working in a bank.

bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” he’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. she was barely out of school. “i knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.

joel had always been a good listener. being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. all this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of bill.

but you weren’t smiling.

he watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.

the desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. with each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. he’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“you’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “those we remember never truly die!”). he’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘could keep you safe. there, then, the thought did cross his mind.

he’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.

“-could fix it, you know. i’m good with my hands.”

he almost chokes on his own breath.

i'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. and he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.

“what?” the question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. in the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.

the mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face joel once more.

he sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.

“your watch, it’s broken.”

“hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “don’t need ya to fix it.”

you pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. confusion.

“don’t you want to know the time?” you ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and joel miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.

“i don’t keep it for the time.”

you smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.

the german shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.

he’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. it’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-

“ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” you’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “i’ve never heard any of the joel miller backstory, this should be-”

“i get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”

nature falls silent.

skies grow dull.

you juggle sadness.

there’s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. the dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.

joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

“sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. only, the gates have been shut in his face and joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “but you’re wrong. i don’t like everyone.”

“‘s that so.” his eyes roll. the hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal joel will always be wiling to place you on.

“yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “i don’t like you, joel.”

the hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.

we’re staying, for tonight. tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the qz for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day

the nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading bill and frank- mostly frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. if only joel could remember which door leads to yours.

the two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.

tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a fedra agent’s wife, you whisper that frank and bill had been fighting again recently. the memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly bill and frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.

at some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. at another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.

-n’t tell me you’re a virgin.

the words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.

a protest rings true in his head and his ears.

was gonna say. knew you were young, but not that young.

it’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.

“god, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. it was alright, i guess. i just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”

he’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. a groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.

neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“not much to miss?! sweet christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” he’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken tess. each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. there’s no need to bother opening his eyes, joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “i’d give up a hand for some head!”

you must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of tess’ renewed shock fills the room. he wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.

late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.

“you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“it bores me!”

“it bores you!?”

the couch beneath joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp tess gives. the last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.

the crueler part of his mind replays your voice, i don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.

you like tess. love her, even. it’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out finally someone with a pair of boobs, i’m bored of the sight of my own. joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.

maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.

“must not have been doin’ ya right,” the bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. you’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. it’s oddly endearing, you think no one has noticed. “this fella of yours.”

joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.

he does so, regardless.

“well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “we were each others firsts.”

“that’s no excuse! trust i left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time i went down.” tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. no discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.

you scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “what, are you offering your services?”

this he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which tess had raised you to heaven while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.

“‘as sure as i am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you i like my women a little older than you.”

he knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the qz. it should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. but he can’t, and he won’t.

and you’re the one to blame.

you, with the glow of a thousand suns. you, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. you, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.

his own self being the first he’d need fight.

joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.

the next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.

he’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. some small, meaningless little things, that ripple joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. others, tsunamis. big, angry, all imposing. they’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.

amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. but the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. they catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. in the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.

the currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

this evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. he reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. the gentle, barely-there croon of a sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. across from him is tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. snoring comes from below him, where joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.

you take up no space of this room.

neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.

there are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.

he should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. a good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.

he could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure frank wouldn’t mind. bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the qz.

he would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. he imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.

i don’t like you, joel.

those words stop him from trying.

he tells himself it’s for the best.

with a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. he swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. the door’s already half-opened, and joel nearly thanks christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. the darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.

the refrigerator.

it’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. a subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.

keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.

she never lived long enough to get either.

he catches something move beneath the artificial light. cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.

“why aren’t ya sleepin’?” the words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.

beneath the light, you shrug, “could ask you the same thing, texas.”

he curses tess for teaching you such a nickname.

he curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.

you’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, joel remains unaware.

he grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. the door behind him closes over and give the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.

“i asked first.” you laugh, at him. full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. the corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. he hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you, bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘s so funny, huh?”

“nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “just never heard the joel miller say something so childish. you’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”

you make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. a fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. uncouth and unbothered, joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.

“you know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” you call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. the thirst does not budge. he hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.

by the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.

“i’m making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “make sure you take some with you when you leave. tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”

would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. he’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.

i don’t like you, joel.

of course you would do the same. not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. all words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. they violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over joel’s entire persona.

he straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. the sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. his hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, and the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of tess, and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what joel hears.

i don’t like you, joel.

over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. you’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.

and, suddenly, joel’s angry. at you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. the fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.

only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.

a hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise joel gifts you.

you may leave your marks emotionally, but joel’s will always be physical.

“why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “don’t ya like me?”

if not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “why do you care?”

he scoffs, “i don’t.”

“hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody tess was playing in the living room. “sure sounds like you do.”

“yeah, well, i don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.

joel knows he cares. it’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to bill and frank’s.

what joel doesn’t know is why he cares. there’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. he’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.

maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.

instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.

not one bit.

joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. his feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. his chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.

he inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.

“for the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘s like how i sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. no part of him should ever be compared to you. “i don’t like ya either.”

he’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.

the knife never ceases its movement. back and forth, back and forth. chop, chop, chop. blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. it’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.

the hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.

“that’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point.

it’s his turn to respond with a hum.

“you only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. his wandering touch halts. “a little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what i think.”

this strikes a nerve. fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. the realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “d’ya know what i think?”

even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“no, unlike you i don’t care what you think about-” joel tugs on your hair once more.

“i think you’re a brat. a silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” you could. he’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.

“you’re hurting me,” you whine, joel growls.

animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. his gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.

your dress- red, a colour joel miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.

“you like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.

“no, i don’-” dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “joel.”

he retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. whoever joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.

“heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and tess. the blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ talkin’ bout your past.”

he doesn’t specify.

he doesn’t need to.

you give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.

“tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. his hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “i wouldn’t.”

you say nothing. joel pulls harder.

“too bad i’m-” you cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. with a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, joel watches you like a hawk. the twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. the want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “too bad i’m not offering you the chance.”

joel miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. with notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.

“who said anything about an offer?”

the descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.

a part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.

the other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. you’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.

smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs longer than any tree in the amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the himalayas. arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.

your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, joel knows how to read people. and, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.

joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.

you breathe in, you breathe out.

one knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. he revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.

inhale, exhale.

your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.

“hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. all he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. with the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “don’t move.”

where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. one flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. a wet patch, your wetness. the stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.

curiosity gets the better of him- one day, joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers curling themselves in the waistband of your panties and the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.

in and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

the lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. a heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. he makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.

delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. there’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. he wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. he thinks it must hurt.

his fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

“ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in joel’s peripheral vision.

“shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “people are tryin’ to sleep.”

you scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”

“‘s that an invitation to see how loud i can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. this, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “or a challenge?”

“it’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.

as coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. so he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. he awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.

it’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.

“you’re drippin’” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. the view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘s actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. is it cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”

he can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.

but first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.

cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.

rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.

it happens so sudden, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of tess. he wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.

so he does the same.

working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. he breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.

two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.

“so now you shut up. ‘s the matter, huh?” he’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “am i too borin’ for ya?”

“you’re the most infuriating man i’ve ever- oh!”

a tongue meets skin.

the knife clatters onto the counter.

you lurch forward.

his hand pulls you back.

“tess was right, ya know?” he can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. he pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “that boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”

the common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better, if you’d just let him.

‘could keep ya satisfied.

that’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. he’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.

“is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? what ya need is a man, a man like me!” the softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension, god it’s never sounded sweet, and joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.

“well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. he imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “but if ya insist.”

diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. the tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.

licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure.

he’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by only experience that comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. you’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.

he’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.

what a perfect excuse you are, for joel to remaster the arts of lust.

it’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. it’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. it’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever days he shall possess on his knees before you.

and all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass.

his only saving grace is that he can’t see you.

hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.

burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. it does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.

“n- ah,” you can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “no, don’t, not there.”

next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.

sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. the sound of whatever record tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.

and, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.

his eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within bill and frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. there’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time tess tells him they’re due a visit.

except, the oven door is made of glass.

glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. you, with hands gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.

and then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.

the image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.

“d’ya touch yourself, sol?” you don’t answer him, but that’s okay. in a sweet change of pace, joel miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “yeah, bet ya do. late at night, right? once you’re all alone in bed. ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

you back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.

fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “let me do the honours this time though.”

you don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. he imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.

he’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.

you’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. your expression, he can’t quite read. not sad, not happy, not mad.

your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.

the discomfort of trekking back to the qz will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.

“joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.

he swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. he’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“that,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. he pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “shouldn’t have happened.”

joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.

people once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. as sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. not today, however, and joel miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.

it chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. there’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.

that dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.

he cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “no, not again. my back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the german shepherd’s head. it whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. a scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “not so bad, are ya? huh?” never in a million years did joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and tess had set out for their routinely visit to the bill and frank’s. never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.

he hears you before he sees you.

“you planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, texas?”

he tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.

the world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.

so instead, it sends you.

peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than uv ray could ever be. he’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. a few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. at the very least, he considers, i’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.

the smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. when he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. he does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.

“thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. you’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”

a queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. he’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “no problem, thanks... for feeding tess and i.”

“no worries!” you’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. he can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “oh, actually, that’s why i came out here, i was looking for tess-” of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “hold on!”

you shoot off back inside so quickly that otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. with an idle pet to his head as you pass by, joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. in your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.

“i wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. he can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “i know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”

“why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.

pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.

you show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him, “there should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”

it’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.

so he tries again, louder.

“why don’t ya like me?”

“and i’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”

he grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "answer me." like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.

"for someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. you don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “you sure do talk about my opinion a lot."

"answer the damn question, girl.”

“or, what?” you’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “you gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”

had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.

instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.

joel says nothing.

“how about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and bill make.” inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “you get me something, i’ll tell you what you want to know.”

he grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “what d’ya want? ‘cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. i ain’t messing with none of bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”

“a dress.”

“a dress?” the statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.

“yes, and don’t look at me like that!” it’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “i need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”

unaware he’d even began to lean closer, joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time.

“joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.

neither of you dare to break eye contact. again, his name is yelled. this time, he manages to identify tess as the owner of the voice. habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of tess or you.

his feet remain glued to the ground.

tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “think you might be needed inside, macho man. your missus is calling.”

“she ain’t my-”

“you two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.

only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. in her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. you approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms.

“i should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. he decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “go check on the food, before it burns.”

you’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.

tess and him hit the road by noon. earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. the bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun heating the world with its rays. he walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from tess and racking his brain for answers.

answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the qz. answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven bill’s created. answers to why you don’t like him.

i don’t like you, joel.

it motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. if he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.

till then, he needs to find a dress.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller oneshot #joel miller fic #pedro pascal smut

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cheriiyaya · 2 months

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Darling can I be your favorite?

YAN!Nikolai, dazai, and Fyodor x Fem!reader

You're the girl of their dreams, so why would they let you slip away so easily?

Contents: UNDER 15 DNI !!, obsessive behavious, yandere DC, manipulation, isolation, physical abuse+blood in nikolai's part from the yanderes pov, I do not condone any of the behaviours shown in this fic; these are not examples of healthy relationships or behaviours.

A/N: ...well this is my first yan fic and my first time writing for nikolai so his part is kinda short and maaybe ooc...hope it's good tho !!

Dazai swears it wasn't supposed to be like this.

Your relationship with dazai started out pretty normal,

if normal was a thing with dazai osamu. but he always tried his best to be the best lover you could have, spoiling you in affection and sweet words. You trusted him, and for the most part he allowed his heart to open and let you inside.

But the heart of the former demon prodigy was like a Venus fly trap, luring you inside with sweetness before it cages you in and devours you whole.

Sweet words twisted into cruel lies and his gentle affection turned into manipulative games. And like the fool you were you fell neatly like puzzle pieces into them.

It wasn't his fault, dazai told himself whenever you'd cry or become frustrated.

Whenever you cried he'd grasp you in his arms, cooing softly and telling you in the nicest way to shut up. That this was what was best for you.

How could he let you out where he couldn't see you? What if you got hurt? What if you left him and stabbed him in the back? You were his everything, a precious thing. Don't people lock their precious metals away from prying eyes, so they can never be stolen?

Everything he did was for you, why couldn't you see that? You were naive, so naive and so trusting.

You couldn't even deny it, seeing how you'd run back to him every single time he promised it'd all stop and it'd go back to normal.

"hush, c'mon now bella', don't look at me like that...I'm doing this all for you, I promise it'll get better from here, okay...? Don't worry that pretty head of yours about anything anymore."

Fyodor's relationship with you has always been a little...off but you never thought too much of it.

Sure, sometimes he's overly protective, or he always needs to know where you are, but he's always considered your emotions.

Or you told yourself that.

First it was limiting who you could go out with without him following close behind. Then it was no contact with other men he deemed "dangerous" to you, and they'd mysteriously go missing soon after your interactions with them. Then it was no leaving the house without him, among other controlling rules he imposed.

Even throughout this, fyodor never stopped to assure you that it was all your fault. It wasn't his fault he was such a a possessive man.

You were such a pretty thing, and pretty things draw ugly eyes that wish to snatch them away. It wasn't his fault you were so alluring, what was he supposed to do?

If only you'd never caught his eye.

You didn't need anyone else, fyodor would tell you. Wasn't he enough? He gave you everything you wanted and you'd still thrash around and scream at him like a ungrateful child.

If you ever tried to leave him, fyodor wouldn't be concerned. Afterall, he knows where you are at all times (those cameras around yokohama have another use other than tracking his enemies, you see)

In a few hours time, you'd be back in his loving arms as he told you how much of an idiot you were for not trusting him.

"See, dear? It's useless to try and leave me. This is what's best for you, and you do know that, don't you?...Come here, stop crying angel, this is your fault after all."

Nikolai was quite upfront with his love for you.

Which is why as soon as your guard was down he snatched you away from the worlds keen, prying eyes. Locked away like a bird in a cage, what hypocritical actions from a man that preached freedom.

This was freedom for him, however. of course this was wrong! But knowing this and dissociating himself with what was widely considered a moral "evil" is the best way to prove ones freedom, no?

You felt suffocated-not only was the snowy-haired man always around you, stuck to the hip, but his affection was certainly unusual.

Huh? Someone made you uncomfortable? Don't worry, their severed tongue will be delivered right to your doorstep!

How you wish it was Nikolai's head instead.

Nikolai doesn't like to, but hes not against hurting you for his selfish purposes.

In fact, there was something so pretty about you when you were looking up at him with big, glossy eyes and your skin stained with welts and bruises-maybe even a spattering of scarlet blood. You're so tempting like that, how could he not smother you in his love, however twisted it may be?

You were his, and his only after all. Why are you resisting?

"Eh? Dove, why're you crying? Ohhh, c'mon now baby, you gotta listen to me now and this'll all go smoothly, you'll see!"

©Cheriiyaya 2024

Tagging: @aureatchi @little-miss-chaoss @hanging-wisteria @atzuhi @lovesick-fairy @adoredazai @ravencincaide @dazaikinniess @nyx-prodigy @himikoslove @teddirika @hyacinth-venom @kaitoluver @dydrem

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worldlxvlys · 4 months

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hey babe, i love ur writing its acc soo amazing. can you write about like chris or matt seeing you at one of their hockey games and while you were talking to some other guy, they score and do a celebration for you and obvi you don't see so they get pissed and then after the game they see you talking to the guy again and then they come up to you and grab your arm, pulling you into the locker room and then they yk fuck you for like three rounds and them they pocket your underwear and make you walk up to the guy you were talking to before and talk to them, but you're yk walking or limping and the guy notices and the you can do whatever you want

also this could be for either matt or chris or even nate

attention

chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: smuttt (don’t read if you don’t like), p in v, cream pie, oral (fem receiving), cursing, semi- public sex

a/n: i did chris cause i feel like i’ve seen so many hockey matt fics

ummm yeah hope you like :)

———————

i watched as chris skated on the ice, my eyes never leaving him. the game was pretty close, but chris was playing really well tonight.

i felt someone tap my shoulder, making me turn towards them, and breaking my gaze on chris.

“hey” i was greeted by a guy that looked to be around the same age as me. he was a tall brunette, with green eyes.

“um, hi” i said, confused.

“sorry, um i just- do you recognize me?” i narrowed my eyes at him, now even more confused.

i’ve never seen this kid a day in my life before.

“um, should I?”

“ i’ll take that as a no. i sit a few rows back from you in history”

well this is awkward as hell.

“ohhh shit, sorry! yeah, yeah you’re…” i trailed off, waiting for him to say his name.

“blake” he finished.

“blake! yes, yeah! sorry, i’m a little out of it today” i said awkwardly.

this is why i don’t talk to people.

“yeah, no worries. i get it, you pay attention to the teacher, why would you even be facing the back?” he said, trying to justify me not knowing him.

i really really don’t like talking to people.

“exactly” i said, before starting to turn back to the game. before i could, he starting talking again.

“yeah! very studious of you. i’m normally just staring at the back of your head” he said, chuckling a little.

i really want to side-eye the shit out of this kid.

“hmm, normally i’m paying more attention to my boyfriend. you know, the kid who sits next to me?”

hopefully this kid takes the god damn hint.

“oh, chris, right?” i nodded my head.

“isn’t he like, a player, or something? you sure he’s the right guy for you? ”

i just side-eyed him.

this kid isn’t real, there is no way he just said that shit.

“it was a joke! sorry, i just wanted to get you to laugh. don’t take it too seriously” he nudged me with his elbow.

i should’ve sat next to nick, he would have a comeback that would scare this kid off.

suddenly, the crowd went crazy. as i went to turn towards the game to see what happened, blake grabbed my shoulder making me turn towards him.

“listen, i’m sorry that wasn’t funny! i’m kinda just trying to impress you” he admitted.

“jokes are usually funny, that was not” his smile dropped. “not that it’s any of your business, but chris treats me well. i’m not interested in anyone else”

he didn’t say anthing else, so i turned back to the game. which is now over.

fuck. this dumbass made me miss the rest of the game.

i looked closer, realizing chris’s entire team was slapping chris on the back and giving him high fives.

i looked at the score, his team won by one point.

fuck. chris scored the winning point, and i missed it.

chris happened to look over at me, locking eyes as his jaw clenched.

oh, he’s pissed.

CHRIS’S POV

i scanned the crowd, looking for a particular person.

when i finally found her, someone was standing next to her.

who is this kid?

whatever, it doesn’t matter. i have to focus.

the game is so close, all we need is a score and we can win.

when i saw an opportunity to score the point, i took the shot and made it.

i just scored the winning point.

“YEAHHHHHH” i yelled, starting to celebrate.

i looked in her direction, wanting to see her reaction.

what the fuck.

she was facing towards that random kid, his hand on her shoulder.

she didn’t even see.

was she ever even watching the game?

i saw matt and nate, along with the rest of my teammates skate towards me.

i was graced with multiple “congrats, dude” and pats on the back. i didn’t even care, all i could focus on was her.

when i looked back at her, we locked eyes. her face dropped as she realized how angry i was.

i just rolled my eyes and turned away.

READER’S POV

i waited right next to the locker rooms, where we usually meet after chris’s games were finished.

suddenly, i heard blake’s voice again.

he just won’t stop.

“hey, you waiting for chris?” he asked.

“yup.” i kept my response short, looking for chris.

“yeah, that was some game-winning goal, huh?” he asked.

i turned towards him, “how would you know? you were never even focused on the game, you were too busy trying to get my attention”

“i-“ before he could even finish, my arm was grabbed and i was pulled into the locker room.

i didn’t even have to look to know it was chris.

he pushed me up against a set of lockers, “ i scored the winning point” he said as he looked into my eyes. “but you didn’t see that, huh? too busy talking to that kid”

i didn’t say anything, too shocked to speak.

“hmm, lost your voice, baby? or are you just having trouble paying attention to me?”

“no.” i answered.

“no? no, what?”

“i’m sorry chris, he just wouldn’t leave me alone. i told him i had a boyfriend”

“yeah? is that why he had his hand on your shoulder?”

“chris, i’m sorry” he pulled my hoodie over my head, sucking on my neck until it left marks.

“chris, what if someone walks in?” i asked, worried someone would see us.

we were in the very back of the locker room, but we were still out in the open.

“nobody has a locker back here, so as long as you’re quiet, there’s nothing to worry about.”

he unclasped my bra, taking one nipple in his mouth, while squeezing the other in his hand.

“shit, chris” i moaned. he lightly bit my nipple. “fuck!”

“didn’t i just say you have to be quiet? i swear to god if someone comes back here i’m not stopping.” he said as he continued to lick and suck.

my head fell back into the locker, as one of his hands snuck past the waistband of my sweatpants and into my underwear.

i gasped as i covered my mouth with my hand.

he rubbed circles on my clit, as he continued his work on my tits.

“think he could make you feel this good?” he whispered into my ear.

i didn’t open my mouth, scared a moan would spill out.

he inserted two fingers into me. “answer me.”

“fuck, no no no. no one can, just you chris” i whispered.

suddenly, he pulled away and pulled my underwear and sweatpants down.

he brought me over to a bench and laid me over his lap. the bench was wide enough that i could position myself on my hands and knees without falling off.

he slapped my ass, making me whine, and rubbed it after.

he spit into his hand before rubbing my clit with his thumb.

“shit, chris”

“remind me, whose pussy is this?” he asked. i couldn’t see his face, but i’m sure he wore a smug grin on it.

“yours, chris” he slapped my clit, making me jolt forward.

“fuck” i whispered.

he continued to rub my clit with one hand while inserting his middle and index fingers into my pussy.

“FUCK CHRIS” i yelled out, not even caring about being loud.

his fingers moved in me at an abnormally fast pace. i didn’t even know anyone could move their fingers that fast.

i approached my orgasm quickly. “chris! CHRIS! i’m gonna-“

“go ahead cum, on my fingers ma”

my legs started to shake uncontrollably, and i clutched the bench under me for dear life.

“ oh FUCK! FUCK, FUCK, FUUUUCK, CHRISSS” my voice shook as my entire body twitched.

he continued to assault my pussy with his fingers. “oh my god, chris” i moaned as i reached behind me to pull his hand away.

he slapped my clit, making me cry out and move my hand away “you know your safeword”

he maneuvered my legs so that he was in between them and without another word, he gripped my thighs and began to run his tongue through my folds.

i couldn’t contain the loud moans coming out of my mouth as he shook his head from side to side, completely suffocating himself.

my legs instinctively closed around his face, as i squirmed and whimpered.

his nose rubbed against my clit as he moaned into my pussy, sending me over the edge.

“CHRIS- CHRIS I’M CUMMING” i yelled as i finished on his face.

when he pulled away his face was covered in my cum, his eyeblack smudged all over his face.

that is hot as fuck.

he quickly took off his gear and underclothes, leaving him naked.

he placed me on my back at the end of the bench and stood between my legs.

he pumped himself a few times and lined himself up with me and pushed himself in.

“hmmmmm” i whined as he groaned out, “so fucking tight. look at how perfectly i fit in you, this pussy was fucking made for me” he mumbled.

he didn’t even give me a chance to adjust, pounding into me mercilessly.

this side of chris was driving me absolutely insane. he looked too good snapping his hips into mine, lust-clouded eyes, his face red and sweaty.

my head fell back, and my eyes squeezed shut.

“open those pretty eyes, you’re gonna pay attention to me this time” he growled.

he growled.

i’m losing my fucking mind.

suddenly, he increased his speed and thrusted into me with all his force.

“ my GOD, CHRIS” my eyes rolled into the back of my head.

he reached down and started to rub my clit.

“what did i tell you about those eyes”

“sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry” i repeated it like it was a mantra.

he started to squeeze my boob with his other hand.

i started to twitch again, clenching around him over and over again.

“fuck ma” he groaned before painting my walls with his cum, launching me into my orgasm.

i moaned his name over and over again before cumming all over his cock.

he then picked me up, and held me up against a locker fucking me against it.

“chris! chris! sensitive, i- FUCK” he groaned into my ear as he continued to slide in and out of me.

he lifted up my leg, letting him directly hit my g-spot.

suddenly, the locker room door opened. footsteps could be heard, but they were nowhere near us.

chris covered my mouth with his hand, his nose pressed against mine as he stared into my eyes, almost daring me to make noise.

he continued to fuck me into the lockers, his speed increasing.

there was rustling, before a locker door closed. and the footsteps retreated.

i silently gasped into his hand, and he rubbed my clit, making me grip onto his biceps.

as soon as i heard the locker room door close, signifying that the person left, i let out a scream.

“CHRIS I’M GONNA CUM, GONNA CUMMM”

“fuck, give it to me baby” he said as my front half shot up, and i wrapped my arms around chris’s shoulders.

my juices shot out onto chris’s cock, and he released his load into me.

he fucked me through my high, giving a few more thrusts.

when he pulled out, our cum dripped out of me and down my leg.

“here, i’ll help you get dressed” he handed me all of my clothes, except my underwear.

“chris, you didn’t give me my underwear” i said, my voice hoarse from all of the screaming i did.

“i know, i’ll be holding onto that” he said as he put them in his pocket.

“now c’mon, we gotta get you dressed so we can go talk to our friend”

oh. that’s not good.

i didn’t argue, knowing it would make things worse.

once we finished getting dressed, chris grabbed his stuff.

as we started to walk towards the door, my legs started to shake slightly.

fuck. i can barely walk.

“you ok, ma?” chris asked with a slight smirk on his face.

i just narrowed my eyes at him, making him chuckle.

when we left the locker room, there blake stood. directly across from the locker rooms.

i know this kid did not sit here and wait for me.

i glanced over at chris, and he motioned for me to go up to him.

i slowly limped over to him, chris not too far behind me.

“hey” i said to him.

his eyes widened, noticing the limp, as he took in our features. the hickeys all over my neck, my shaky legs, the sweat all over chris’s face, and our messy hair.

“um…hey” blake said.

i nodded, slowly and awkwardly.

chris then stepped in.

“hey, i’m chris. her boyfriend. what’d ya think of the game?” chris asked with a head tilt and a smirk on his face.

“uh, yeah! n-no, great, awesome game! you’re a great hockey player”

this kid is fucking shaking in his boots.

“really? that’s crazy! i didn’t realize you were able to watch the game by staring at my girlfriend!” he said sarcastically.

blake’s eyes widened.

“i didn’t know, sorry”

“you didn’t know she was my girlfriend? alright well, now you do” he got closer to him. “and if you ever forget, i swear to god you’ll end up with a lot more than a black eye, got it ?”

blake just nodded.

“great, walk away” he waisted no time in doing exactly that, getting away as quickly as he could.

i turned to chris.

“hey, i’m really sorry i didn’t see your big moment. i genuinely was trying to pay attention, he just wouldn’t leave me alone”

he gave me a kiss to my cheek, “it’s ok baby, i don’t think we have to worry about him doing it again” we laughed together.

“he looked like he was gonna piss himself” he grinned at me while he wrapped his arm around my waist.

“ok, c’mon ma. gotta find my family” just as he said that, they came into view.

chris helped me walk over, as i was still limping.

nick and matt just looked at us and shook their heads.

“you two are fucking disgusting”

“whatever, let’s go”

matt stopped us, “ hold up, i gotta get my stuff from the locker room”

chris and i glanced at each other.

“yeah, you dirty fuckers i saw you two go in there, which is why i waited” he said as he walked in the direction of the locker rooms.

we looked at each other and busted out laughing, trying to catch our breath.

——————————

…hope you like <333

masterlist

lmk what y’all want

tag list: @lovingsturniolo @lustfulslxt @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @frankeelovesthesturnio @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @chrisdevora @cupidsword @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @vib3swithanuk @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @soursturniolo @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo

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generalsmemories · 5 months

Text

Ginkgo leaves

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ based on the ask: Since reqs are open, you think you could write jing yuans reaction to his lover being Mara-struck? Thank you! - requested by anonymous

✧ contents: established relationship, angst, hurt/almost no comfort lmfao, implied character death, mentions of other characters, pov mostly written in jing yuan's pov, still usage of 2nd pov (referring the reader as you), mayhaps ooc because jing yuan is an emotional wreck.

✧ a/n: when i tell ya'll i legit struggled to be able to write this entire thing. there's been like 3-4 scrapped drafts because halfway through writing i would just NOT be satisfied with the result. to the anon who requested this, i'm so sorry it took this long - but i hope the upcoming trainwreck makes up for it! a trainwreck im still not actually satisfied with LMFAO. but it's better than the other 5 scrapped works. also not beta-read so fellas if u see a spelling error - no you didn't.

p.s: some mara-struck information i give here are totally fanmade for the purpose of this fic alone, as such don't take whatever i write about mara here as what actually happens canonically to characters (then again most of the playable characters have different symptoms of mara themselves).

"Benefactor, am I correct to believe you're asking me if the general has any specific interests?" Tingyun asks with a snicker, the trailblazer looking away from her prying eyes while mumbling a quiet yes.

"Some of the younger... Can I call them younger? Anyway, some of the younger Xianzhou citizens are very infatuated with the general. Seeing as I've been announced as his honory guest, they do often come and ask me various things to try and gain his favor. So yeah, anything at this point will work - so please!" the trailblazer hurriedly explained, clasping their hands together in a desperate attempt to get anything from the foxian amicassador leaning back with a quirked eyebrow.

"Ahh, love truly makes someone go blind doesn't it," she muses out loud, the trailblazers' eyebrow furrowing together in confusion over the foxian's lady choice of words, "... You're not entirerely wrong with that statement..."

"Do you want to know what his favorite flower is?" Tingyun asks, ignoring the confused question that had been uttered to her, snapping her fan open to hide the cheeky smile that spread across her lips - but anyone could still tell that her eyes were gleaming with mischief as the trailblazer nodded their head.

"He doesn't have one."

"Then why did you even-"

"But he likes ginkgo leaves."

The trailblazers' eyes widened in shock, and rightfully so because the very thing ginkgo leaves are associated with are after all...

"He had a lover once, and as far as I'm aware, his last moment with them while they still had their consciousness intact was surrounded by ginkgo leaves."

Jing Yuan whilst having forgotten almost every single moment with you, does unfortunately remember the exact details of the day that your descent into madness started. Because what he witnessed wasn't a futile struggle you had with yourself to not to destroy everything within your vicinity. Instead, he witnessed the slow process of your bright self becoming an empty shell, only capable of uttering a few words.

It's comical really, even when faced with a curse that struck everyone mad - he found out that it oddly fit your character to not go mad, but instead become the complete opposite of your gentle self. A hollow shell of the person he fell in love with all centuries ago.

Jing Yuan knew he had to end your suffering right then and there when you first started to show signs.

But he couldn't - This wasn't something that had to be immediately dealt with, his hand wasn't forced like it was back when he had to slay his own master down before she took more lives.

No, this was a normal afternoon on what would've been another normal, mundane day in both of your lives. But everything went wrong the moment Jing Yuan heard the breaking of glass, and how there was a lone gingko leaf inside the palm of your hand - a ginkgo leaf that you were staring wide-eyed at with a trembling hand.

You were too far from the veranda to have a ginkgo leaf in your hand.

General Jing Yuan would've ended your suffering the moment you turned around to lock eyes with him, your own face twisted into one of utter fear.

General Jing Yuan would've reported you the to Ten-Lords Commissions as the law had stated. But Jing Yuan couldn't - because Jing Yuan knew that the moment he did, he would never see you again.

So he decided for once he would be selfish. Jing Yuan rarely made choices lately that was based off of his own feelings, but his time with you was cut too harshly, so once again he chooses to be selfish. Even if that meant that it would prolong your suffering just a tiny bit more. "... We can figure something out," was the only thing he could muster up the courage to say with a shaking voice. You didn't say anything, your mouth wobbling a tiny bit and your breathing getting harsher by the second.

But still you indulged him - you always did. So with an equally wobbly smile, you only nodded your head slightly, "... Sure."

That wobbly smile and expression of utter fear was the last genuine expression that truly came from yourself.

The descent to becoming fully mara-struck is usually a fast process, the curse able to completely overtake someone's mind within the same day the symptoms appears - rendering the person completely vulnerable with the only alternative to either hand themselves in to the Ten-Lords or wait for the Ten-Lords to come to them personally.

Your usual easy-going smile was gone, in its stead was eyes that kept going in and out of focus. Almost as if you were desperately trying to keep yourself grounded - a battle you both knew would end with your defeat.

Jing Yuan didn't dare to venture outside of the house. One step out and every Cloud Knight would've been on you within seconds to subdue you. He had first initially resorted to just holding you within his arms for as long as he could, to be able to remember how you felt like after your death.

But with the minimal strength you had left, you had wobbled to the garden, every step taken only making you pant heavily. But even with heavy breaths of air leaving your lips, you had refused to take Jing Yuans hand or offer to even carry you out to the garden. When you had managed to reach the ginkgo tree standing tall at the center of the garden, Jing Yuan was sure you were going to collapse in front of it, taking a quick step to catch you.

But instead you had merely reached your hands up, the falling leaves fluttering gently down onto your palms. And while you were in indescriable pain for the last couple of hours - Jing Yuan could only see a serene expression when you looked up at the ginkgo leaves that were continously falling down.

"... They're beautiful... aren't they... Jing Yuan? It's almost a pity... that these beautiful... leaves are associated with our doom," you said softly. Jing Yuan could feel his breath hitch in his throat when you uttered his name.

You're obviously struggling to convey whatever thoughts you still had to him properly, taking a moment in between words to catch your breath, eyebrows furrowed slightly as you fought against the searing pain that was spreading through every nerve in your body.

There's a sudden gust of wind which causes the pile of leaves in your hands to flutter away from your grasp. Your hand stretches out slightly, almost in an attempt to reach out for them - stumbling a bit in your step. The limp causes Jing Yuan to take a quick step forward with his arms outstretched. Perhaps seeing him in your peripheral vision causes you to stop the futile attempt to catch the escaping leaves, arms going limp against your side as you turn to face him - your once blank expression turning into a somber smile instead.

Jing Yuan thinks that it's unfair how normal you look in front of him - almost as if you haven't been becme mara-struck. Like nothing has happened to you aside from the ginkgo leaves fluttering from your lips whenever you cough. The same cough that causes the general of Luofu to flinch every time - without fail.

And perhaps you can see his inner turmoil, the way he tries to make eye contact with you, but is unable to after a few seconds. The way his hands clench too hard into fist to the point droplets of blood fall down to the grass and stains it a deep red while he bites his own lips to not say a word - lest he says something that he will regret.

And you truly wish that you could tell him everything is okay like you usually do.

But for the first time since the day he lost his friends, you can't.

"... I'm sorry," you finally say, the apology making him whip his head up to you again. Mouth opening to say something to comfort you, to tell you that it's not your fault. But the words are unable to leave his mouth when he sees your arms slightly outstretched towards him with a small smile.

And he can't hold it in anymore.

It only takes him a few wide steps to reach you from his position before he cradles you within his arms. The grip is tight, unbearably tight to the point it hurts, but you don't complain. You're limp in his hold, and if this was any day he wouldn't comment, but the fact that you're not moving a single muscle terrifies Jing Yuan to the core. "... Please," he finally manages to whisper, the rustling of ginkgo leaves around you almost drowning out his quiet plea.

"Please don't make me do this again."

He doesn't ask if the tensing of your body is caused by the pain that's rapidly increasing or if it's caused by his silent confession. He can however feel the gentle hand that rests against the lower part of his back and your head resting against the side of his own. The reassurance you try to give him does nothing to help because he's aware that it probably brought you unmeasurable pain to try to move those limbs - instead the general buries his face closer to your neck and squeezes you tighter.

"... You won't." you whisper quietly.

It takes a moment for Jing Yuan to process the meaning behind those two words.

But it's a moment too late, because before he can get his phone out to usher a command, a few resounding knocks can be heard throughout the quiet mansion.

"General Jing Yuan. This is Xueyi of the Ten-Lords commission. I've gotten information that there's currently a mara-struck within these premises."

Jing Yuan feels his blood run cold, he pulls himself away from you to stare at you properly in disbelief.

You're still staring at him with the same somber expression, however he can tell there's a small pitiful smile grazing your lips, "I'm sorry," you whisper once again.

"I asked her... personally," you start, finally letting yourself rest now that the end is near, slumping down onto Jing Yuan's chest, your ear settling itself against his heart to hear his rapid heartbeats.

Jing Yuan loathes the fact that it's at this moment, with the Ten-Lords commission outside of your door and with him completely broken do you actually look at peace - like your battle against time has finally come to its conclusion.

And naturally, the one who lost is you.

"Half a day... with you. Then she would come and bring me there. You won't have to... do this again."

You're not able to see Jing Yuan's face - and Jing Yuan wouldn't want you to see how he looked like right now. The arms around you is trembling, his mind is racing - trying to come up with anything to give him a bit more time with you.

But for once, the general that had a plan for every situation had nothing in mind.

He's lost. And the prize of the loss this time is losing you forever.

"General, I apologize for the rudeness of what I'm about to do, but this is for both of your safety," Jing Yuan hear Xueyi mutter from outside of the door, before he hears the rattling of the door frame start to slide open.

"Wait- no," it's a quiet request that gets ignored as Xueyi strides in alone, the lack of company making Jing Yuan's eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"... Their last request along with the request for my late arrival here was for the Cloud Knights to not see you like this. Naturally I won't tell anyone of what I've seen today."

Jing Yuan doesn't care about that, he could care less about his image right now, pulling you closer to him while his eyes are downcast - he makes no move to hand you over to the judge.

The puppet judge before him does not say anything - nor does she make a move. What she does however is wait, wait for the general before her that has been utterly crushed and broken by the person in his arms start to accept the harsh truth once again.

If he doesn't handle the mara-struck himself, someone else would - but the end result only serves to punish him in the end, the one left behind.

Xueyi hears a silent breath be let out by the general, her once closed eyes opening up to see the general pull slightly away from you, one hand reaching up to cradle your cheek. Your eyes have long since closed, and you're most likely not even conscious to hear what he's about to say.

"My dear... I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you. But I'm afraid you'll have to wait a bit longer before we can meet again," he whispers, bumping his forehead against your own gently, "I hope you won't fault me for that."

A long ginkgo leaf flutters right between the two of you, eventually settling down on your chest.

Jing Yuan sucks in one last deep breath, "I'm sorry I kept you here for so long - I'm sorry you had to be in pain for so long because of me," he leans in to slot his lips one last time over your own, whispering something that Xueyi can't hear before he rises up, your body limp in his arms.

"Thank you for your service Miss Xueyi, please see them off appropiately." Jing Yuan says, voice sounding eerily calm - almost like his usual self.

When he turns around to finally face her, the puppet's lifeless eyes seem to grow a bit in surprise. Before her is the general of Luofu, his usual easy-going smile present on his lips.

Like he wasn't carrying his mara-struck lover in his arms.

"As much as I would want to accompany you to see them off, I'm afraid I have some urgent matters to attend to," he informs, handing your body over to Xueyi - she doesn't comment on how his hands are still slightly trembling or how he immediately turned a bit to the side to ignore staring at her head-on.

Even though Xueyi doesn't want to ask, she still asks either way, "What are your plans from here on, general?"

Jing Yuan only gives her a close eyed smile, turning his gaze towards the large ginkgo tree with his hands behind his back. He gnaws a tiny bit at his lips, finally breathing out.

A couple of seconds passes by before he opens his mouth.

"I think I'll meditate a bit under this tree before heading back to the Seat. I can't leave Luofu without me for too long after all."

5 SCRAPPED WORKS AND I'M STILL NOT ACTUALLY THAT SATISFIED BUT IF I KEEP THIS PIECE LONGER IN THE WORKS THE MORE I'LL BUTCHER IT SO HAHA - THIS IS THE BEST WE CAN DO AFTER 3 MONTHS OF CONSTANT BACK AND FORTH FELLAS. I HOPE IT SQUEEZED YOUR HEART A TINY BIT NONETHELESS.

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail imagines #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr imagines #star rail x reader #star rail imagines #star rail x you #honkai star rail angst #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan angst

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syoddeye · 14 days

Text

more reading recs

because one post isn't enough. we are hashtag blessed with fic.

as requested, i've highlighted fics with noncon and/or dubcon elements in orange. beyond that, you are responsible for reading tags, warnings, and summaries.

pairings are indicated, although these may change or may not be established yet.

there is no method to this madness, no specific order. these are listed here as my brain remembered them.

i've checked all the links maybe three times, if they're broken, i blame tumblr's formatting.

without further ado...

Slasher Handler by @dragonnarrative-writes - Ghost x Reader

"Simon does serial killer things. What a rascal!" Another fantastically written Simon, with wonderful dashes of Gaz and Price. It's put the term 'romance knives' in my vocabulary. There are many quotable bits and moments that made my blood run cold with how normal the ~situation~ feels, but everything has to be experienced firsthand.

The Far Shore by @deadbranch - Soap x Reader

DB's fic collection is rich, and The Far Shore is no different. I fucking loved Pacific Rim, so when I saw her first mention a PR AU, I did imaginary backflips. DB's Readers are some of my favorites because of how complex and realistic they feel, and when combined with the visceral depth of the neural handshake AND Soap? Compelling. The dynamic between them is fascinating. I almost can't wait for it to be finished so I can go back and dissect it.

Falling into Place by @mortuarywriting

Morg's brought the first COD Isekai AU I've read, like a little treat, with A/B/O to boot. The first chapter hooked me and cracked me up. Their dialogue reads so well, it truly feels like I got sucked into the universe. The panicked ramblings, the over-explanation, the 'oh shit, we don't even have a shared cultural touchstone' moments. I cannot wait for more.

Carvings by @femalefemur - Price x Reader

Cyn's got this amazing thing going on called 'Top Quality Worms' where she takes me by the hand and leads me down a rabbit hole I didn't know I'd find so cozy. Carvings is one piece from her incredible list, featuring a bloody, possessive Captain Price. Somehow, out of this entire piece, Price snapping a pen really did it for me. Did someone say loss of control? Oh no, not my kryptonite!

Under Your Spell by @groguspicklejar - Gaz x Reader x Soap

This fic had me at the pairing tag. Lured me right in. No hope for me, and I'm not mad about it. The way Gaz and Soap play off of each other in Under Your Spell is spine-tingling in more ways than one. The definition of scaroused. Kelsi writes a wonderful Gaz. The first two paragraphs in part two, Split My Skin, describe him perfectly to me.

Chokehold by @ccrites - Soap x Reader

Chokehold is a chef's kiss read. Starts off as a cute and sweet gym read, and uh, well, it does get sweeter, in a way. Without spoiling anything, there is a brief cab ride that made me take a lap before things got really going for Reader. CC's Soap is a delightful tease that is tender all at the same time. I'd join his gym in a heartbeat.

Knight/Princess AU by @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world - Price x Reader

I've read and re-read this AU series a dozen times. It's so gd cute, I might need to see the dentist about how it's rotting my teeth. Seriously, it makes ME want to be a princess. Specifically Price's princess. Bear writes such a sweet and gruff Price, catch me holding a hand over my heart and just sighing. I'm also a big fan of multiple POVs and the insight into each character.

Martyr in the Making by @eilidh-eternal - Ghost x Reader

I had a tattoo touch-up the other day, and while waiting, I thought about this fic: the dream and nightmare of being tattooed by Simon and the rest of the 141. It's a dream for obvious reasons (probably unhealthy for me) and a nightmare because of, well, you'll have to read the story. Getting a tattoo can be such an intimate experience. You put yourself into someone's care and get something permanently etched onto your body. When Reader sits for Simon, you're right there with her, the two of you on an altar.

Liquid Smooth by @cordeliawhohung - Gaz x Reader

Bodyguard!Gaz save me, save me, bodyguard!Gaz. Ugh, Gaz is fucking incredible in every flavor, but there is something that hits different about the guy when he's flexing those 'VIP protection' skills. There are several tiny moments in Liquid Smooth that made me audibly whisper, "God, I wish that were me." If you have a conifer tree allergy, you might not be able to handle the god-tier pining. (I'll see myself out.)

pornstar!Gaz by @cordeliawhohung - Gaz x Reader

Gotta include the series that I drop everything for whenever I see an update. Another fantastic depiction of best man Kyle Gaz Garrick. The charm, the jealousy, the care...My personal favorite installments are Whispers and Threesomes.

plus size puppygirl!reader / Simon & Reader / Punishment by @secretsynthetic - Price x Reader x Ghost

Ghost gets his Captain a puppy, and Synth gives us a tasty Price x Reader x Ghost story. I've linked the intro and a Simon x Reader snippet, but my personal favorite is Punishment. Punishment is a deeper dive into Price the disciplinarian: "how the hell do i get a mutt like you to fuckin’ listen?" I'd gush about it, but again, this is another one to read and experience firsthand. One of my favorite recent explorations of a PriceGhost dynamic.

i'll probably cobble another one of these together in may 2024. my fic backlog is something else. i blame it on all the massive talent. mwah.

#sy fic recs #fic recs #i am a deeply corny person so we're gonna roll with my bad jokes and declarations of love and admiration if that's cool #if there's a typo i'm going to lose it #authors if i've mislabeled please let me know!!#dropping this like a bird at the door and skittering

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diorsbrando · 1 month

Text

I’D DIE FOR YOU (AND I HAVE). ( s.a. )

sousuke aizen & black!fem!reader.

cw ━━ ! minors, blank and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is portrayed as a black woman but you do not have to imagine her that way. using this map of the seireitei as a reference (i searched high and low for a consistent accurate one but it was hard). the first half is set pre-ryoka invasion / pre-soul society arc. the second half is aizen-centric (from his pov told from the 3rd person) and set post-tybw arc, years after he was sealed away in mugen, also including mention of events from vol. 1 of can't fear your own world (a light novel that's post-tybw & can be considered canonical); so all this being said: SPOILERS i guess???? of course you're welcome to read if you don't care about spoilers! somewhat based on 'die for you' by the weeknd & even more loosely based on 'dark red' by steve lacy. contains themes of heavy-ish angst, existential crises (?) & inner emotional turmoil within reader + aizen (separately). descriptions of character death, blood and violence. descriptions of manipulation/mind games. aizen is an unkind man. proofread (i did my best).

word count ━━ 11k

notes ━━ ! the way this fic was supposed to finished a month ago...but life once more gets in my way. and the way that it's this long....i anticipated the max being 10k but i greatly underestimated how long it would take to flesh out my idea. anywho i'm somewhat reentering my bleach era again. i’m not sure what it is but character analyses in the form of fanfiction is my jam rn like i really enjoyed writing this (i got tired of the length by like... 7k words lmao) but i like how this turned out. i've watched & read quite a bit of content that provide explanations as to why aizen is the way he is so i wanted to try my own portrayal of that in the context of canonical events. how i characterized him here is partially inspired by a fic i read about him last year so shout out to them for their support :D i hope i've depicted and humanized aizen well ♡. reblogs + commentary are heavily appreciated!!!!!

THE PAD OF YOUR THUMB SLOWLY glided against your bottom lip, the lingering aftertaste of jasmine tea still on its surface and on your breath. The absentminded motion of your thumb caressing your mouth, as if in deep contemplation, continued as you stared at the clock hanging on the wall above you.

It was past eleven, and the midnight hour only continued to draw near as time sustained its temporal march. And there you sat at your desk, floating in the limbo of your mind that was filled with hesitancy and admittedly, budding anticipation.

Your gaze lowered to the now empty porcelain cup, nothing remaining of its contents except the shriveled remnants of herbs and a few wayward drops of the brew.

Your senior comrade, captain Sōsuke Aizen, was correct in his prediction that you'd take a liking to its floral and delicate taste when he gifted you a jar full of the jasmine tea leaves as well as other ingredients.

The captain of Squad 5 seemed to be correct about a lot of things.

His intelligence and foresight, along with his kind and politely witty disposition, were qualities that you found somewhat charming, and gradually drew you closer to him.

Being the current third seat of the 9th company, your barracks and those of squad 5's were relatively close to each other's, so often you'd catch glimpses of and run into Captain Aizen on a pretty normal basis. Over the years, the conversations that bounced between the two of you expanded past the realm of formalities between a higher and lower ranking officer, and instead ranged in territories from literature, to art, to food & drink, and even to the politics of the government for which they were soldiers for.

Sometimes, you found it hard to believe that you managed to befriend a man like him. A man who seems to have mastered the balance between being a gentle soul, helpful to others, but also possessed enough refined power and skills to be named a captain within the Gotei 13.

Especially a man who wasn’t even of your own squad.

Despite the increasingly friendly relations and generally pleasant conversation, there were few moments where Aizen's words didn't feel quite. . . . real━ he didn't feel real. He spoke eloquently, often relying on figurative language to further illustrate his point and to breathe meaning into seemingly plain and meaningless words. But at times those words, his tone felt stained; stained with some substance or color you couldn't quite place. An enigmatic façade was painted over his speech, and it took too much mental capacity to try and find your own meaning in it.

So you'd often brush it off. Your over-reliance on your own reasoning that 'you weren’t able to come to a conclusion because there is no problem a conclusion could be generated from' successfully quieted your mind’s voice. You'd also frequently blame exhaustion, or your newfound hobby of watching human psychological crime shows during your off days for these subconscious ideas you had.

But you feared that the request Aizen made of you yesterday, the source of your current predicament, couldn't be blamed on any of those things. You looked at the clock again before returning to stare at your empty tea cup. For what reason could Sōsuke Aizen wish to meet you outside of the 1st division barracks? Specifically at this hour? You immediately thought of his question as uncharacteristic of him but prevented yourself from jumping to any further conclusions.

Aizen was a reasonable man, and you were sure there was a reasonable explanation.

With a final sigh of acquiescence, you stood up from your sitting position to retie your yukata before slipping a thicker, dark colored haori on top. You were unsure how cold it was this late at night or how long you'd be out, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

You paused for a moment, glancing longingly at your vanity mirror a few times, clearly torn between a decision, before giving in with a soft groan. Grabbing your favorite perfume, you quickly spritzed the spray onto both your inner wrists, either sides of your neck, and stray areas on your clothes. You’d proceed to make sure your hair was in order and your lips were as moisturized and glossy as a pair of tear-filled eyes before making your way to the door and slipping on your sandals.

Meeting with a captain— with Aizen of all people— in the dead of night resembled too closely to forbidden lovers rendezvousing under a fruit tree to fulfill their desires of embracing one another, with no one but the moon as their witness. The comparison alone caused the apples of your cheeks to burst aflame with embarrassment, and you lightly chastised yourself for even indulging in such an inappropriate train of thought. Such a scenario seemed far too deluded to even be considered ‘wishful thinking’.

But those delusions still seemed to make more sense than whatever other conclusion you have yet to reach.

Making your way out of your personal quarters, you activated your shunpo technique, stealthily hopping from one rooftop to the other in an effort to make it to Squad 1 barracks quicker.

After several minutes, your mind mostly engulfed with the 'what if's', the soles of your sandals finally touched ground, and you stood a few feet away from the massive walls and bridges that connected to and from the barracks. Even at night you were able to make out the bold-printed kanji for the number 1 that was painted on the building.

When you arrived, even from a nearby rooftop, you didn't see anyone around. Feelings of confusion and worry began to creep up and flicker to life in your mind.

But, as if your thoughts were as audible, you felt a light breeze of wind behind you, a familiar sound that indicated someone had made their presence known.

Startled, you reflexively reached for your zanpakuto, when you remembered that you hadn't even brought it with you. It still laid against the wall near your bed, just where you placed it earlier when you were relieved of your duties for the day.

You didn't think you needed it necessarily if you were just going to meet with Aizen, hence why taking it with you slipped your mind.

The flickers of concern were swiftly extinguished as your brain caught up with your body upon realizing who just appeared. A relieved sigh left your lips, a breath of air that seemed to release all the tension that had a grip on your heart and wound tight within your muscles. "Ah! Good evening Captain Aizen. You caught me off guard for a moment there."

"My apologies, that was not at all my intention." The Fifth Division Captain sported a dark colored scarf, his long captain's coat and the standard shihakushō all Gotei officers were supposed to wear. In the sash around his waist resided his own sheathed zanpakuto. His tawny hair maintained its usual part but looked slightly tousled, yet still remaining so in a meticulous fashion that made it look intentional.

The state of his hair alone, and his current facial expression made Aizen look more . . . approachable if that’s how you were to describe it. There was a glint in his eyes that you had seldom seen before.

"Thank you, for making your way down here to accommodate my rather. . . . atypical request. I again extend my apologies if I have inconvenienced you in any way."

You shook your head in reply, "It's alright, I wasn't doing anything too important anyway. Just having a cup of tea and delighting myself in a book before bed."

You glanced downwards at the foot or so of space that was wedged in between the two of you. You forced away the murmurs of your lingering thoughts that took note of how the moonlight and shadows danced across the surface of Aizen's face just right, and emphasized his decidedly handsome features.

"But having a complete and good night's rest is important to be fully functional in all areas of one's performance. Wouldn't you agree?"

You couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Yes, I do agree with that sentiment."

Aizen all but hummed in acknowledgement, letting a moment of silence fill the air before speaking again.

"Shall we be on our way?"

You nodded in agreement, following him as the both of you walked about the First Division grounds. From what you could tell based on your position, your aimless nightly stroll drew you closer to where Sokyoku Hill was located. The area became increasingly more grassy and contained less buildings.

Although Squad 1 grounds weren't terribly far from either of your barracks, you still weren't sure as to why Captain Aizen wished to meet out here. Initially you thought that perhaps he was just fond of this particular scenery, but really it could have been anything.

But still, you believed Aizen always had a purpose for everything he did.

After several moments, his warm voice replaced the evening silence, vocalizing your current thoughts. “I assume you are contemplating why it is I have asked you here, and I’m afraid the reason is quite benign. Truthfully, I just wished for your company. I often go on night walks to clear my head after a long day and thought I might invite you to join me this time, and have a conversation with each other."

Your brows shifted upwards, for that was not quite the answer you were expecting. It seemed too . . . simple. “Really? You just . . . wanted to talk with me? Plainly?”

The Squad 5 captain let out a short, soft laugh at the disbelief that was painted on your face. There was an expression of fondness present in his eyes and in the light smile he offered you. “Yes, exactly. I quite enjoy our discussions actually, they’re intellectually stimulating and relatively pleasant. You crossed my mind, and before yesterday, it has been quite some time since we’ve had the opportunity to unwind and talk.”

You hummed an mhmm in agreement, tearing your eyes away from Aizen’s side profile in favor of the hem of his captain’s haori, watching how it danced in the soft breeze. It seemed to be less distracting than the way Aizen peered down at you from time to time.

"I see. I am. . . . truly flattered by your words, Captain Aizen; you're too kind. Forgive me for asking but," you took longer strides so that you could fall into step next to him━ as if to speak to him more directly, "Why at this time? To talk with me, I mean. It couldn't wait until more . . . . . conventional hours?"

He chuckled again, and answered as smoothly as if he were awaiting you to ask him that. "Unfortunately, today's tasks ran a little long today, so I had to stay at my office later than usual." The spectacled man paused for a moment, before setting his soft gaze on you, "And besides, that completely defeats the purpose of inviting you on a night stroll, doesn't it?"

You ignored the heat flaring up in your cheeks again. Your mind refused to move past the fact that you had crossed Sōsuke Aizen's mind enough times━ or the times that he thought about you were significant enough━ and highly enough to invite you into his realm and indulge in these moments with him, when he very much could have done that alone.

A tender smile appeared on your lips, more towards yourself than the man next to you. "I. . . suppose it does."

The ashen-white moon only rose higher in the sky, providing an ambiance of tranquility as the both of you talked about whatever crossed the surface of your minds. Other times, the stillness of the night did the talking, and you'd listen to the leaves, and the wind, and the crickets sing together in harmony. Gradually as you walked and the beaten path grew more narrow, your figures drew closer together, until you could feel the long sleeves of his haori brush against your own.

You hadn't noticed that the two of you eventually stopped walking and paused under a tree until Aizen struck up conversation once more. When he called out your name in that gentle, velvety voice, you swore your heart was going to lurch out of your chest. The sound of your name rolled of his tongue so smoothly, the desire to hear it again grew within you.

"Uh━ yes, Captain Aizen?"

"Are you satisfied with way things are at the moment?"

You stood next to him, perplexed at his inquiry due to its vague nature. "Um, what. . . . things? I'm afraid I don't understand what you're asking."

The wind brushed Aizen's dark ochre tresses across his face as he took a step towards you, like the breeze itself was pushing him towards you. "Hm, perhaps I should be more clear then. Are you content with being a soul reaper? Are you satisfied with being a soldier for the Soul Society?"

With your brows slightly furrowed in thought, you remained silent for several seconds and overanalyzed his every word, trying to predict where he might be steering the conversation now. The longer you thought it over, the stronger that nagging feeling from within your soul became. The one that often told you what he was asking wasn't exactly . . . it didn't quite feel . . . . .

"This feels like a prelude to another insightful discussion on Shinigami━ and by extension━ Seiretei politics." Your words cut off your own thoughts, as if your mind was trying to sweep something under the proverbial rug.

Aizen huffed in amusement, before lightly shrugging, leaving your statement definitively unanswered.

You sighed as you seriously considered his question this time. "I mean sure, I guess. I'm somewhat satisfied with my job and all of . . . this," gesturing your hands in the air around you to emphasize your point. The 5th Division Captain made another humming noise, indicating that you still had his full attention. He inched a little closer into your personal space.

The mere action caused your next words to die in your throat and a quiet chuckle resounded from his, before your thoughts revived themselves again.

"Of course things could always be better but. . . . y'know. This is just how it is." You weren't quite sure if you should voice negative opinions about the Soul Society so plainly to a senior officer, even if he was the one who asked you in the first place, so you treaded lightly.

The same plainly relaxed smile from earlier remained painted across his lips, held in his chestnut irises was an emotion akin to affection. He seemed somewhat pleased that you were expressing your thoughts with him.

“And you? Are you satisfied, Captain Aizen?” You were unable to keep the teasing endearment out of your tone as you returned his gaze, casting aside the notions of Gotei officer seating and ranks for the moment. The air seemed like it shifted━ towards what, you weren't sure of━ but it kind of made you feel like you were adrift, floating in isolation from everything else around you.

It was still hard to process that you were alone with Captain Aizen right now. . . . at night.

A low hum reverberated within his chest, contemplative in nature as he replied, “Perhaps.”

The wind whistled lowly again, erecting goosebumps on whatever part of your skin happened to catch the midnight breeze. You fought the instinctual urge to twitch towards the nearest source of heat, which happened to be Aizen. Now that would be even more wholly inappropriate than the 'lovers meeting at midnight' scenario.

The silence between the both of you was brief, but comfortable nonetheless. Once more his mellifluous voice cut through the quiet, leveled and calm, like still ocean waters.

“Come. I want to show you something,” Aizen reached his arm out towards you, your spine as straight as if someone stuck a metal rod dipped in ice water down your robes.

The captain's movements seemed steady and slow━ it had felt like time itself had hesitated for several moments. You thought he was going to . . . . well you weren't sure what he was going to do, and that's what you made you nervous.

Was he going to touch you? Cradle your cheek? Remove a stray leaf that happened to land on your head? You were left somewhat dangling in anticipation, not daring to flinch backwards because you felt it would be disrespectful or offensive. You hadn't even blinked, subconsciously fearing that this was only a very vivid daydream.

But alas, when his arm drew near it extended past your head, slightly above you, and held a small branch in his palm it like a delicate flower. You released a breath you didn't know you were holding, but that breath drew short again when your gaze was eye level with his lower neck and chin.

He seemed . . . . closer.

“I think that regarding the condition of the Soul Society," Aizen began in a quiet voice, referencing his own reply to his earlier question, "and therefore my thoughts about it, is akin to this set of leaves on this branch."

Snapping out of whatever stupor you seemed to have slipped in, you exhaled softly before stepping back a bit to look at what he was talking about. In his palm he cradled a wayward branch that grew from one of the other sturdier branches of the tree. The green foliage of its arms had started to weaken and dull in color. The cold air due to the seasonal transition to autumn caused the leaves become brittle, nearing closer to the edge of death.

The sound of just how brittle they were resounded in the air when Aizen thumbed the leaves in between his fingertips, observing their texture with pity laced in his small movements.

"These leaves will fall off as it gets colder. And soon, the rest of this tree will be bare as well. When the time comes, when the right circumstances fall into place, the old die to make way and usher in the new; it's simply the way things are. I think of the Soul Society government is structured in a similar manner."

You hung onto his every word, like he were imparting crucial wisdom to you. Even though you were a bit confused on the last part, and on the connection between dying leaves and Soul Society, you still listened intently, waiting for him bridge the gap between the two.

"The Soul Society as it is now can be thought of as a season. And this particular season, this climate has remained so for several centuries. How can nature continue━ how can we continue to progress when the old have yet to be washed away by the currents of time? It defies that of nature, yes?" He directed this question at you specifically, in search of your agreement.

You nodded your head, tearing your gaze away from the branch and directed it at the grass beneath your feet. Your brows furrowed a little as you mused over Aizen's words. He gave a rather ambiguous answer before but now, his words sounded like vague displeasure and muted criticism. Everyone was entitled to their opinion, and on some fronts, you'd sometimes agreed with the 5th Division Captain. The Soul Society was far from perfect, too much emphasis on nobility and status, the government resembled too closely to an oligarchy . . . But you didn't━ wouldn't voice these thoughts, though.

Instead you hummed quietly under your breath. There was that tugging sensation again. This time it told you that there was something deeper to this conversation than meets the eye. But what could there be? Was there anything at all or were you just overthinking it?

The voice-like sensation in your soul was calling out to you, but you couldn't hear it that well or quite make out what it was saying. It's as if someone was calling out to you in a crowded room that had music playing on the speakers: you felt like if you listened hard enough you could make it out but ultimately, the result would fruitless.

"And when that happens," Aizen continued, "sometimes nature has to be gently nudged back on track to keep things moving smoothly. That may require . . . shaking the tree. Pulling a few harmful weeds from one's garden, so to speak."

"Weeds?" You echoed. You felt like you understood this analogy and therefore what he was trying to say, but at the same time you didn't. Or was it . . . . you didn't want to understand what he was implying?

Because if you were interpreting his words correctly, if he were inconspicuously comparing the higher-ups and the government itself to dying leaves and harmful plants that needed to be removed, then . . . .

"You, dear child, are a mere weed in this scenario."

Wait, what did he just━

Your thoughts were cut short when a gush of air that smelt strongly of Aizen━ warm oak, vanilla, and a kind of musk that you weren't sure how to describe but was still pleasant all the same━ brushed against your face and took you by surprise.

But there was another aroma that arose, steadily becoming more apparent alongside the increasingly painful throbbing feeling you felt in your abdomen.

It smelt metallic. And it was something that you've smelt all too many times before.

It was blood.

Your gaze that was initially narrowed in confusion lowered as it followed the source of this pain. Your eyes slowly widened in as you struggled to comprehend the blade that was currently ran through your torso.

Aizen's blade.

"Actually, instead of weeds, a more accurate and befitting analogy perhaps would be blades of grass. You unfortunately have to step on them in order to reach the weeds you want to remove."

You couldn't really focus on what the captain was saying, because your brain was still struggling to process what the hell just happened. Your hands slowly rose from their sides and shakily grazed the zanpakuto, wanting to believe that if you touched it, it would pass right through your fingers like mist. But no, the sensation of cold steel was as real as the robes you wore on your back. You only just now are processing the muffled squelching sound of his sword impaling your flesh.

You wanted to scream, to cry in pain, to vomit, to push him off━ something. But all you could do was stand there, stunned, words completely failing you. "Wh. . . . what? Why did . . . . you . . . . "

A cough replaced your attempt at a comprehensive sentence, and you tasted iron in your mouth.

Fuck....was this really happening?

"Please don't push yourself trying to talk," His voice was like an index finger to one's lips, similar to a parent's gentle caress to quiet and sooth their child, "You'll only hasten your death. And I'm sure you wish to know the reason for my killing you, yes? You'd have to be alive for that."

'Killing me?' 'My death?' The certainty that rang in his words chilled the blood in your veins, and they confirmed the one conclusion you hoped wouldn’t come true: that you were going to die.

The frigid embrace of fear and dread engulfed you from behind and you shivered, causing the blade snugly lodged in your organs to shift. The pain of that foreign object moving even a little bit shot through your entire body, causing a groan to emerge from your throat.

Desperate to conserve your energy and the oxygen that was becoming a little harder to take in, your breathing became uneven and a little wheezed. Even then, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet the gaze of Captain Aizen to confirm if this was really happening or just an extremely realistic and vivid nightmare. The sight you might be greeted with could be more frightening than the actual impaling of his sword.

As if his betrayal couldn’t actually or figuratively cut you any deeper, just then there was a noise that grew louder and louder within a matter of seconds until it was almost deafening. You’ve distinguished it to be the sound of glass crackling.

Your surroundings formed cracks everywhere on its surface, like it was just an oversized window. Even on the grass you stood on, or what you thought was grass, began to crumble away.

A dumbfounded but panicked look was plastered on your face when your world literally shattered around you, the only remnants of it being you and the Captain.

What was underneath the mirage━ or you should say, the fact that it was a mirage at all━ only disturbed you and increased your perplexity.

Slightly hunched over and breathing heavily, it took a minute to process where you were, but you noticed that now the two of you stood in a formal room that looked like it was used for important meetings. The lights in the room slowly started to brighten, most likely due to motion sensors. Even with Aizen's scent lingering in your nose, you could still pick out a rather stale aroma that hung in the air like dead fruit that hadn't fallen off the tree.

"Is . . . this Cen . . . tral━ "

"You are correct. Where we currently stand is the assembly hall for Central 46, the judicial power of the Soul Society. All judiciary as well as legislative trials and proceedings are held here."

All around the room were seats with partitions, the kanji for 1 through 46 printed on them. In the seat for the 19th member, your gaze caught onto something on the translucent barrier. It was a little farther up so you had to squint your already blurring vision to see it properly.

You saw, and your heart promptly sank as a result, eyes widening once more.

There were splatters of a dark colored substance on the partition━ undeniably blood. And the lithe, bony fingers of an older man laid lifeless, peeking out from the side of the screen like the appendages themselves were trying to escape from the body they were attached to.

That man . . . was dead. That stale aroma you smelt was the stench of death.

It was only after that unsettling epiphany did your eyes dart frantically around the room and realize that every member of Central 46 was dead.

The disturbed expression on your face only intensified as your stare was pulled back down to where Aizen's blade still resided in your body.

" Cap.....Aizen," you uttered, swift to correct yourself. All the moisture in your throat dried up like water underneath the unrelenting rays of the sun. You kept gulping your saliva in an attempt to assuage the sensation, but relief only last for a fleeting few seconds. "Did you ━ you killed them . . . didn't you?" Your question was laced with shaky hesitance and swelled with apprehension, fearing that you already knew his reply even before he answered.

There was a moment of silence and a hum before he replied. "Smart girl."

The muted mirthful tone in his voice sounded like sarcasm, and it was enough to finally draw your attention away from everything else and directly look at him. Almost instantly, you regretted it.

His umber tinted gaze was colder than you remembered. You couldn't find anything in his eyes that hinted that all of this was just a big misunderstanding, or a dream, or that Aizen had a secret sense dark and complex humor.

This was your first, and apparently your last time, that you have ever felt a fear such as this. Your mind was struggling to comprehend this was the same Aizen that spoke with you so gently, full of encouragement and wisdom. The same man that recommended you books to read and gifted you tea to drink and gazed upon you like . . .

Well, none of that mattered now. In this moment, Sōsuke Aizen wasn't the same man anymore. This Sōsuke Aizen was someone else, and it frightened you.

"When?" you croaked, your voice no longer sounding like your own. Nothing felt real anymore. "W-When did you . . . . . how? Why?"

Another noncommittal hum resounded from the spectacled man as he closed his eyes, feigning the action of thinking of an answer. When he reopened them, his narrow gaze returned to you.

"Everyone in the Thirteen Court Guard Squads was previously aware that the ability of my zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu, allowed me to confuse the enemy using bodies of water, mist and even moisture in the air in order to attack. However, that is not my zanpakuto's actual power; there is more to it than just simple confusion. Kyoka Suigetsu's true power is Complete Hypnosis. Essentially, when someone looks at my blade, I am then able to take control of that person’s five senses, causing them to believe that something is real ━ or that something isn't real. In a way, once glancing at my unsheathed zanpakuto, that person forfeits their sense of existence to me. Kyoka Suigetsu is quite flawless in its deceptive abilities."

A heavy silence, aside from your uneven breaths, endured in the space between both of you. You didn't need him to spell out what he was trying to say.

It was all . . . . an illusion. A convoluted, premeditated illusion. And you walked right into it without even knowing or considering, that it was all fake.

The Fifth Division Captain inwardly smiled at the despair clearly written on your face as he watched you mentally put the pieces together. He took your lack of reply as a sign to continue. "The members of Central 46 have unfortunately been dead for quite some time now. And as for your question of why......"

The taller man stepped towards you which inadvertently (or purposely, you began to fear), drove his sword deeper into your abdomen without warning and slight force. You bit down on your bottom lip hard to stifle your exclamation of pain. In an attempt to somehow resist him, with the little strength you had left, your hands automatically took purchase in his oversized sleeves, but it did nothing. You found it ironic that you could feel how warm Aizen was underneath his robes, but his soul was anything but.

" . . . . I believe I already mentioned it earlier, yes? All flowers die eventually and the weeds......must be removed."

At that moment you remembered that tugging sensation that told you something felt off in some instances whenever you talked with Aizen. This must have been what it was. Damn it all. You still didn't understand exactly what bad things Central 46 and the Soul Society have done to cause his actions, but based on what you've been told and your current position, it must have been heinous. Again, you actively swallowed the urge to vomit.

"You . . . you lied. I can't believe━ how could it have all b-been a lie?" Another nasty cough rattled your body, followed by a shiver and a groan.

The brown-haired man slightly tilted his head, like he was truly confused. "Lied? Hmm, well. I suppose you could put it that way based on your limited knowledge of the circumstances, but I wouldn't put it that way. Besides, this isn't really about truth or lies. It is, and always has been, only about the reality of what is. And what is, is that you were unable to anticipate my deception. No one could, because it was outside the domain of your thoughts. What is, is that the current way the Soul Society operates is tainted, and I shall be the one to remedy it."

You drew another shuddering breath and looked down at the ground with a grim expression as your blood continued to pool at your feet. Briefly, you even considered unsheathing yourself from his blade and take the chance to make a run for it, but the chances of you making it to the outside world, let alone coming across someone before you bled out and died were slim. Besides, it was clear that you couldn't even trust your own senses anymore after Aizen demonstrated that he had complete control of your reality.

Which reminded you of something else.

" . . . when?" you asked the same question again, but much quieter than before, despair palpable in your voice. 'When and how did you subject me to your zanpakuto's Complete Hypnosis?', is what you were really asking. And being as intelligent as he was, the spectacled man understood.

Abruptly, with a large palm on the small of your back, Aizen used his gentle hold grip to pull you towards him in order to close the remaining distance, causing him to drive the remaining length of his zanpakuto all the way through until the tsuba of his blade rested against your stomach. You looked like a skewered piece of meat.

You didn't have the willpower to hold back the piercing shriek of agony and physical anguish as tears sprung forth from your eyes. You could no longer tell if your blurry vision was due to your tears obstructing your sight or if it was from being a step away from death's door.

"Do you remember . . . the first time we met?"

The hand that rested on your lower back slowly glided upwards until his fingers found your jaw. With a tenderness that reminded you of a time before his betrayal, he lifted your chin and guided your gaze to look at him directly. His thumb moved to graze your bottom lip just as you've done mere hours ago━ as if he knew that, as if he watched you do it. His thumb was dangerously close to slipping inside your mouth and that both excited and scared you. Your breasts against his, your breaths synchronized with his, your body and his were fully pressed against each other and it made focusing on his question more difficult.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The first time . . . we met? Sure, with a little bit of effort you could easily recall the first time you formally met Aizen. It was sometime in the spring, and you remembered him running through combat formations with his lieutenant and the rest of his squad. But why d━

A silent gasp left you. Another epiphany, another figurative blade piercing your heart.

Battle formations, and he . . . offered you to join them . . . his zanpakuto . . . . .

Confusion crumbled away, and was replaced with vacant horror and sadness. It seems you've already been defeated, for many, many years now.

Aizen seemed to murmur something under his breath, a pleased sound you couldn't quite decipher. His mouth brushed over yours, rendering you literally speechless, before he closed the distance and brought your lips together. You could barely process what was happening.

It was ironically tragic how soft and skillfully gentle his lips were against yours. The kiss felt longing, like a departure between two sweethearts and their last meeting together. It also felt heavy and final, making you want to cry.

And you did. Silent tears streamed from your eyes and rolled onto the fingers that still held your face so affectionately. The captain reacted by guiding your chin up a little further, dipping his head a little lower, so he could deepen the kiss. You weakly scorned yourself for thinking about how the two of you must really look like lovers now, sans the sword sticking out from your back.

Oh, how cruel this was; how cruel he was. It was cruel for him to kiss you like this, hand still splayed on your back like he needed to touch you stay sane. And how cruel it was that still managed to enjoy it, even as you stood there dying. Your lips moved together in tandem, slow and almost passionate, all while tears stained the apples of your cheeks, drying up the plush youth that once resided in them.

Aizen's tongue had slithered its way into your mouth, and you suddenly felt like crying harder. There was a tart, sweet flavor lingering on his tastebuds, and you absently wondered what is was. Perhaps hibiscus from tea, you surmised. And he too tasted the sweet jasmine and citrus that clung your tongue and lips. At this, he chuckled quietly into your mouth, humming before retracting from you by a few inches so he could speak.

"I knew you would like the tea. It's sweet and flavorful, isn't it?" You hated how low his voice was, how its timbre pleasurably vibrated and rumbled against your lips, and you hated that lidded stare he gave you. You again thought it unfair that you couldn't even revel in the rare sight of Aizen's lips slightly wet because your lips were intertwined with his.

"I have to thank you for humoring me and my recommendations. I really appreciated it. And I also," you winced loudly and cried out in affliction as Aizen finally began to withdraw the sword from your body, "must to bid you farewell now. It seems you don't have any more time left, and this has dragged on for longer than it needed. I'm not surprised you've held out for this long, as I already knew you possessed commendable strength. But alas it wasn't enough. I am sorry that you have to die; it's rather regrettable that you happened to be that blade of grass that ended up underneath my foot."

Another wail was yanked from your chest as he steadily removed his sword from your abdomen. The pain was becoming excruciating, you would have collapsed by now if the taller man weren't holding you.

You saw two things before the light in your eyes had all but faded away. The first were the colors of faux pity and apathy that swirled in Sōsuke Aizen's irises, spiraling like a storm that was certain to wreak havoc in its wake. His gaze was devoid of any regret or remorse; the final metaphorical nail on the coffin. The second was a small smile.

But this wasn't one of his smiles you were familiar with. No wait . . . . the one you knew was simply a veneer of what is.

This smile was slanted, the corners of his lips tilted upwards and was sharp. Sharp enough to cut open your already gaping wound further and completely tear you apart, spelling out your demise. It looked insidious as if it were hiding razor-edged fangs. This was what is; Aizen's real smile.

"I. . . I see. Aize. . . ." were the last words you were able to manage. You didn't have the strength to be upset or hurt any longer, so you gave in to the exhaustion.

Your body permanently relaxed, long lashes veiling your now empty eyes as your arms lifelessly dropped to your sides. The captain found a disturbing amount of pleasure in his name being the final word you attempted to speak before succumbing to the sleep of death.

And even after the fact, the facade of doomed, star-crossed lovers persisted as your body slumped backwards. Aizen's strong forearm wrapped tightly around your waist being the only reason you didn't fall to the ground in a puddle of your own blood.

That day was the last anyone saw of you, your zanpakuto still laid idly in your room, its spirit destined to forever wander in the afterlife between worlds alone, eventually fading from existence without ever feeling the presence of its master again.

They had declared you missing by the end of the next day. Lieutenant Hisagi was probably the most perturbed about your sudden disappearance. Days, weeks passed, and they never located you. The Gotei 13 was left unsettled by the lack of progress, but ultimately had to rule your case inconclusive. Some believed that you were simply killed by a stray hollow, or even ran away from your duties because of the stress.

The news of what happened spread like wildfire across all the squads, that a high-ranked officer just up and vanished without a trace. The spirits and morale of the thirteen companies dampened, sorrow and worry swelling like a festering boil.

And that boil burst when Ryoka infiltrated the Soul Society, and when it was revealed that all of it was carefully orchestrated by Sōsuke Aizen.

Like a blade of grass that somehow snuck into one's sandals or in between their toes, during his time in Hueco Mundo, images of you flashed in his head at unexpected times when his mind was quiet. He'd remove the grass, tossed you aside, and moved on with his day. There was no room for you in the grand scheme of things. Such reminisces were beneath someone like him.

And yet.

He'd always find another piece of grass from the greenery he stepped on whenever he advanced a step in his plans. There you were again.

It was common knowledge that if you kept repeating the same action over and over, it will eventually wear you down.

━━━━━━ 鏡 ━━━━━━━

It was dark, and there was nothing.

There had been nothing for quite a long time now. Utter darkness and the abyssal shade of black engulfed every inch of Aizen's body and surroundings.

He saw nothing, the seals over his eyes too opaque to let anything through. And even if they weren't obscuring his vision, he would barely be able to see three feet in front of him; there was seldom a few lanterns in his cell to begin with. He felt nothing but the bindings that kept him imprisoned in one of the deepest pits of the Seireitei. At times it felt like even his internal organs had stilled in their functions. He heard nothing but the unrelenting quiet of his cell within Mugen's maw. The only thing that served as proof that he hasn't spontaneously grown deaf yet was the occasional muffled noise that originated from outside of the entrance. And even then, he could hardly hear much of anything.

Such is an ironic fate for someone who, with a stray thought and a glint of his blade, could control someone's senses and take away their free will to experience those senses in their reality. And now, he was stripped away of all of his in nearly every capacity.

Sōsuke Aizen was rendered stationary and stagnant, qualities he detested and were the antithesis of his ambitions and plans, perhaps even his existence.

Aizen had always believed in being in control of your own destiny and making your own choices; if you had the opportunity and the power to change something━ especially if it was something that was wrong, unfair or immoral━ then one should be able to move towards that goal by making change, even if by force. The former captain had always been intentional about his actions and his desires right from the start.

And yet, here he ended up.

Spending years strapped to a chair in this dark, cloistered hole, Aizen had nothing but time to reflect the reason for his arrest: that orange haired Ryoka boy, Ichigo Kurosaki. He had nothing but time to admit to himself and settle on the conclusion that his last battle with the substitute Shinigami . . . did something to him.

Fighting the Ryoka boy ignited something inside him that he previously believed would forever lay dormant.

The thrill of a challenge.

Adrenaline was injected into his veins with each clash of their swords, spreading far and wide across every inch of his body. It no longer reacted in the measured, calculative manner he had programmed it to, but with unadulterated, pure instinct and raw power━ all in an effort to not only withstand such potent spirit energy from his opponent, but to come out on top and win.

It made him feel alive.

Aizen's desire to be the victor in battle and in his philosophy━ to prove himself right━ both fueled him and consumed him so thoroughly it led to his own downfall. That was a rather difficult fact to acknowledge; so much so his head started to pulsate intensely whenever it crossed his mind one time too often.

All of it unfolded right in front of his eyes and yet . . . he didn't really see it happen.

As time passed during his perpetual incarceration, with hooded eyes, the former captain spent an unfathomable amount of time tossing and turning every single event that led him to this underground prison, even pondering his temporary release by the Head Captain Kyōraku to fight in the war. Scenarios both minor and significant displayed itself in front of his mind's eye as if he were watching a film.

Every so often, a blurred visage of your image would make a brief appearance, like the flickering sparks of a match before they were able to come to light, fading away into the void and were overshadowed by his other thoughts. It was as if his own consciousness and intentionally muted any manifestations of your existence in his memories. As if he wasn't able to or allowed to see them━ to remember you for too long.

Mentally reliving moments from the last several months, years, decades, centuries━ trying to analyze each moment and decipher where it could have went wrong━ turned out to be quite an exhausting task. His mind and body would grow heavier with inertia, and eventually he would succumb to the alluring pull of slumber. After some time he would rouse from his sleep, and continued from where he left off.

These were his daily activities day in and day out (even though he had trouble distinguishing day and night in his chambers) for years. He saw a positive side to it though. He'd instead think of it has him getting stronger because he had spent so long . . . thinking. Ruminating. Contemplating every possibility in the past, present, and future. His mind would become as sharp as his zanpakuto.

Aizen had always been intentional about what he did, what he said, and how he conducted himself. He was sure in his abilities to orchestrate an image━ a belief for others to have faith in, and act on it in order to further his goals. He was always sure in that image, knowing who he was and what he stood for.

Or at least, that's what he thought.

Aizen wasn't consciously aware that his certainty in this crafted image had already begun to waver. He could not and was unable to anticipate how severe these small fractures had become until after a certain lieutenant paid him a visit outside his cell of confinement, right before he was scheduled to be thrown back into that dark hole of the Mugen.

Lieutenant Shuhei Hisagi was quite emotive when he burst through the doors. His expressions were contorted in volatile mixture of frustration, anger and sadness. His emotions were every which way, directed at everything that has happened so far, including himself. He was especially emotive at Aizen specifically for what he did to former captain Kaname Tosen and 'corrupting him with his twisted ideals.'

Aizen found amusement in that.

Before he was rolled away by the punishment force and therefore out of earshot, a particular set of Hisagi's words caused the small, content smile on his lips to uncurl ever so slightly. "Everything . . . and everyone that has ever gotten themselves involved with you has been trampled on by you and your ideals one way or another, and they all end up dead. If you think what you did to Captain Tosen was justified━ to call it mercy . . . . . then there is truly no justice in this world. You will . . . forever be the enemy in my eyes."

There was a trembling anger in his voice. Pain that wanted to cry out and be set free but, the thin lid of reason prevented it from doing so. And after a moment of silence, the corners of Aizen's lips curved upwards once more. A little bemused, a little more wolfish this time. He maliciously imagined Hisagi's reaction if he ever discovered the true reason for your disappearance.

But instead, all he said was. "What an interesting thing to say, Shuhei Hisagi. Your conviction is admirable." Any evidence of emotion that might have been reflected in his sepia irises was swallowed up and obscured by the darkness of the Mugen's jaw.

The cracks in Aizen's sense of self, in his beliefs, in the image he invented started to cave under the weight of Hisagi's words before he himself realized it was happening. They were like stains in the fabric of his mind that refused to come out.

What puzzled him more, was that with each attempt to figure out just why Hisagi's words echoed in his mind, they all lead back to you, the third seat of the 9th squad. Annoyingly so.

The tattooed lieutenant hadn’t said anything particularly profound ━ at least, Aizen didn't think so. Your name didn’t even fall from his lips. So why were memories of you and your likeness the only clear thoughts he could make of Hisagi's speech? Was it because he was aware of how close the two of you were? He doubted the reason were that trivial and insignificant.

His thoughts grew more discordant by the day, his soul a little more weighted than usual. Perhaps these new seals that Urahara had fashioned actually had an effect on him, Aizen thought. It made sense. His intellect, other than his own, were the only ones capable of creating such effective restraints.

After a while, he had a revelation. This was a different kind of weight.

This heaviness, the closest word he knew to describe it as . . . . was loneliness.

Time taunted him as it seemed to drag on━ Aizen grew even less sure of how much━ when he came to this realization. Hisagi's words were a clear mirror to the loneliness that echoed within him after what happened to you and to Tosen. It was so . . . potent, that it seemed to strike some chord in Aizen he had never heard before.

Such a chord, this sound of loneliness, it was strange and uncomfortable; he wasn't very fond of this sensation. He'd try to scrub it away, but it was all for naught.

His eyes had slid shut at some point, his ruminations leading to dead ends and wearing him down. And, almost as expected, there you were again, in all your translucent glory. The hem, the sleeves, and even the smell of your yukata slowly dragged across his dreams, haunting his thoughts like a lonely wraith.

And Aizen hardly dreamt of anything.

When he regained consciousness he was plagued with yet another epiphany. An additional reason behind this newfound depth.

Aizen's own loneliness. Guilt. Much to his own quiet horror.

How foreign and unusual a thing like guilt is. It was like looking into a mirror and not recognizing something you had never noticed before, but wondered if it had always been there.

But the thing Aizen did recognize, how lonely he actually felt, was something he had hoped would never resurface again. It was a notion he hadn't had the time or regard to consider━ 'loneliness'. Its only purpose, if any, was solely to serve as a motivator. At times though, it was more like a hindrance.

Something akin to nausea slowly started to bubble up in the pit of his stomach, but he suppressed the sensation before it became any more intense.

What of his previous actions did he need to feel guilty for? He hadn't felt it then, so why would he feel it now? Again he ruminated such a question endlessly into oblivion.

The former captain had no doubts that his plan to remove the Soul King, and therefore the Soul Society's sins, were necessary.

Nor did any hesitancy about removing the opposition or dead weight━ whether shinigami or arrancar━ existed.

He certainly had no reservations against killing Kaname Tosen, for he knew the man well enough to know that Tosen would have been so thoroughly appalled with what he had become, it would have drove him mad.

So what was it, then? Why were such useless emotions as guilt and loneliness being amplified n━

"Y....know, S....."

Even covered by the seals, Aizen's eyes widened and his brows were slightly furrowed in distress. Had his mind finally tipped the scales of sanity and madness, to the point where he was hearing things?

It was quiet for several moments longer, before his senses caught onto the sound of water dripping onto a hard surface.

One drop at a time.

Its cadence a little too rhythmic to be natural. And for a second time, he heard that soft, ominous sounding whisper. Its voice a little clearer this time.

"You...know.....Sōsuke."

In the second it took for his eyes to flutter shut behind its seals to blink, when he reopened them, he was no longer sealed to the walls and floors of the Mugen, nor was he surrounded by every shade of darkness imaginable. His limbs and senses were finally freed to breathe for the first time in what felt like ages.

That relief was short-lived when his senses absorbed the unending landscape of water underneath his feet, water lilies lifelessly floating on its surface, and the dim sky illuminated by a full pale moon.

Aizen was in his inner world, and now he was aware of how he got here, or rather who brought him here.

"You . . . already know the answer to that question, Sōsuke." The voice was even more clear, its sentences more comprehensible. And it sounded it eerily like you.

Why the voice was impersonating your likeness had caught him off guard for half a second, but he realized it was only the work of his zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu.

An illusion it may be, there was an untouchable quality about your voice and how you spoke that even Kyoka Suigetsu couldn't replicate.

A few feet away from him, the water was disturbed by a being emerging from the depths. Ripples formed around a manifested version of his zanpakuto, who took the form of you, smiling ever so gently. The smile felt airy, and it didn't seem like the same one that haunted his dreams and every waking thought as of late. It felt....knowing.

Still, the former captain couldn't be bothered to maintain eye contact with his sword spirit, so he turned around and opted to keep his unreadable stare trained on the vast expanse of water and white lilies.

"It's been quite a while since I have stepped foot into this realm. There must be something you want . . . Kyoka."

The zanpakuto chuckled, it sounded like the way you would softly laugh at one of his clever quips. But this wasn't you.

He didn’t want to admit that something about that fact didn’t sit right with him.

"Judging from your tone, would I be correct in assuming you don't want to be here?"

Silence rang out within the soul scape, before Aizen interrupted it, his gentle voice colored a shade darker, and a little rigid. "And I fail to see the reason why you must take that form when you revealed yourself to me. Is your aim to get a reaction out of me? Or something along those lines?"

Your eyes━ the eyes of Kyoka Suigetsu━ narrowed at its master's back, as if they were trying to create concavities in his skull. But the expression was washed away the moment it appeared, the serene smile from before was back in place.

"You know . . . it's considered quite rude to not look at someone when you're addressing them. That, and when you deliberately ignore things they say. Your manners have been deteriorating, Sōsuke. Tsk, tsk."

Kyoka-dressed-as-you suddenly appeared before him, as if they had teleported. Even when they were in his peripheral vision, Aizen still maintained his stare off into the distant nothingness.

"Unless, you can't find it in yourself to look at me. . . that's correct, isn't it? It's because I look exactly like her, right?" The zanpakuto continued to provoke him, taking a step closer into his personal space.

With an exasperated sigh, his eyelids fell shut for a second, using that time to gather the strength he didn't know he needed, and directed his gaze to meet his spirit's. Aizen's face gave nothing away, but his heart lurched about his chest when his bronze eyes met with yours, or what was made to look like yours. The undesired affect it had on him was all the same.

"If you wish to chastise me about manners, I suggest you take your own advice. You didn't answer my first question, either: what is it you want? Why am I here?" Again the former captain chose to not address the other parts of Kyoka's statement. For the sake of his sanity and his thinning patience━ or was it to preserve his resolve?

Its smile widened a bit, moving another step closer to their master. God, Kyoka even smelled like you, mimicking your signature honeyed scent that Aizen didn't realize he found so intoxicating until this very moment.

"I called you here to save you from yourself."

Aizen remained silent, only narrowing his eyes in speculation. "Meaning?"

"Didn't I already say it earlier? I think you already know what I'm talking about, Sōsuke. You've always known."

Fate's pairing of Kyoka Suigetsu with Aizen was a match crafted from the spindles of heaven, but also a maddening curse pulled from the depths of hell, for they complimented each other a little too well. The zanpakuto was too perfect a reflection of Aizen and his soul, looking at it started to hurt his eyes.

His sword spirit insisted that he already knew the reason for his coming here, and perhaps he did have an inkling the moment the light of epiphany was shone on his profound loneliness and guilt. But that couldn't have been what it was referring to . . . . could it?

"You cannot feign ignorance here, my dear Sōsuke, however I do find it rather humorous you bother trying. If you'd like, I don't mind humoring you by spelling it out for you. I'd be glad to unearth the truth that you have buried in the most neglected corner of your heart."

"When you were . . . . subjecting yourself to such mental torment, it had an affect on this world as well. The ripples, the waves in this scape become quite . . . tumultuous." The nuances in your voice were perfected by his zanpakuto, but the way it talked sounded like a fog that was gradually closing in from over the horizon. The uneasy feeling that resided in his chest traveled down to his stomach, but Aizen's face remained steely, even when Kyoka Suigetsu took that final step to close the gap in between them. "And the reason for that, the reason why Hisagi's words rattled you so is because you regret killing that woman."

The creased line in Aizen's brow grew more prominent as he stared down his sentient sword spirit. With its breast pressed against his, they placed a hand on his clothed chest in a tantalizing manner, but he felt nothing. There was no warmth from its palm, much unlike when your hand touched him. There wasn't even a cool sensation either. Even minutes before your death, your touch brought a soothing heat that permeated through his shihakusho and penetrated his skin.

Kyoka's face grew nearer, their smile━ although still tender looking━ grew cold at its edges, nearly resembling that of a predator eager to see despair reflected in the eyes of its prey. It didn't fit the graceful allure of your face at all, and seeing this expression deeply unsettled the former captain more than he would like to admit.

"You regret . . . killing me."

A chill tore through Aizen's body, the weight of Kyoka's words adding onto the heaviness that still hasn't been alleviated from his heart; he was hardly able to suppress the involuntary shiver.

Without warning, Kyoka's mouth suddenly became dangerously close to their master's, its lips brushing against his in a provocative manner. Aizen's expression darkened when he realized that it was reenacting his last encounter with you when you were alive. His mouth started to grow uncomfortably dry, despite his soul scape being full of moisture, and there was a taste on the back of his tongue that's been lingering there since he arrived.

The lilt in Kyoka's tone continued to taunt him. "That is the reason for your guilt: regret. You have been in denial. And in the spirit of unearthing truths, I suppose I can admit that perhaps . . . . I've been . . . . encouraging said delusions, adding drops of fuel into the flames of your emotions and ambitions. But after all that's happened, when it comes down to it there's no point in continuing this hallucination any longer. I've grown tired of this game, so it's time to for you wake up now, Sōsuke. I've brought you here to release you from your own illusion, to completely shatter it."

Aizen's back was as stiff as a board, not moving a millimeter when Kyoka's lips grazed his again. They were breathing softly onto his mouth, but he hardly felt any puffs of air.

The former captain was having a rather difficult time processing the fact that his zanpakuto had its own agenda and had been manipulating his emotions without him noticing. Specifically the emotions he felt towards you.

He never truly believed that such a thing was possible, one's own blade having such a deep-rooted influence━ no, control over their master. Or would it be more accurate to say that he never expected himself to be controlled to such a degree? He that prided himself on being freed from the marionette strings of fate that were tied to his limbs and mind, he that relished being able to do what he wanted, think what he wanted, feel what he wanted━ or what he didn't want━ it was hard to believe that none of that mattered in the end.

Kyoka Suigetsu's deceptive abilities were indeed undeniably perfect. No one, not even Aizen himself could have anticipated that Kyoka's most absolute and complete hypnosis would be enacted on himself.

"Do you know now, Sōsuke? Do you understand?" Kyoka's voice was as soft as a whisper, but it couldn't hide the edges of its tone that were still sharpened from finding amusement of seeing the truth flash across its master's face. "You had destroyed the solution to your existential question of loneliness, before you could fully understand the question itself."

Yes . . . . . Aizen understood now.

He didn't bother acknowledging what Kyoka had said. His grim facial expression━ still, tinged with dolor, and paired with an indescribable, distant look his eyes━ said all that it needed to. His silence was as much as an admission as any.

Kyoka-dressed-as-you leaned forward again to fully close the gap between their lips and Aizen's. Tenderly, like the intentions of a lover, it spoke against his nearly closed mouth. "Have you figured it out yet?"

Nothing but quiet could be heard between them, as Kyoka's mouth moved about their master's face and placed something like kisses upon its surface, but not quite.

Aizen's cocoa-shaded eyes slide down to stare at his sword spirit pressed up against him. His gaze was hard, and yet something swam underneath its surface that his zanpakuto had never seen before. Melancholy, it guessed? They weren't quite sure.

Kyoka pressed on when Aizen remained quiet. "The taste in the back of your mouth. Have you figured out what it was? You know it quite well....."

Aizen's tongue grazed the roof of his mouth, sensing the rather unpleasant taste that has coated the inside of it. And within a moment, because he was faced with the current circumstances, Aizen had finally placed a name associated this particular taste. How unfortunate this was.

Upon his realization, Aizen's head lowered, and his brown tresses hung freely over his lashes. Perhaps it was so Kyoka couldn't properly see whatever remorseful expression painted their master's face, but it mattered not. Even from here, the sword spirit could already sense exactly what it was he was feeling.

And they loved it.

"It's a sweet and flavorful taste, isn't it? Quite lovely." Kyoka Suigetsu mimicked the exact words he uttered against your lips all those years ago when he tasted jasmine tea on your tongue, and sealed your death with a kiss. "It's too bad you don't seem to enjoy it anymore."

Aizen's chest continued to rise and fall calmly, and the hands of his sword spirit that rested there glided upwards to cup his strong jaw, caressing his skin with its thumb. Its phantasmic touch did nothing to stir their master.

"Sōsuke, do you know what the jasmine flower from that tea symbolizes?"

Aizen's lips were slightly parted, but again he didn't say anything. Instead, its corners twitched and lifted upwards by an inch, and he huffed softly.

Kyoka Suigetsu grinned in reply. "Good."

The next time Aizen blinked, he was plunged in darkness yet again. The restrictive feeling that swallowed his being whole had returned, and was an indicator that his zanpakuto had released him from his inner world. He was consciously back in the Mugen, back in this abyss they called a prison cell.

Kyoka was indeed as much as a formidable force in its own right, as much as, if not greater than Aizen himself.

The conversation he had with his sword spirit would be cemented in his head for all eternity. When he grew senile and began to physically wither away, the one thing that would remain vital like a young heart, was this epiphany that he had. This realization that he actually . . . .

As the chains of despair bound him tighter to the bottom of the metaphorical pit, regret and his loneliness corroding his flesh and spirit like metal exposed to moisture, a stray memory of his time in Hueco Mundo flashed in his mind. He recalled having tea prepared for meetings with his Espadas and he could not pinpoint when, but at some point, Aizen developed an aversion for jasmine flavored tea. For one reason or another, he no longer found its taste appealing; whenever he drank it, it always tasted bitter.

Now that reason had become painstakingly clear.

The binding on his mouth muffled a rueful chuckle at the though, and it trapped the flavor of jasmine on his lips.

(#) @soaringmirror @stygianoir @ryukenzz @blkjupiters @chrissie2003 @nymphoheretic @dejwrld @triangularz @souyaszn @kuujo @honeybleed @valentineluvu . let me know if you’d like to be apart of my tag list ♡♡.

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thegnomelord · 8 months

Note

PLEASEEEEE UR IDEA WITH MAGE M!READER AND MONSTER!COD MEN I'D LOVE THAT SO FICKING MUCH AND YES I AGREE THERE IS A LACK OF ALL THE VIOLENCE

Pov of how the world sees the reader Vs how TF141 reader :D. I'm in the middle of writing the first chapter of a fic with this idea, but guess who contracted TB like some coal miner 😞, me! So here's a sneak peak for the sort of vibe I'm going for while I'm trying to recover:

P.S: Ya'll are free to suggest/requests with this idea cause!

P.S.S: Check out bluegiragi who came up with this AU and give her some love!

Mages and Monsters

Mages are strange creatures.

In a world so full of monstrous hybrids and mythical creatures, mages sit on the proverbial line separating man from monster, stuck in both worlds without any hope of fitting in either one.

Because outwardly, they're average. No different from the billions of other humans. They're not born with the marks of monsterdom; they don't possess horns or leathery scales to shrug off small caliber bullets like dragons do, nor the claws and bone crushing jaws of werewolves, not feathered wings and razor sharp talons of harpies, nor the wraiths ghostly ability to become immaterial.

Outwardly, they're average. Ordinary. Mundane. Human...

Almost.

Because Price and Ghost are experienced enough to see the thing laying beneath the paper thin veneer of normality, are seasoned enough to quickly notice the one thing that puts an 'in' before a mage's 'human' description — Magic. Not the smoke and mirror kind magicians or charlatans use to swindle tourists out of money, but real magic.

The ancient kind, the capricious kind, slumbering like a beast inside the hollowed out cavern of a heart until it awakens with a terrible bloodlust. Each of them can attest to this; Price sports gnarled patched of scar tissue on the scaleless parts of his arm from ice burns, his draconic breath having saved him from frostbite that had devoured more than a few good men. Though Ghost doesn't show much skin, one can sometimes catch sight of branching fern patterns on his neck where lightning magic had shot through him. Gaz's back is peppered with hundreds of little cuts where a glass mage's summoned elegant ornaments had shattered into millions of shards, aiming to take out his wings.

And now Soap sports a mark of his own, his side tender red and blistered with a second degree burn. It could have been much worse, your flames were hot enough to melt steel, the only thing having kept him from an early cremation being the two solid concrete walls your magic had had to travel through to hit him and the enhanced regeneration of his thick hide.

But such power demands a cost — one paid in blood. For magic is as fickle and capricious as a rabid dog, just as eager to lunge for your throat as it will at the enemies, leaving lasting wounds for all to see; rough and calloused palms, skin blackened from blazing heat and freezing cold or marked with fern patterns of electricity, fingers stiff and marred with cuts from thorns and crystals and rock and glass, bone deep cuts where the liquid mana had burst out from the skin, leaving faintly glowing scars that never heal right.

All mages are born with this grievous gift, though one never knows whether it will present itself with a pitiful flicker of embers in a man's dying breath, or with a maelstrom of an infant's first hiccup. That's why most mages are sealed, by choice or force, a process which puts chains on the magic, making it and the mage docile.

But you are unsealed. And you flaunt that fact readily by melting the tail of their APC helicopter with one spell, not even waiting for them to crash before flooding the terrain with suffocating ash, the lenses of their gas masks already fogging up from the heat as they get out of the cloud of heavy sediment before it bursts to flames.

Sometimes the magic becomes unsatisfied with the weakness of the body, demanding more than just its pound of flesh and molding the body like clay to better suit it— Mage Marks, they're called — the subtle glow of magic in your eyes, the mana visibly pulsing inside your chest, the skin of your arms slipping away like wet paper before growing anew, this time mimicking the surface of magma, or the rocky barnacle encrusted reef, the gnarled bark of a tree, the crystalline inside of a geode, the ice spiked ground of tundra, or any other form that suits the magic in your veins.

The process is excruciating, the mana burrowing and gnawing on every nerve like a parasite that replaces what it eats with itself. But to you, that's an acceptable loss, because marked mages far surpass their unmarked fellows, your magic stronger and wilder, feral and viscous like the primordial force of nature.

So it becomes concerning when you're laying on the floor, captured, battered and bruised and calm.

Ghost had been waterboarding you for a while now, your body tied to a chair that had been tipped back so you were parallel with the ground. With water pooling around your head, your top half would have been soaked to the bone had your magic not been simmering in your veins, the magic suppression momentarily reducing the raging inferno in your chest to a meager flicker of flames.

They can't kill you, but limiting your magic for even a second is death in and of itself.

Your breathing is harsh as Ghost pulls away the cloth over your mouth, asking you a question as steam rises from your skin. Most would give in long before this point, but you just grin, eyes glowing with a burning glow, and make a comment about how good his arse looks from your viewpoint.

You manage only one small note of laughter, pitiful embers sparking at the corners of your lip, before Ghost drops the rag back over your face and begins anew.

Price watches all of this, sharp draconic eyes noting how the mana glows in your chest, pulsing like a second heart (assuming you had one to begin with), noticing how the water turns to steam a little faster when it splashes over your skin.

And Price knows.

You... You are going to be trouble.

#trinkets from the hoard #male reader #cod mw2 #modern warfare #john price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #gaz mw2 #monster au #mage reader #violence #reader is not a good guy #reader is a feral gremlin #monster 141 au #captain john price #reader x cod mw #x reader #centerpieces of the hoard

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lovelywritinglady · 10 months

Text

Rarities

Muzan Kibutsuji x fem!Albino!reader

Douma has been keeping you away from Muzan. He soon finds out and requests an both of you into the mansion. Because what demon wouldn’t be intrigued by a human that is sensitive to the sun. Angst, fluff. Reader is albino and therefore has the characteristics of albanism. Muzan is most likely out of character. This was a requested fic, however the original post kept deleting itself so I needed to scrap it and make a new one. Thanks to @cursetopia for requesting this it was interesting to write.

Your Pov

The room as cold and darkly lit as the only light was from a single candle on the far side of the room. Not that I minded absence of light as the sun was nearly umberable. I sat on my bed that master Douma provided me after "good behavior" or whatever that means. I can't leave or he'll kill me and my family and I can't risk that. How I long to see them, despite my apprearence they never hated me like the other villagers did. All they ever did was show me love. I curse the day that I was born. I stuck out everywhere, so its really no surprise that I was captured. In truth I hated myself and I despiretly wished I was normal because at least I'd have the chance at a regular life instead of being held captive by a demon.

The candle suddenly went out as I felt the room get even colder than before and I knew that he was here. His breath tickled the back of my skin and despite him randomly coming into my room, I forgot how to breathe.

"Ah you still get nervous when I see you, such a cute pet." He cooed that caused me to shudder internally. "You get to out today. My master wants to meet you." Douma spoke with annoyance

"Why?" I asked quietly

"You should know this by now, we demons are quite fond of humans that cannot be in the sun. Its almost like you're a demon yourself. Plus, your complextion is quite rare indeed. You're like a precious artifact." He cooed picking me up bridal style. I then suddenly found myself in a very large well lit room that seemed to go every which way. I was in awe as master Douma had never taken me to this place before.

"So this is the rare human that you have been keeping from me Douma?" A voice boomed overhead. I quickly shot my head up to see who this voice belonged to only to be met with gleaming pink-red eyes, that were somewhat similar to mine.

"Yes, my Lord Muzan this is her. Isn't she just ravishing, such a rare gem ought to be owned only by demons, don't you think?" My master cooed taking a strand of my snowy hair between his fingers. "She is my favorite pet." My master boasted.

"Tell me girl, how does the sun feel to you?" He questioned

"My Lord, the sun has always hurt my skin and I find it harder to see during the day." I spoke honestly and as respectfully as I could in a situation as nerve racking as this one. He nodded quietly and looked as though he was pondering something.

"She will come with me." Lord Muzan ordered suddenly.

"My Lord I have been taking care of this human for many years now, so she belongs to me." Master Douma spat. Muzan, without warning, then sent my masters head flying and I gasped at his speed and strength.

"Consider this payment for being an utter failure to me. I should kill you, but one of the upper moons was just killed recently, so I will be sparing you just this once." Lord Muzan demanded. Just as quick as it was gone, master Douma's head was now replace with a new one.

"Yes, My Lord." Douma bowed in defeat. He looked in my eyes and for the first time I noticed utter fear and hatred laced in them. I that look was not for me, but for the man that he called 'Lord.'

"Come girl." He ordered tunring from me and walking who-knows-where. I said nothing and followed knowing full well that if I did not, I might end up like master Douma, only I could not grow another head.

The sound of strumming vibrated the room and I felt the ground beneath me shift from up under my feet. As quick as a breath, I found myself standing in a semi well lit room that smelled like lavender and cherry blossoms. It was a rather large room with four doors, a large bed, bookcases filled with books, and decorated in many different fresh flowers. The room master Douma provided me was small and cold and most nights I had to bundle myself up just to feel an ounce of warmth. However, this room was engulfed with warmth, but not too much that the heat was overpowering. I looked upon the room freely until once more Lord Muzan was right in front of me and I found myself looking into similar colored eyes once more.

"This is where you will be staying from now on. If you should need anything on of the maids will see to it. If they can't, then your needs will be met by me. The room is connected to a house that you are free to wonder in. However, if you wish to go outside you must tell one of the maid that you are doing so. I will allow you to also see your family three times a year to keep you happy. They will also be kept safe as well." Lord Muzan spoke calmly

"Thank you, My Lord!" I nearly exclaimed at the thought of seeing my family again. "Forgive the question, but why have you gone to so much trouble?" I asked cringing at the fact that I even asked him this.

"I am not overly fond of anyone questioning me, but considering your situation I will allow it just once. Do you understand?" He quickly spat and I nodded my head showing my understanding as my words failed me. "You are here because you are a human worthy of life. Your unnatural hair is similar to that of a demons. As is your skin that is pale and lifeless yet beautiful. And your eyes that share a similar shade to mine, make you worthy of life and my protection. You, girl, are the very definition of a rarity and something that must be protected from humans and demons alike." Lord Muzan procalaimed stepping closer to me with a look in his eyes that I couldn't understand. I could feel his breath hit my face and I felt small as he towered over me. I was shocked to say the least as no one has ever truly told me I was worthy of life, not even master Douma. I slightly winced at the realization that other humans were trash to him, but I can't argue with him or else I would most likely suffer. "I must go now, there are things that I must attend to." Muzan spoke and just as quick as I met him, he was gone.

I let go a shaky breath that I was holding and walked over to the bed. Throwing myself on it I sighed in contentment to how soft it was. The room was comfortable to say the least, but now my situation was worse than before. I was being held hostage by Lord Muzan himself, but my tiredness washed away the feeling of panic. As did my relization that I would indeed be taken care of, but for how long. My eyes grew heavy and soon enough I closed my eyes and drifted off into the best sleep that I had gotten in years with thoughts of the man with similar eyes to mine.

Thanks for reading💜

Please feel free to comment, reblog, and request

Click here to see what I’ll write for and HERE for my master list.

•I do NOT own any characters except y/n•

-L.W.L

#demon slayer muzan #muzan kibutsuji #muzan kibutsuji x reader #muzan kibutsuji x you #muzan x reader #muzan x y/n #muzan x you #muzan demon slayer #albino reader #requested fic.#demon slayer #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer fics #demon slayer fanfic

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jasperhaleobsessed · 4 months

Text

The grumpy cowboy (Twilight Gift Exchange)

Jasper Hale x Female reader (gift for flesh--amnesiac)

Summary: I'm thinking maybe Jasper and the reader have a hate to love relationship? Like maybe Jasper act like he hates the reader but deep down loves her. Like he gets annoyed at things that she does. Like maybe she's what is referred to as a sunshine character. Someone who's always happy and it like irks Jasper to no end instead of making him feel at ease. Maybe he does or says something to her that really cuts deep deep and he doesn't feel bad about it until he realise what he criticized her on was for her family who was life alteringly ill or something.

Notes: Takes place during the first book twilight. I am so sorry if Jasper seems OOC but I'm hoping by the end of it he seems more like the cowboy we all know and love. This is only my second x reader fic so bear with me! I'm not the best with writing angst but I'm gonna try!! :)

Notes for flesh--amnesiac: • 𝙈𝙚𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝘾𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙨 🎄 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝘾𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙨 𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙟𝙤𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙮 𝙜𝙞𝙛𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙮 𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙢 𝙨𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚 • 𝙄 𝙖𝙡𝙨𝙤 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝙔𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙩𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙚𝙭𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 • 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙢 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 • 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙄'𝙢 𝙨𝙤 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩 𝙎𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙖 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙈𝙖𝙚

Warnings: Some angst but it'll have a sweet ending don't worry! <3

Word count: 3k

Tagging: @flesh--amnesiac and @twilight-secret-gift-exchange

Jasper's POV

My family and I walked into the Cafeteria, as we headed to our usual spot more than a few pairs of eyes landed upon us. We seated ourselves and started to converse. But the conversation wasn't eventful, all we did was some small talk. Today was going to be a long day, I thought glumly. I shifted my focus to my siblings. I noticed that each of them attempted to act as if we were eating but we failed miserably. I gave up long ago trying to act normal. I had heard more than a few ugly rumors about myself and my siblings. I shook that thought away. I gazed back at the food. Human food wasn’t…very good. But this school’s food was worse than the other school’s I’ve been to. Edward even tossed a piece of an apple across our table in disgust. I could feel his uneasiness towards our meals. They all felt disturbed by our food, I couldn't agree more it didn't exactly smell appetizing.

I felt their boredom, they tried to entertain themselves. Edward was focused on Jessica Stanley who was conversing with the new student Isabella Swan. Or Chiefs Swans daughter that many knew little about. But word travels fast, rumors run wild very quickly. I'm sure Jessica will learn a lot about her in a short period of time. That girl loves to talk. Everyone seemed to be curious and intrigued by Isabella just like they were when we arrived in Forks. Suddenly I could feel frustration and anger radiating off of Edward. I decided against asking him, he usually would vocalize these things when he was ready. So I shifted my focus to Alice, she appeared to be having another vision. I wonder what it could be? She was deep in thought, I thought it would be best if I left her alone. I wouldn't want to disturb her while in such a fragile state.

Emmett had his arm around Rosalie, they were both entranced into one another. I could feel the love they had for one another, it radiated brightly. I turned my attention away when I heard a familiar voice.

I looked to the side, getting a small view of who was conversing. I realized that Y/N was talking to the new girl Isabella Swan. She introduced herself “Hi I’m Y/N! It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She smiled warmly at her. I don't understand how she can be so…nice all the time. She held her hand out for Isabella to shake. Isabella looked surprised but took her hand, and shook it gently. “It was a pleasure to meet you as well.” Y/N spoke up and asked “It’s Isabella right?”

“No, I go by Bella.” Isa–Bella I corrected, she looked annoyed. Y/N nodded in understanding.

Bella turned to Jessica and asked, “Who are they?”

Y/N chuckled. “What’s so funny?” Jessica asked.

“Oh nothing.” She turned her attention back to eating her lunch. I think the amount of time Jessica has talked about us Y/N is sick of it.

I didn't particularly like her. We'd never quite gotten along. But some may argue that I never really gave her a chance or anyone for that matter. Most humans avoided us, but I guess what worked out well for me because of their scent. Socializing doesn't work very well due to my lack of control. The thirst for blood was just too much. I felt my throat burn, lunch will be over soon then I can get some fresh air. I need it desperately.

I could feel Emmett conflict as I continued gazed at where she was seated. But he finally got the guts and asked me, "Why do you hate her so much?"

"I don't hate her." He gave me a look. The rest of my siblings turned to look in our direction. Edward tore away from looking at Bella and turned to me. He smirked, he leaned forward listening intently.

"Okay, okay I don't love her but I really don't hate her. She's just annoying and infuriating. And she’s just so…nice it irks me.” I shivered thinking about her.

“It irks you?” Edward questioned.

“Yes, Edward it does.” Emmett boomed with laughter.

After wiping away some fake tears he said,“Uh huh. Suree.” I rolled my eyes at his antics. Rosalie looked amused as Emmett. They were truly made for each other. And Alice looked excited. I could feel her excitement, the question is what did she see?

The bell rang and my siblings and I headed to our next class. My next class just happened to be with Y/N but at least it was History, my favorite subject.

…

Y/N’s POV

I sat down in my usual spot in the classroom, I sat my romance book on the desk and situated myself. My partner wasn’t here today so I was sadly alone for the day but at least I could read. I flipped to my last spot and started to read. I was at the end of the book and it happened to be one of those hallmark books. Yeah I know it's cheesy. But it’s predictable and sweet. I was towards the end where they’d kiss and makeup. My favorite part. I smiled to myself, I felt a blush creep up on my face as the couple were finally leaning in to kiss and then the bell rang. I begrudgingly closed my book and looked up to listen to Mrs.Lewis.

“Today in class, you will be starting a project on the Civil War.” Some of the people in my class groaned while others looked at each other excitingly, hoping to be groupmates or partners.

“But I will be picking partners.” I groaned along with my peers. This was gonna be fun. Maybe it won’t be so bad? I guess I’m just gonna have to be hopeful I’ll get someone I like.

“Now, Once you all will be in pairs together…” She emphasized and then continued. “You will be deciding on a certain event or a certain person that is critical to the Civil War. For example for a certain person you could do a presentation on President Lincoln or a Sergeant even that was critical or played a crucial part in the Civil War. In other words the person or event needs to be influential to what happened in the War. Now if any of you have any questions let me know.” She looked up eyeing the class.

“Right, I almost forgot the project will be on a postboard. You will need four pictures of the event or person. You will need to explain why they were influential, 5 fun facts, a general explanation of the Civil War, and what happened at said event or what your person did.”

I wonder who I’ll be with? I kept thinking this over and over. I was starting to get nervous. I suddenly felt a wave of calmness rush through me. I drifted my eyes from Mrs.Lewis and started to look around the room and met a pair of golden eyes. Jasper Hale was looking at me. Doesn’t he hate me…? At least that’s what it always has seemed like. But you could argue that he dislikes most people at this school. But if he does hate me, why? What'd I do? If he didn’t hate me so much I’d admit he’s kinda cute. Wait what? I turned away quickly trying to forget about that thought.

Mrs.Lewis was calling partners, people were shifting to different seats. I tried to wait patiently but it wasn’t easy. I kept tapping my foot over and over again. And then I heard my name. But it wasn’t what I was expecting. Or who I was expecting to be with.

She called, “Jasper Hale and Y/N L/N.” I didn't move. I stayed still. I was shocked. I wasn't expecting to be his partner.

I just couldn't believe it. I was gonna be partnered with Jasper Hale? We’ve never gotten along. Clearly since he hates my guts.

“Ms.L/N?” Mrs.Lewis called.

“Yes?”

“Did you hear me? Are you going to move?” She asked.

“Right, sorry Mrs.Lewis.” I moved my backpack, book and headed to where Jasper was sitting. He tended to sit in the back, he was always very quiet. He also had a habit of glaring at people and seemed to be in pain. I don't know how to explain it, it just always seems angry. I don't know what his problem is. Hmm maybe he has a good reason or there's more than what meets the eye. I hope I'm wrong. I don't want him to hate me, I don't want anyone to hate me.

She nodded curtly. And I positioned myself in my seat.

I focused my attention back to Jasper. I turned towards him and asked “So how do you want to do this?” I asked.

“Do what?” He asked.

“Umm…how do you want to split up the work and what event or person do you want to do the Civil War on?” I asked, for some reason I felt kinda awkward.

He looked deep in thought, “We could do it on Abraham Lincoln. That shouldn't be too difficult.”

“Okay.” I felt bored. I don't think this is gonna be a fun project. I looked down staring at my paper. While I was shocked Jasper grabbed our papers for the assignment. I think the paper had something to do with the research. It was supposed to guide us?

“Am I boring you?”

“What?!” I felt my cheeks flush.

“N-no! I'm just unsure how to feel about the project that's all. I-it's not you.”

He leaned forward, “So it's the it's not you its me line, huh?” He joked. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile. His smile was beautiful like an angel. It may be silly or cheesy but it really did.

“Nooo… okay maybe a little.” I felt a bit embarrassed. I rubbed the back of my neck. My cheeks once again flushed. So I decided to distract myself by grabbing a history book from my desk. I grabbed a pencil and started to write down some notes for the project.

“What are you doing?” He asked, looking at me carefully.

I turned back to look at him and said, “Umm…writing down some notes for the project?”

“You sound unsure.” He observed.

I take a deep breath and say what’s been nagging at me this whole time. “Why do you hate me so much? What did I do to you that was so awful? Why do you stare at me with daggers in your eyes?” I feel anger course through me.

“Why do you care? You’re as bad as everyone at this school, in this town. You're all the same.” He said carelessly. He looked so angry. Rageful. His eyes were dark, coal back. I’ve never seen someone look this angry. It scared me. But then my anger rushed back, the nerve of this man. He knows nothing. I try to be kind, nice, good, and true. I’m not perfect but I’ve never said anything bad about him. Or about anyone. I try to be nice to him and to everyone for that matter. I am not always perfect. I may mess up and get angry but I’ve never treated him or anyone like this. I’ve never assumed that everyone is the same because they’re not! We’re all unique individuals with our own amazing qualities. But then the sadness rushed in me, I felt tears spring in my eyes. Why does he have to be so cruel and so cute? The bell had perfect timing, it rang and I left as fast as I could.

…

Jasper’s POV

I could feel her anger from miles away. Who you may ask? My pixie of a sister. Alice. She’s angry, to put it lightly. My siblings wanted to know what was wrong. But neither of us would budge. I’m sure Edward tried to read her mind but she blocked him out. I only know this because he looked frustrated. When we got home she berated me. Everyone was staring.

“What is wrong with you?!” She questioned.

“What do you mean what’s wrong with me?” I asked.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You're gonna let her get away? She’s your mate! You love her! Anyone would say she's literally a ball of sunshine!” She yelled. I’d never seen her so angry. It was unlike her. I tried to send calming waves through her but that only made her angrier. She pointed a finger towards me, “Do not try to calm me down! I am not done! And I will not stop until you see reason!”

She continued by saying, “You thought it'd be a good idea to break her cute little heart? She cares about you Jasper, flaws and all. So go get her. Hold her tight and don’t let her go because she's a keeper, alright!” I stared at her blankly. She took a deep breath, “I know that your are most likely scared anyone would be–”

“Except for ME!” Emmett yelled. Rosalie slapped his head. “Aw!” He yelled again. Everyone watched and listened intently.

“Anyways, I know you're scared but don’t push her away, you need her. And I know you assume the worst because you’ve all you’ve known but some humans can be truly good. Think about it. Please.” She pleaded.

“I will.” I say calmly.

She pointed her small finger at me again, “You better mister or you’ll be in a lot of trouble.” She said with some sass in her voice. I scoffed at her jokingly of course.

I decided to get some fresh air, I needed to think.

When I first met her or saw her it did irk me with how much she could be kind or nice. But as time went on her kindness and sunshine felt pleasing. Most humans especially when they’re teenagers emotions are everywhere and that means it can be a lot. It can be suffocating at times. But when I felt Y/N’s emotions it was like a breath of fresh air. It felt good after so long of so many suffocating emotions. But it did take a while before it felt like this. For the first year I had met her I really did dislike her and how she acted irked me. It rubbed me the wrong way. Then I realized I didn’t hate her, I loved her. She was so kind, so sincere, so true and I didn’t want to take that away. So I avoided her, I kept telling myself I hated her with every fiber of my being. But it just isn’t true. Even though I knew she was kind I did feel a bit wary of her because most people in this High School weren’t exactly the most sincere. And then I convinced myself she was just like everybody else. It would be easier this way, I wouldn’t hurt her. I wouldn’t harm her. I honestly don’t know why I said what I did. Maybe in a way it was me trying to protect myself from harm or maybe it was the fact I wanted to protect her from me. I think I’m scared of hurting her.

The look in her eyes broke my heart. The way her eyes were glossy from tears ready to spill out of her eyes was the worst thing I’ve ever seen. Alice thought she needed to snap some sense in me but she didn’t. I already knew. I could already feel it. I could feel her heartbreak, her anger towards me. But I can’t leave her like that. I have to do something. I won’t leave the person I love most hurt so deeply. I have to mend her broken heart, I have to mend my broken heart too. I love her too much to leave her in the state she is. I remember the way it felt when her heart broke into a million pieces. I felt her anger. I could imagine her saying “How dare he?” ‘Why would he think that?” I say how she essentially ran out of the classroom because of the pain I’d caused her. I felt her fear, I wanted her to feel safe with me. But first I need to hunt quickly and I know something for certain. I will do something about this. I vow to never cause her such pain again.

…

Y/N’s POV

I felt like my heart was broken into a million pieces and was trampled on. I was currently laying in my soft, comfy bed surrounded by my favorite stuffed animals alongside my trusty tub of ice cream. I also was playing soft music in the background. I felt tears stream down my face, I snuggled closer to my stuffed animals. I know it may be childish but I need all the comfort I can get. So who cares!

I couldn’t help but think of the times when I saw Jasper help a fellow classmate or when he helped one of the teachers. Many including myself thought at times he seemed cold but that wasn’t it was it? I’m sure what’s going on with me but I don't think he is what meets the eye. But at the same time that can’t be true he literally just looked at me with such hatred. Now, I don’t know what to think. Maybe he isn’t as good as I thought. I hope I’m wrong. I turned over and closed my eyes. But just as I started to doze my mom yelled, “Y/N! You have a visitor!” A visitor? Who’s coming to visit me? What’s going on? I moved from my bed practically running down the stairs. I kept thinking who it could be. I was not expecting him to be here. I was shocked. My mom said with a small smile “I’ll leave you too alone.”

It was Jasper. He was here! He was wearing a black suit which, funny enough, suited him well. He looked very gentleman-like and handsome. I couldn’t help but blush looking down. I had almost forgotten what had happened. But it hit me like a rock. He said some pretty cruel things. And scared me half to death while doing it. I looked up at his honey golden eyes, “Why are you here?” I asked quietly. I wasn’t sure what to feel. I was unsure. But a question kept popping in my head, Why is he here? What does he want?

He spoke up and said, “I came here to apologize, I should have said what I did. It was wrong. You aren’t like everyone and perhaps everyone else isn’t so bad either. You truly are an amazing person and I am so lucky to have met you. You're so warm, so kind, nice, sweet, sincere, loyal, and true. If you can accept me for what I am, flaws and all, then I’d be the happiest man on earth.” I gasped. No man, no guy, no boy had ever said anything like this to me before.

And I could see it in his eyes. He meant it, he loved me too. He truly cared and I hadn’t felt that in a long time. I felt tears fall out of my eyes. And I hugged him and he spun me around. I had never felt this happy, this joyous.

“Of course, I forgive you! You’d be too hard not to be such a gentleman!” I let out a giggle. He wipes out my remaining tears. He speaks up again, “I have one more surprise.” He pulls out a bouquet of Gardenia. It could mean, “Purity and sweetness and they can indicate a secret love or crush. They give joy and if given you are telling the recipient you think they are lovely.” It’s funny I just read this the other day. This man is full of surprises but amazing ones.

“I love you Jasper Hale.” He smiles, “I love you too Y/N L/N too.” He leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips.

The End

#twilight #twilight saga #the twilight saga #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #jasper cullen #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale x y/n #twilight x reader #twilight x y/n #twilight x you #twilight fanfiction #twilight fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #my fanfic #my fanfiction

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neverinadream · 6 months

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What's Your Favourite Scary Movie?

Summary: What's a better way to watch horror movies than placing a bet on who will jump first?

Pairing: Christian Pulisic x Fem!Reader

Requested: for @thoseboysinblue

Song Inspo: Black Butterflies and Déjà Vu - The Maine

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, smut, moments of fluff, best friends to lovers, mentions of the reader needing to wear glasses, soft dom!christian but also hints of sub!christian, sub!reader, dirty talk, pet names (baby, princess, good girl...), praise kink, body appreciation, nipple play, grinding, oral (female & male receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, spoilers for paranormal activity and talk to me, not edited

Notes: happy halloween whores 🫶🏻 this is a very long one that has taken way too long to write and i apologise that it is being posted later than i normally would post a fic. this idea has changed so much since it was first shared by my lovely mutual/friend. i hope you like it. feedback is always appreciated, especially for a fic as long as this

"Gossip Girl? Again?"

"Stop judging my watch list," Christian huffs, resting his arm on the back of his sofa.

There's a pattern of rom-coms and TV series he had already watched in their entirety, with a sprinkle of recommendations from yourself in there. You fought back a smile knowing he took your recommendations seriously. "Give me your right hand," you request, setting the remote on your lap. He raises his eyebrow but doesn't question it. "Just as I thought," you mumble, nodding your head as you gaze down at his hand, inspecting his palm and scanning the long length of his fingers, "you need to stop abusing this hand and get yourself a girlfriend."

"Oh-" He rips his hand back with a sigh, rolling his eyes. "My dry spell isn't as bad as yours," he makes a good point, welcoming the vanilla and sweet citrus scent that hangs around you as you shuffle closer. Your leg brushes against his and a small smile pinches on the corners of his lips, little butterflies fluttering their wings in the deepest part of his stomach. "When was the last you got laid?"

"Hopefully, this week." You go back to scanning his Netflix account, missing the bridge of his nose turning pink. "Italy is full of gorgeous men," you hum, wrapping your arm around your tummy, caging it underneath as you lean forward.

"Just put your glasses on," he sighs, watching you squint your eyes, "you're making your eyes worse doing that."

You glance over your shoulder. "When did you suddenly change your career?"

He doesn't appreciate your smart mouth, getting up off the sofa in search of them. "It's called being a caring friend," he mumbles, taking one last look at you bent over and leaning forward, before slipping out of his living room.

He hears you call out to him, something about them being in his guest room, but he's already one step ahead of you, opening the bedroom door and taking a step inside. "Don't you mean your room?" He calls back, treading over a pair of heels you had complained about wearing.

Another smile, an even bigger smile, appears as he thinks about last night. Blood stirred and heated his cheeks as he thought about the simple yet beautiful way your dress hugged your body. His skin tingled remember the smell of vanilla and how it clung to every inch of your skin, so much that it made him dizzy. And he swallows a hard breath as he recalls being at the foot of the bed, his thumbs stroking over your soft skin, before unfastening the straps and helping you out of your heels.

"Ha! Nice one!" Your voice cuts him out of the memory.

"It can still be yours!"

You were a freelance animator, recently coming off the success of a short film for some company in London that Christian couldn't remember the name of. It was a dark piece, playing heavily on the tropes of loneliness and trying to find a sense of belonging, told through the POV of a colourless character in a world full of bright colours. Definitely not for children, Christian realised the first time he watched it, wiping away a tear as the credits rolled, a beaming smile on his face as your name flashed on the screen.

It won the company an award, and added a little more attention to your name, making it easier to do the whole "freelance" part of your job description.

It was that part of your job description that Christian used in favour of you moving in with him. Back in London, you were living four streets away from him, and there wasn't a day he didn't go without seeing you. He missed that. Italy was lonely without you.

Everywhere was lonely without you.

Your glasses are sitting on top of your open sketchbook, partially lost under covers, and Christian clears away a cushion, neatly placing it against the pillows. A hedgehog wearing a mask of sorts has been sketched onto the page, with an owl wearing clown makeup sketched on another area of the page, a knife dripping with blood held in its beak. Cute little woodland animals made to look like something from a horror movie. He didn't know if he should be impressed by your talent or shudder from his own dislike of horror movies.

Both, he had decided, grabbing your glasses and leaving the room.

"No."

"What?" Your arm hovers in the air, your hand wrapped around the TV remote, with the 'Horror' section of his Netflix up on the screen. "What's the matter?" You ask, with a coy smile, knowing exactly what his grievance was. If there was one rule for any impromptu movie night, it was no horror movies allowed.

Christian's rule, of course.

You, on the other hand, loved horror movies. The blood. The gore. The old classic slashers. Movies with a budget so low they either become cult classics or a painful ninety minutes. You loved it all. You loved the suspense and the anticipation of waiting for the next jumpscare. The adrenaline that pumped through your veins every time that it happened. It left you feeling more alive than ever.

"We are not, and I can't stress this enough, watching a horror movie."

"I'm not wearing them," you distract him enough to keep flicking through the catalogue. Saw. Don't Breathe. Last Night In Soho. Halloween. You flicked over each one of them, hoping at least one of them would spike your interest. "I hate them," you mumble, ducking and turning your head away from him. He grumbles something about you being stubborn under his breath, his body partially leaning over you as he places his knee on the edge of his sofa. "I don't- Ow!" You gasp, mouth hanging open and head turned up to look at him. "You just poked me in the eye-"

"Because you wouldn't stop moving!"

You readjust your glasses, your head still turned upwards, eyes squinting up at him. "God, is that what you really look like?" He doesn't appreciate your joke, rolling his eyes as you lower your glasses. "Seriously? I should've worn these things the night we met," you continue, adding a second act, "might have thought twice about falling into bed with you."

A deep blush sets on his cheeks, reaching his ears as partial moments of that night come to the forefront of his mind. Hands tracing soft skin. Mouths coming together in feverish exchanges. Him stumbling over his words the next morning, unable to bring himself to ask you if you wanted to get breakfast, settling on remaining as "just friends."

His teammates had even joked that he had fucked his way into the friend zone.

"Give me the remote," he stretches out his hand. You pull your hand into your body, restricting his access to the remote. "You know we have one rule for a movie night: no horror movies."

"Oh, come on," you tease, biting the tip of your tongue, the corners of your mouth turning upwards into a smile, "it's not my fault you're a big scaredy cat."

He rolls his eyes, despite liking the mischievous glint you got in your eyes every time you saw an opportunity to tease him.

"I think I might have to start telling people your tiger tattoo is just a botched job of a sweet, little Tabby, because a real tiger definitely wouldn't shit themselves at the likes of Scary Movie." You point the remote back at the TV, flicking through a subsection of the horror genre until one of them seemed the right fit for tonight's festivities. "It's not even a horror movie. It's a parody!"

"First of all," he reaches back, grabbing a few pieces of popcorn, "I didn't shit myself." He tosses the pieces of popcorn in your direction, the sweet pieces of confection bouncing off your shoulder and your cheek. You pick it up, the tips of your fingers feeling sticky from just one touch, and throw it back at him. He bats it away from him, and you stick your tongue out at him. "It was you who kept purposely making me jump by jabbing your finger into my side."

"I always find it funny how you and I recall events so differently," you mumble, clicking the down button and flicking onto the paranormal section.

"Okay," he talks over you, reaching forward for one of the two beers sitting on his coffee table, "just stick a movie on." He pops the cap off the bottle with a low grunt, flipping it onto the coffee table. It bounces twice, hits the edge of the centrepiece, a decorative glass bowl his parents gave him as a moving away/house warming present, and flips onto the floor. "And just don't pick a super scary one," he mumbles, taking a sip, "I actually want to sleep tonight."

"Scared you're gonna get nightmares?"

"I don't get nightmares."

"No, of course you don't," you shake your head, "you're Mr Captain America! How could you let yourself get scared over something that's not even real?" He rolls his eyes, giving you a soft shove to the side with his elbow. You pluck the brown stained bottle from his hand, noticing the not so subtle way he was watching your lips as you take a sip. "Do I have something on my face?" You ask, the bridge of his nose blushing red. He turns his head away from you, mumbling something under his breath but you didn't catch it. "Sorry?" It was like poking a sleeping bear. "What did you say?"

"Come on," he mumbles, motioning his hand in the direction of his TV.

"Don't rush me," you hiss, catching your tongue between your teeth, the tip poking out from between your lips. It amused him greatly how serious you took picking the movies for movie night, but it was just one of those 'little things' that he loved about you. "You wouldn't want to be rushed whilst taking a penalty, or something."

He pulls a face. "I don't see how those two equate to being the same thing."

"I-Shut up."

You settle on an old favourite: Paranormal Activity.

It was scary enough that you knew Christian would jump a few times, but not scary enough to have him crawling into your bed in the middle of the night. A single creak could be a footstep. Pipes cooling down could be a ghost groaning. Silly tricks of his mind and all enough to scare him into your bed, with his tail tucked between his legs like a scared puppy. If you wanted that, maybe you would've picked something like The Ring or The Blair Witch Project.

"Shouldn't be too scary for you," you tease him, grinning over your shoulder.

———————

"You don't use-" Christian lifts his head from the cushion, his mouth turned down into a frown, his focus turned away from his television and now on you. You had moved to the end of his sofa, moving to give him space to stretch out, with your knees pulled up to your chest, toes wiggling as they sat over the edge. "Are you going to sit there the whole time?" He quizzes, meeting your eyes as you turned to look at him.

"Yes?" You pan down to his body stretched out on the sofa. One knee was pointed to the ceiling, his other leg stretching the length, with his foot tapping against you. It wasn't deliberate, almost like he was still checking to see if you were still there. "Where else am I meant to sit?" You fire back your own question. "For a little guy, you sure know how to take up a lot of room."

"We both know I'm not little," he replies nonchalantly.

"I don't know," you shrug, biting your bottom lip to stop yourself from smiling, "it didn't really leave a lasting impression." You giggle, his foot tapping against you deliberately this time. "But, seriously, where else am I meant to sit? On the floor?" You motion in front of you. "On you?"

He grins, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to hold back his thoughts, but you roll your eyes like you had read his mind. "Just lie with me," he mumbles, patting his hand against his chest.

"What, and crush you?"

It was now his turn to roll his eyes. "You're not going to crush me."

"I might."

"Do you see me?" He pans his hand down his body. "Do you see this? I can take my shirt off so you can better look-"

"Please don't."

He taps your leg again. "We both know you like me better when I have my shirt off," you avoid his eyes as he teases you like your eyes might deceive you and tell him he was right, "But, c'mon, I'm getting cold over here." He pouts, eyes looking rounder as he tries his best at 'puppy dog eyes.' He grabs at the air. "Please?!"

"You're actually the worst," you mumble, giving in to him, "the worst of the worst." Your bodies become a tangled mess, legs wedged between each other, his thigh half-straddled as you rest your head on his chest. His hand travels down your back, his fingers skimming along the band of skin exposed above your jeans. "Also, I call total bullshit on 'getting cold'," you add, unconsciously tucking your hand under his shirt. Your touch makes his skin tingle.

"Yeah?" He raises his eyebrows, looking down his nose. "Why's that?"

"Because you're perpetually warm."

Christian's attention flickers back and forth between you and the movie, pressing his fingers harder into your skin whenever Katie screams Micah's name, which you didn't mind, even though it would happen a lot. When he wasn't subtly trying to hide the jumping, he was glancing down at you, focusing on the steady and relaxed movement of your breathing. He would half-smile at the way you mumble your reactions under your breath, humming a simple "yes" or "okay" to acknowledge them.

He takes in a deep pull of your scent, closing his eyes as he lets the smell of honey and vanilla wash over him. Everything about you could make him dizzy. From your laugh to your smile. To the way you would always cut your sandwiches into four small squares because it made you think of the nostalgia of the school lunches your mum would make you. But nothing was like that honey and vanilla aroma that managed to stick to you like a second layer of skin.

"You better not be falling asleep, mister!" He grunts as you pinch his hip, his eyes snapping open at the sound of your voice. "I didn't lie down with you just so you could take a nap," you prop your chin against his chest.

"Then why did you?"

"Like I already said, you're always warm, and your apartment is freezing!"

Our apartment, he thinks to himself, knowing he'll bring the question up once more before you have to leave. "It's not cold," he says instead, tucking his free arm underneath his head, "and I wasn't falling asleep."

You raise your brows. "Yeah? Then what just happened?"

"He's just shown her the quija board and you just commented on them being stupid for using one." Your eyesbrows drop and the corners of his mouth twitch. "See," he gloats, giving the small of your back a soft pinch, "I wasn't falling asleep."

You chew your bottom lip. "I am right though, you should never use a quija board."

"No?"

"No!" You shake your head. "You don't know who you could be communicating with, or what you could be inviting in!" He smiles, making you squint your eyes and frown up at him. "What's that smile for?"

"You've thought about this before, haven't you?"

You turn your head down, mumbling your answer into his chest, using it to hide the embarrassment in your voice. Yes, you had thought about it. You had thought about it multiple times and every time you watched a movie where one would be used to contact the vengeful spirit haunting the unsuspecting couple, but it's the last thing you would admit it to Christian. It would just be another thing for him to tease you with.

"Sorry," he laughs, his whole chest shaking, "what was that?"

"I said I'm putting another movie on," you lie. He bites his tongue to stop the soft groan that nearly slips out when you straddle his waist, silently praying that his body can stay calm for all of two seconds. "This is getting boring," you stretch across and grab the remote, "I want something proper on."

He lets his hands travel down from your hips and onto your thighs, drumming his fingers against the dark denim. "This is something proper."

"Babe, this is two tropes away from being a parody!"

Babe. It makes his heart beat twice as fast. He clears his throat, doing his best attempt at dislodging the feeling from his chest. "There's not much left," he mumbles, lifting one hand away and following yours until it's out of his reach. He chuckles, the soft sound growing a little louder as you beam down at him with a triumphant smile. "Just leave this one on."

"Or," you press pause, silencing the screams, "we could have some fun."

"Fun?" His throat bops. "You and I have very definitions of what fun is." Your lips twitch. "And I don't like that smile."

"You shouldn't," you giggle, letting your weight sink further onto him, your core pressed firmly against his crotch. The not-so-subtle way his mouth parts on a slight groan makes your stomach flutter. For a second, you slip back into the memory of his hands grabbing at your hips and guiding them, as he threw his head back into his pillow, groaning your name which back then was foreign to his tongue. "Let's make a bet," you snap back to reality, "the first person to jump has to go down on the other person."

He mules it over for a second, a deep blush forming on his cheeks and spreading to his ears. "But what if neither of us jumps?" He asks, keeping his focus on something that isn't the movement of your hips as you shift above him.

"Then no gets to come today."

"You mean: you don't get to come today," he fires back, "you don't know what I was doing this morning."

"So, that's why I heard my name coming from your bathroom?" You throw him a wink. "Don't worry, I've basically nicknamed my vibrator CP." He rolls his eyes and mumbles a soft 'ha, ha' under his breath. If your current position wasn't already bad enough for him, then hearing about you using a vibrator on yourself was nearly tipping him over the edge. "So, do we have a deal?" You raise your eyesbrows.

He shrugs his shoulders. "Why not?" His tongue darts across his bottom lip, looking at you like you might be his last meal. "I've been looking for an excuse to eat your pussy again."

———————

Christian frowns. "I don't get it." You lift your head from the comfort of his shoulder, unable to hide a half-smile when you catch sight of the crease in his brow and the slight way his bottom lip would pout. Flashes of confusion fill his eyes. "She was the one sucking on his toes?"

"Yep."

"But she thought it was that...other thing?"

"Yep."

He sighs, running his hand down his face. "This is so confusing."

You prop your hand under your chin, using your free hand to poke his cheek. He bats your finger away, but the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. "You're very pretty," you mumble, bringing your finger back against his cheek, touching the constellation of freckles that reside on his face. They were his prettiest features, after his eyes of course. "How are you single?"

"Me?" He slides his hand down your back, bunching up the fabric as he reaches the small of your back. His touch is warm and it makes you shiver. "What about you?" He counters, tucking his head down. His nose brushed against your temple, and you could smell the faint smell of beer and toothpaste on his breath. "You're a lot prettier than me."

"I go on dates," you shrug, finger drifting down to his bottom lip. It was soft and light shade of pink. And very, very kissable.

"You do?" His body tenses and the jealousy he feels churns in the pit of his stomach. "Oh..."

You wish you could say that your dating life was a story of success and one that involved you finding true love but, unfortunately, that just wasn't the case. The apps were full of guys looking for a night of easy sex or carrying bouquets of red flags. And the dates you were set up with either talked only about themselves, were hung up on their exes, or talked about their mothers at an alarming rate.

Oh, and none of them were Christian.

"But clearly none of them have worked out for me," you sigh, removing your hand and settling your head back down on his shoulder. His body relaxes, pulling you firmly against him. "It doesn't matter though, I don't need them," you mumble, breathing in the smell of the cologne that stuck to his skin. After being apart from him, you had come to realise that it smelt like home. "I've got you."

"For now and always."

For now and always.

It was your thing, you could say, a promise that neither would be alone.

You first said after Christian suffered one of his first injuries whilst at Chelsea. His stubborn ass had ignored your messages after the injury occurred, a part of him, he supposed, didn't want you to see him like that, but your ass was just as equally stubborn as his and you didn't take his silence as a final answer. You were there for his recovery every step of the way, and for every disruption that came afterwards, repeating the words: 'for now and always.'

You sit up on your elbow. "Christian?" He hums but doesn't look at you. "Chris..."

"What's u-" You silence him, pressing your lips against his, moaning softly into his mouth when you feel him kiss back. "Uh," he pulls back, touching his hand to your face, his fingers softly stroking your jaw, "hi-uh, what?" He nervously laughs, the tips of his ears turning red. "W-W-What was that for?"

"I don't know." You shrug, touching your hand to your mouth. "I'm sorry."

His eyes widen. "What? No! Don't apologise for kissing me. I liked it."

"You did?"

"Should that even be a question?" He scoffs, smiling at you. His thumb brushes gently across your cheek, the softness of your skin shooting goosebumps up his arm. "Of course, I liked it. Why wouldn't I have liked it?" His gaze lingers on your mouth. "Come closer and kiss me again, please?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely..."

It's with a smile on both of your lips that you lean in and press your mouth to his. His lips are soft and willing, parting to welcome you as you run your tongue against his bottom lip. At every groan he made, you would whimper, and Christian would swallow each of the sweet little sounds. They were his to keep. They were his to remember when you left at the end of the week.

His hand grabs your thigh and pulls you to straddle him, rutting his hips up as you settle on him. "Feel that?" He grabs your ass, squeezing firmly as he pushes you down onto his bulge. You grind your hips against him, your movements slow and torturous. "That's it, baby," he bites his bottom lip, groaning your praise and grabbing your ass in both hands, "keep grinding like that for me - make us both feel good."

Your lips roam his jaw and neck, imprinting your whimpers into his skin. "I guess the bets off then?" Your laugh is sultry and yet still sweet.

"Bet or no bet, I would still love to eat your pussy," he purrs, flipping you onto your back, "can I take this off?" He fingers toy with the hem of your shirt.

"Only if you're taking yours off."

You prop yourself up onto your elbows, watching him sit back on his knees. He grabs the back of his collar and removes his T-shirt with one sharp tug. "Beautiful," you whisper, letting your hands roam freely over his chest. They start at the waistband of his jeans, your fingers stroking over the soft trail of hair, before travelling over his naval and feeling every muscle.

Christian was right; you did like him better with no shirt on.

Your eyes pan back down to the bulge in his jeans. "Can I taste you?" You ask, looking back up at him as his hand nestles firmly on the base of your skull.

"Go ahead," he nods, with excitement in his voice, "take it out."

Your eyes shimmer with anticipation as you take a better look at the tent in his boxers, his jeans pulled low enough down. Peeling back the waistband, his cock springs free, slapping hard and heavy against his stomach. He was big, bigger than you had remembered, and your face grows hotter as you try to think of a way to fit him all into your mouth.

"It'll fit," Christian says like he could read your mind, "trust me." He wraps his hand around the base, pushing the tip gently against your mouth. "Give it a kiss." You pucker your lips and lay a soft one against the crown of his cock, tasting the pre-cum as you pull away and lick your lips. "Now open your mouth," he instructs, gliding it against your wet tongue, "already being such a good girl for me."

You swirl your tongue over the head, smacking your lips as you pull off him. "Definitely the prettiest dick I've ever had the pleasure of sucking," you tell him, replacing his hand around the base.

"Sucked many dicks?" His face quickly drops. "Don't answer that."

You run your tongue against the underside of his shaft. "Not in a long time," you answer anyway, giggling as he scowls.

You wrap your lips once more around his cock, focusing on the tip, sucking it lazily in and out of your mouth, as your hand worked the base. "Fuck, that feels good," he pants, hanging his head back, exposing the column of his neck and the beard that scattered the underside of his jaw to you. "But I'm gonna have to make you stop."

"What?" You pull off him, a string of spit still connecting you. "Why?"

"Because it's been way too long, longer than I would like to admit since I was last with someone, and if you keep sucking me off like that, this is going to end quicker than it started."

You wipe your mouth. "Oh."

"Yeah," he blushes, tucking himself back into his boxers. He tugs his jeans up but leaves them unbuttoned. "Now," he clears his throat, "wanna help me take your clothes off?"

———————

"Fucking gorgeous!" Christian touch sears your skin, burning his prints into you as he grips your thighs. You pinned to his mattress, with nowhere to go, looking down at a pair of hungry eyes. His tongue splits your folds and draws a line between your entrance and your clit. "This pussy has been a part of my dreams for years," he confesses, turning his head, kissing the inside of your thigh, "god, I think about it-think about you when I'm touching myself."

Your lips part on a silent breath. "You do?"

"Every time, baby." He blows hot hair against your clit, grinning as your squirm. "Every. Single. Damn. Time."

"Good," you giggle, cupping your breast and tweaking your nipple, "because I wasn't lying about nicknaming my vibrator CP."

His cock strains in his jeans at your words. "Don't say that," he growls, rutting his hips into the mattress, "not unless you want to be cleaning the cum off my cock."

You prop yourself up, looking down at him between your thighs. "Sounds tasty," you throw back, licking your lips.

His lips twitch. "Speaking of tasty..." He drags his tongue back and forth along your slit, groaning as your wetness pools in his mouth. You were intoxicating. A drug for him to get high off. "Tastiest thing I've ever eaten, baby," his praise has you throwing your head back into the pillow, "and the prettiest, too."

"Oh, my..."

He pushes the air out of your lungs, stretching you out as he slowly works two fingers into your pussy. They twist and curl up to stroke your g-spot, and you feel him grin against your clit when he wrangles out a pornographic moan. No one had made you feel this good. Not in a very long time.

"Christian," you pant his name, pushing your hips up. He groans, flicking his tongue faster over your clit.

He was playing like an instrument and eating you like were his last meal.

"So fucking tight," he licks his lips, tasting you on him. He twists and scissors his fingers, stretching you some more. "And wet, baby," he purrs, rotating his thumb in circles over your clit. His honey-dipped eyes look up at you, roaming every part of your naked figured. "If you could see the mess you're making - just dripping everywhere."

"I want you to look at me like that all the time," you stare down at him.

"I do." He kneels between your legs, dipping to kiss over the tops of your breasts, the dip at the base of your neck and then your lips. "I look at you like this all the time, baby," he presses his thumb harder to your clit, making you squirm, "I've just gotten good at hiding it." He crashes his mouth against yours, pushing his tongue into your mouth, letting you taste your arousal off his tongue. "I'm gonna grab a condom."

You stop him as he reaches into his bedside cabinet. "I'm on the pill."

"You sure?"

"Yes," you answer, kissing over his stubbled jaw, nipping playfully at his ear, "now lose those jeans, pretty boy." He raises his eyebrows, the corners of his lips curving up with amusement. You give a sharp tug on his belt loop. "I said lose the jeans."

He chuckles, pushing to stand up. "What is this?" He pulls his jeans down, kicking them off as they reach his feet. You bite your lip, eyes zoning in on his cock bulging in his underwear. They were removed next, a smirk gracing his lips. He wraps his hand around his shaft, jerking his wrist a few times, wincing a little when he squeezes the tip. "Think you're in charge here?"

"Maybe."

He shakes his head, brushing his lips against your temple. "That's very cute." He kneels between your legs, tapping his tip against your clit, chuckling as you whimper. There was nothing worse than being teased. "But that's not happening, baby."

He slips the first few inches inside, watching your pussy swallow and clench around him. He waits, giving himself a second to adjust. "Just remember it's been a while, okay?" His cheeks blush, spreading down his neck onto his chest. "Don't be teasing me if I end up coming too quickly."

"Hey, look at me." You reach out to touch his face, your fingers brushing over his jaw. He leans into your touch. "We're in the same boat, remember?"

"But what about all those dates you've been on?"

You shake your head. "The last guy I had sex with was Kal." Sliding your hand between your bodies, you sink the last few inches inside. The feeling of fullness has you losing your breath, but you find it again when Christian leans over to kiss you. "Forget about the timestamp on your last time, and stop worrying about blowing your load too quickly," you talk against his mouth, soothing your hands over his chest, "just be here with me, okay?"

He nods, biting his bottom lip. "I can do that." His head dips and kisses the centre of your chest, hands exploring your thighs and the globes of your ass as he ruts into you. "Fuck," his voice is strained, "you feel...you feel perfect, like you just for me."

"Yes," you whimper, your heart aching as the words hit your ears, "just for you."

He nuzzles his stubble into your cheek. "Say it again."

"Just for you," you repeat, now grinding your hips up to meet each thrust, "just for you." You pull his head up and crash your lips together, exchanging a kiss like it could been your last. Never had you imagined this is where you would be when you got on the plane four days ago. "You," you managed to make out through a moan, breaking apart, nuzzling your face against his cheek.

He chokes your name on a sob, "I'm not gonna last must longer."

"Let go, Christian," you wrap your legs around his waist, and run your nails down his back, scratching lightly at the muscles that strained, "come for me, baby."

"Inside you?" His rhythm is sloppy and you have to keep grinding against him. "Can I come inside you?" He grabs your hips and clamps them against him, moaning into your shoulder as his whole body shakes above you. "Oh, god," he whines, his cock twitching and pulsing, "I'm coming-I'm..."

Silence.

For the next few seconds, Christian is silently mouthing your name against his skin.

You soothe your hands through his hair as he finishes inside you, letting your hands roam over his shoulders and down his back. "You okay?" You whisper, tucking your head to brush a kiss to the side of his head. "Christian?"

"I think I just had an out-of-body experience," he answers, audibly groaning as he pulls out. You giggle, tiredly rolling onto your front, moving with him as he collapses next to you. His arm comes up over his face, hiding his eyes, before ripping away to look at you. He looked worried like he was realising he had done something wrong. "You didn't come?"

You shrug, giving him a reassuring smile. "It's fine." Which it was.

"No, it's not." He tries to sit up but crashes back onto the mattress. "When I have recovered, you are coming," he declares, pulling the pillow over his face. His voice is muffled as he adds, "we are not leaving this bed until I've made you come."

———————

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shelbgrey · 8 months

Note

Hello 👋

If you’re still talking requests, Can I request 16 and 21 for Egon Spengler please ?

Hold on, I love you (Egon spengler)

Paring: Egon spengler x Fem!Reader

Summary: Egon and y/n have never had the guts to admit their feelings in fear of ruining the friendship that's dear to them, but why dose it take an accident during a call for him to tell y/n he loves her.

A/n: jeez, I write one original flash-fic in my creative writing class and I re-enter my Angst era. This is lossly based off one of my assignments in creative writing. And this is way longer than I anticipated, I just sorta blacked out and had this, the beginning sucks but it gets better, I promise.

Prompts:

1.6) “I need to know if it's possible that two people can stay happy together forever.” - “in my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are”

2.1) “i love you in every universe”

MasterList

Egon was a man of little words most of the time, it never bothered him or his friends. That was until y/n showed up, she was the younger cousin of Peter Venkman. Unlike her older cousin she was very soft spoken, happy, and the kindest person any of the Ghostbusters ever met. She also knew a butt load of supernatural stuff so there was no question about it when she joined the team.

When she joined she was immediately welcomed with open arms and it was as if she was there from the very beginning, she soon found a best friend in Ray and Winston.

What the team would have never anticipated was the life that she awoke in Egon, the two bonded over science and snacks and soon the two were glued to the hip. Peter had a hay day with that. Egon just seemed more happier and less robotic when she was around. Then it seemed everyone knew they liked each other except the two of them.

They would sneak loving glances at one another and Peter or Winston would always catch them. Then it just became something the team had to ride through, the bet they all set wasn't even fun anymore.

Fast forward to today, it's a normal day at the firehouse. Of course the day starts off with the gentle smiles and glances between y/n and Egon or as Peter puts it 'their mind numbing mating ritual.

Anyway, what the team called normal was not even getting through breakfast before they were called in a case. The call wasn't totally unusual but after y/n did her usual 'Sam Winchester' research hour they anticipated the poltergeist isn't like anything they dealt with before, sure poltergeists weren't unusual but this one might be more powerful and be classified as a vengeful spirit.

The call was from a real estate company. They were trying to sell an old mansion just outside of New York but when they went to clean and remodel they ran into the poltergeist. They were apparently threatened with a lawsuit if they didn't get rid of the ghost.

~~~~~~~~(1st pov)~~~~~~~~

“this poltergeist is a lot more powerful than what we dealt with before so be careful everyone…” Egon said climbing out of Ecto-1, Peter clapped his hands together and rubbed them together like a villain would in a poorly made cartoon. “ooh, I like them feisty”

I rolled my eyes as I let a chuckle slip past my lips “and please for the love of God don't tease the ghost” I said unloading my protonpack.

Peter slapped his hand over his heart, acting offended. “Miss. L/n, how dare you accuse me of such accusations… I Do not do that”

“oh yeah, remember what happened last call?” Winston said.

“yeah, like when you said you were gonna pretend to be a priest” I said with my fist on my hip.

“and quoted the exorcist a dozen times” Ray added.

“not my fault Casper didn't want to talk about JC”

Peter walked in front of us and stared down the dark hallway “don't piss the ghost off too much pete” I mumbled as I scanned the area with my EMF meter.

Peter gave me a cheeky grin and turned to the back of the dark room. “Oh, boy!” he hollered. “I'm sooo lost, I hope there isn't some ancient supernatural poltergeist that could possibly gobble my sexy body here”

“really?” Winston asked with a crooked eyebrow.

“it amazes me you have a wife” I added with a chuckle as Egon strung some kinda trip wire, It would act similar to a salt circle.

The dark Hallway rumbled and hissed. Peter smirked again. “Come on Honey, don't be shy!” The pitch black hallway rumbled and shook as the poltergeist charged forward, it stood ten feet tall and had a black hooded-roab that covered its unnatural form. It also had four red eyes and sharp claws. When is snarled you cold see dozens of sharp teeth covered in saliva and blood.

The poltergeist tried to charge at Peter with its claws but it was whipped back due to the proton-line Egon set up. Peter snorted and covered his laugh with his hand as the poltergeist floated around angry.

“Change of plans honey, you ain't snakin' on me” Peter joked then looked over his shoulder at us. “I'm just too handsome to be eaten”

Before he could turn back around the poltergeist coughed up a chunk of slime, Peter quickly dodged it, preventing days of scrubbing slime out of his hair. “ha, not today sucker!”

Peter started laughing, the rest of us just rolled our eyes and turned on the protonpack. “stay behind us,” Egon said to me. I rolled my eyes, I knew he was just trying to protect me(along with the rest of the boys) but it got annoying sometimes.

“Peter, just release the line,” Winston said, pointing his gun towards the poltergeist.

Peter nodded as his laughter died down. “Okay, okay, look alive soldiers!”

Peter and Winston quickly got their proton streams knotted around the poltergeist with a perfect ame. The poltergeist shrieked and yelled as it lunged at Ray, baring its bloody teeth. Ray quickly dodges the hit, as he falls on his back he turns the gun to full power.

Peter started singing 'why can't we be friends' under his breath while he leaned back, trying to control the poltergeist's movement. “Almost got it” Winston added with a grunt as he and Egon shielded the way that led to my direction, I quickly turned mine. Now all five streams were tangled on the poltergeist.

“N/n, get the trap!” Winston shouted, I turned my gun off and went after it. I got it and sat on the ground before sliding it on the ground to the boys.

Just seconds later the poltergeist breaks free from the stream and rushes towards Ray and Peter, they both immediately ducked, making the poltergeist miss them. Ray jumped back to his feet and pulled out one of the hand held proton guns and shot the poltergeist as it charged towards my direction.

The poltergeist shrieks and flies around like the Tasmanian devil. It pushes through the pain and lunges out of the stream before charging at me, claws bared. I pulled out the same gun Ray used, before I could pull the trigger the poltergeist’s huge claws slash down missing me just by a hair after I quickly dodged it. The poltergeist swang again and this time it left four brutal gashes from my right breast down to my stomach, these scratches were deep and painful, it made me gag. I felt the blood leak out at a thicker pace, the nauseating pain shouts through my entire anatomy. The sight of four diagonal gashes on my jumpsuit nearly knocks me over in a fit of panic.

“y/n!” I heard Egon shout, I coughed due to the taste of blood and felt my knees buckle. Before I could hit the broken tile floor Egon caught me.

“OVER HERE YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Peter shouted, the poltergeist wiped around with a hiss and charged towards Peter and Winston, claws out.

—(3rd pov)---

“Egon” she coughed, she desperately tried to swallow and clear the irony taste of blood on her tongue. Egon felt her gentle hands weakly cling to him as he sank to the ground, he fell to his knees and held her in his lap. Egon felt his throat constrict, every organ in his stomach twist and turned, he was unable to breathe as he stared at her battered body.

“she's loosing too much blood, control the bleeding” his mind races. There's so much blood and she's dying, no he couldn't think like that.

The poltergeist turns its attention to Peter in the distance, as Egon puts pressure on her cuts. His panic only ensues as the blood wouldn't let up, his freezes as she locks eyes with him.

“Egon…” she reached up and placed her hand on his cheek, it limply slid down smearing a red hand print on his cheek.

“Shh… Just stay with me, please” he said, stumbling over his words as he ripped the fabric of your pants leg to keep the blood from flowing out of the wounds.

The blood kept flowing and this time he didn't know what to do, he was now absolutely immobilized with fear.

“Ray!” Egon shouts. “Ray, help me!” Ray whips around, his eyes widened as he sees his best friend bleeding out in Egon's arms. Ray sprints over to them and drops to his knees. “Oh God, y-you're gonna be okay N/n, okay” He said placing his hand on her cheek then quickly grabbing the first-aid kit that was strapped to his proton pack, they added it years ago after Peter almost got castrated by class IV spirit.

Ray quickly tears open a package of gause with his teeth and places it over her chest. “Okay, I'm gonna lift her up and you need to wrap her. '' Ray looked up and saw Egon trembling and not moving, Ray pushed his shoulder while he fought his own tears. “Egon! She needs you right now”

Egon quickly shook his head and fumbled with the med-tape, Ray gently lifted her torso up while her arms limply held on to his neck. Egon tries desperately to concentrate enough as he wraps med-tape around her torso tightly.

Ray looked up, shaking his head desperately. “W-we need to call 911, this isn't gonna help her”

“Hey, Darling, I need you to stay with us. Stay with me,” His voice quivers with fear as he tightens the wrap on her chest, after he was done Ray gently layed her back in Egon's lap. “You’re gonna be alright. Just keep breathing.”

The three are drenched in her blood, Egon looks down and gulps when he sees that his hands are nothing but pure red from her blood. Everything Is drenched in her blood, Ray's jumpsuit, Egon's entire body, everything was just red.

In the distance, Peter and Winston are fighting the poltergeist. Winston stepped back and whipped the stream back to try and weaken the ghost, for a split second Winston wondered where the rest of his team was. He made the mistake and looked back.

“Y/N!” he shouted in anguish. Just out of instinct and pure love for the girl he dropped the stream and ran to her.

“oh my god” he placed his hand over his mouth when he saw all the blood. His stomach couldn't take it and he turned away and vomited out everything he had in his stomach.

“Winston, get on the radio and call for an ambulance” Ray said in a shaky voice, Winston wiped his mouth and ran out to Ecto-1. You could hear his voice from the distance and as he barked orders with a shaky voice. He came running back into the building seconds later.

“we got about 30 minutes give or take” Winston said as his nausea came bubbling back at the sight over drenched in red and unresponsive.

“GOD DAMMIT! WHERE ARE IDIOTS DOING!” Peter shouted over the proton stream and the screams of the poltergeist, he was totally unaware of the bloodbath the woman he considered a sister was setting in.

The screams of the poltergeist only got louder but Peter had no problem shouting over them in anger. “WINSTON! QUIT JERKING OFF AND GET OVER HERE!”

Winston did snap out of it and the nausea was replaced by pure rage. “this just got personal you bastard” he was at Peter's side in seconds turning his proton pack back on.

Peter tosses the trap under the area the poltergeist was floating and jerking around.

Their streams knotted around the thrashing ghost, struggling to contain it as Peter avoids looking in there direction, deep down he knew something was wrong but he was too pissed because he was ditched.

“Egon! Guys! Snap out of it, bud! I really need your help here!” Peter and Winston were both drenched in sweat and slime as they started to lose their balance.

“YOU GO STRAIGHT BACK TO HELL YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Winston yelled as his boots started sliding across the concrete.

“Damit! Hang on Winny” Peter said, pulling his arms back but the poltergeist jumped back, pulling harder.

“Goddamnit! Spengler! Ray! get off your asses and help!” Peter shouted, he was still oblivious to what was going on in the distance.

Egon's watery eyes darted up and stared at Peter and Winston. Egon stayed completely still, eyes wide and fearful as his big brain refused to process what Peter was saying.

As Winston ramps up his stream to full power light cast over everything, Peter looked over his shoulder about to yell at Egon and Ray but his words got caught in his throat when the light of the proton stream shined on Egon and Y/n.

“You gotta be shitting me” Peter grunts and slams his foot on the trigger pedal, then yanks the weakened ghost towards the glowing trap. The poltergeist shrieks in pain as it's sucked in and the ghost disappears.

The trap shuts and Winston drops his gun immediately, he runs back to Egon, Ray, and y/n. “Oh God, honey” he whispered as he took her limp hand.

Winston tried to take her into his arms but Egon just shot him a treating look and held her tighter. Peter was still trying to catch his breath, he was dubbed over with his hands on his knees. He breathed in and out until his lungs were ready for him to function correctly, he set up straight and looked towards his team.

He felt nothing but fear and anger when he saw her. His jaw clenched. “DAMIT” He shouts and kicks the trap across the asphalt. It clatters along the ground and crashes into the brick wall, he's lucky it didn't shatter everywhere.

Tears pricked his eyes as he got down on one knee next to Egon, like Winston he reached for the girl. Egon flinched back and held her closer still trying to stop the bleeding. Damn… She's lost so much.

“You touch her, I'll kill you” he said with tears streaming down his face. “this is all my fault” he sobbed into her hair.

For a moment Peter stood there shocked, he's never seen the doctor cry. Hell he's never seen Egon show any type of emotion until y/n showed up into their lives.

Egon only cried harder when the sounds of sirens was heard and ambulance lights flashed through the broken windows.

“We got you Honey” Winston whispered as he, and the other three boys gently lifted her up and met the paramedics outside.

The paramedics drove off seconds later driving like a bat out of hell trying to get to the hospital. When the sirens died down Peter felt his anger bubble over like an over filled boiling pot, hot and aggressive. He turns to

He then turns to Egon and seizes Egon by the lapels of his jumpsuit. Despite the Height difference, Peter was able to harshly slam the taller man into the side of the mansion. Egon winced in pain when his back hit the brick wall. Sure it hurt, but it wasn't as painful as it was to see y/n covered in blood. “What the fuck is your problem?! Huh?! Do you want her to die! Is that what you want!” Peter shouted as he jerked Egon forward and slammed him into the wall again, his glass fell lose hanging down on tip of his nose.

“Peter” Ray croaked out, he was ignored while Peter let out all his anger.

“You love her huh?! Could have fooled me. You just let that damn thing destroy her insides!” he threw a punch this time, Egon fell to the ground as Winston and Ray pulled them away from each other. Egon sinks to the ground. His throat constricts, he's unable to breathe as tonight events flashed in his mind on repeat.

“It's no one's fault!” Ray shouted as he placed his hand on Peter's chest and pushed him backwards. “Tonight was an accident! A terrible, terrible accident!”

“Do you think she would have wanted us to tear each other apart over her?” Winston asked, kneeling down to help Egon up. “I could have happened to any of us”

Peter clenched his fist. “but it's not supposed to happen to her! Our job is not only to get rid of the ghost but to keep her safe too!”

Tears spill down Peter’s face as his rage melts into pure sorrow and he falls to his knees next to Ray. Peter screws his eyes shut as he busts into uncontrollable sobs, Ray put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

After the team got done grieving and losing their shit, they loaded Ecto-1 up. Egon was silently sitting on the curb, back to his usual unemotional self. It killed Ray to see him so blank again, but then again he could see every ounce of pain that Egon was feeling.

Ray came up to egon and smiled softly. “I got a call from one of the nurses, y/n is still in surgery but they have high hopes she'll pull through… she had a blood transfusion too”

Egon didn't say anything, only slightly nodded and picked at the fabric of his jumpsuit. Ray sighed and rubbed his shoulder. “let's get cleaned up and we'll go see her”

Egon didn't move, Ray sighed and tugged him up. “come on buddy”

As Ray lifed egon up a pair of head lights appeared, it was Dana. Ray smiled at her softly as she got out of the car quietly, Oscar was fast asleep on his car seat.

“oh no” she whispered. Ray didn't say anything and told her to take Peter back to their apartment.

Dana silently and gently got Peter in the back seat of her car, he immediately gave Oscar and gentle hug and kiss his forehead. Dana shut the door and pulled Ray and Egon into a tight hug, not caring they were covered in blood and filth.

“get home safe and keep me updated with Y/n” she whispered and kissed Egon on the cheek. She got in the car and took her boys home. Winston sighed and walked over to be with his friends. “everything is loaded up”

Ray sighed and rubbed his forehead, it's been and long night and he never wants to live anything similar to this in the future at any given moment. He gripped Egon's shoulder and the three piled into Ecto-1 without another word, Winston drove since he was the only one who felt 'okay' to drive at the moment.

~at the Firehouse~

When the boys got home they silently put their equipment away and separated, Winston grabed his car keys and started his journey to the hospital while Egon and Ray went upstairs to clean up.

As Egon walked through the pitch black bedroom he couldn't help but brush his fingers over the bed she slept in, it was the nicest in the room, draped in soft blankets and fluffy pillows. It was always made nice and had a panda bear plushie Ray gave her long ago.

Egon let out a tired sigh and continued his journey to the shower room, since their home was an old fire house there was dozen shower heads in the room and they all had privacy cubicles and harsh forlecent lights.

Egon looked down at studyed his curnt state, covered in the blood of the woman he loves, he continues to question himself why he didn't just tell her when he had the chance. Egon agressevelly tries to break free of confines of the jumpsuit, it felt too constricting now. He ripped it off, breaking the zipper in the process.

Egon slames the ruby stained clothing to the bottom of the trash can, jumpsuit and all, and turns on the shower to it's hottest Temperature. After taking off his bent up glasses, he steps in and watches the first layer her blood run off of his body and fall down the drain. He opens his eyes and staired at his hands, the blood was still there. His chest heaves in panic as he scrubbed his hands raw. They were a hint of pink from the blood and so was his chest, he couldn't get the blood off. Dispite the scolding water a shiver went down his spine as he slumped against the cubicle wall.

“the blood…” he croaked out to Ray after he got out of the shower, he stood in front of Ray holding his shaky hands out infront of him. Ray looked up and saw his pink hands and since egon only put a pair of pajama pants on he saw his chest was stained with blood as well. “it won't come off Ray”

Ray didn't know what to say, he stood up and gave him a hug. “you should get some rest” he whispered, Egon flinched out of his arms and looked at Ray like he had three heads. “We're supposed go to the hospital”

Ray took a deep breath. “Egon your exhausted, scared… I promise we'll go in the morning, Winston is in the hospital waiting room as we speak”

Egon didn't protest so Ray went to take his turn in the shower. “I need to know if it's possible that two people can stay happy together forever.” Egon said softly.

Ray turned around and shrugged, he gave him a serious look and said, “in my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are”

Egon nodded soulfully, “I just wish I had the brain capacity to tell her I loved her”

“It's not about brain capacity, but if you ask me y/n loves you for who you are” Ray said as he left to take his shower Egon's eyes trailed back to y/n's bed. The warmth of it and hint of her perfume beckoned him over. He silently crawled under her soft blankets and holds her stuffed bear to his chest. He buried his face into it and let the tears fall freely when her sent fully engolfed him.

He felt so exhausted but couldn't bring himself to go to sleep. Instead, he stares blankly at her night stand. It was small and neatly cluttered, it had small desk lamp she painted flowers on it and copy of The Outsiders and To kill a mockingbird. Next to the novels was a small picture frame that held a photo with all five of them. In the photo they were all standing infront of Ecto-1, y/n was setting on the hood while Ray and Egon set on either side of her. She hand her arms around the both of them while Peter stood next to Ray holding up devil horns and Winston stood next to Egon with his big goofy smile. Those boys ment everything to her.

Even with all the joyful things on her desk he could be looking at, his eyes just stared at the red telaphone was was in the open nightstand drawer, he waited for a call.. A call from anyone to tell him she was okay. He didn't know when he fell asleep, but when his eyes closed they didn't opened back up. When Ray got out of the shower(blood stained like Egon) Egon was fast asleep.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

It was barely 6 o'clock in the morning when Egon woke Ray up so they could go to the hospital. Sun was barely up when Ecto-1 drove down the partly empty street, the city wasn't even awake yet. The car was completely silent, the only sounds was Ray's loud yawns as he silently drove down the street.

Egon just wanted to see you, the hospital probably wasn't even opened yet but that didn't matter. By the time the hospital comes into view, the sky was a mixture of purples and orange as the sun slowly peaked from behind the tall buildings of new York.

The two men were completely ignored when the walked into the hospital, the nurse who was at the front desk let them pass by as she fought to stay awake during her shift. The two men went into the waiting room and saw Winston and Peter fast asleep, they were both in the uncomfortable chairs snoring away. Winston had his arms crossed over his chest and his legs were propped up on the tiny coffee table, Peter had his head tilted back and was using his coat as a blanket.

“I'm gonna find y/n's room” Egon said bluntly and left Ray with the snoring men, Ray sighed and just slumped on the couch that felt like it was made of bricks and plastic, it didn't matter how uncomfortable it was because he was out like a light again.

Egon walked down the quiet hallway, it was deserted and there was no night shifters in sight to kick him out. He didn't relize how nervous he was until his hands touched the door knob of her room, his fingers flinched away as he feared the worst. He didn't want to see her all battered up with wires sticking out of her, he only hope she was just resting peaceful on the other side of the door.

He gently knocked and peaked behind the door, he sighed when he saw her peaceful sleeping with a dopey Black dog plushie. Winston got it for her no doubt. Not wanting to wake her, he silently pulled a chair next to her bed the pulled her cold hand to his lips, he kissed it softly then gently held it.

Y/n shifted softly, the sudden movement make Egon fully alert.

“hi…” she smiled softly, he sighed in relief and rested his forehead on her leg. She tilted her head and gently brushed her cold fingers through his curls, the contact made his wall suddenly crumble. Tears of both gult and relief soaked her blanket. “I'm sorry… S-so sorry”

“Eggie… It's okay… Egon Everything is okay now” she cood. It was the first time ever she's seen him cry and she held no judgment. The only judgment was the one he was pushing on himself. “this is all my fault… I'm sorry”

“it's not your fault Egon…We're both safe now” y/n rested her hand on his cheek and he immediately nuzzled his face closer basking In her touch. His hand rested on top of hers and kissed her palm. “I love you”

The statement took her by surprise, but she wasn't disappointed. Egon didn't know how long she's been waiting to hear that and if she wasn't hurting and looking like a Freddy Kruger victim, she's be jumping into his arms or dancing around.

She smiled and pulled him closer, he got the message and leaned over to her making sure he didn't put any of his wight on her aching body. Their lips brushed up against each and this time there was no interruptions. The kiss was so gentle and held so much passion, he kissed her like it was the last time he'd every be able to do it. He pulled away and rested his forehead on hers.

She smiled softly. “I love you in every universe”

#Egon spengler #egon spengler x reader #Egon spengler imagines #harold ramis #Ghostbusters imagines #Ghostbusters x reader #80s

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vanillanaps · 7 months

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Second Place | Dean Winchester

Request - Can I request an angsty spn imagine where Sam is in love with deans gf but she definitely only sees him as a friend/brother because she is head over heels for dean?

A/n - I normally don’t write about love triangles because I don't like them so this was definitely out of my area of expertise. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless and it's angsty enough for you!

Category - Dean Winchester x Reader, Angst

Warnings - Pinning on sams end, fluff for reader and dean, kind of told through sam's pov, my first dean\spn fic so be nice, not proof read as always, thamk :p

Word Count - 1.3k

♡♡♡♡

There was never a time in Sam’s life when he didn’t come second place to his brother. That just came with the territory of being the little brother to Dean Winchester. The man who could get anything, everything and whoever he wanted with just a single look. After a while, he didn’t mind it though. He accepted his fate and made peace with it, but the one thing he could never let go of was coming in second place to Dean when it came to You.

The three of you had been as thick as thieves growing up. Your father and John Winchester had been best friends and hunting buddies, so naturally the three of you were always together. Your father would leave you with Sam and Dean as he and John went off hunting for the night. You being older than Sam, yet younger than Dean, naturally you clicked with Sam a little more during the young stages. Preferring to hang with him as Dean had grown more off putting and to himself, that's when Sam’s crush started on you. He loved that you were the one person who put him above Dean.

It was movie night? You’d choose to sit next to Sam and share your snacks with him. Long car rides in the back of the impala? Naturally, your head would fall over onto Sam’s shoulder as you slept. Starting new schools together? You’d cling more to Sam’s side as you were shy and nervous. Feeling as if he’d be the one to shun you from all those wondering eyes. Never once did Sam have the courage to speak up about his feelings towards you. Assuming that if he did and you didn’t feel the same, your bond would be ruined and you wouldn’t be his best friend anymore. Maybe he could live with just knowing that you’d put him first–until you didn’t.

It was your 17th birthday when everything changed. It had just been the three of you, sitting at the small hotel table with a cake and candles Dean had stolen from a nearby grocery store. You had hoped that your dad and John had made it back in time to celebrate, but they didn’t. So Sam and Dean took it into their own hands to cheer you up. They sat and sang happy birthday to you, loudly and obnoxiously to get you to smile.

“Thanks guys.” You smiled softly. You gave Sam your usual best friend hug. Your arms wrapped around his waist and his arms went around your shoulders. Only lasting for a moment, he always wished they lasted longer. But then you went to hug Dean. Sam’s heart dropped at the small difference in the hug. It was your arms around his neck, and Dean’s arms around your waist. A small rock was added as Dean’s arms loosened and lowered a bit more than Sam preferred. He watched as Dean whispered something in your ear, causing you to smile and hide your face into his neck.

It was then that Sam knew he was once again placed second to Dean, in the one way he wished, he hoped, would never happen.

YEARS LATER

The hotel room was thrown open as the three of you walked into the door. Defeat written all over your faces. Tonight, a hunt went terribly wrong. The person you had been trying to save had ended up losing their life anyways. Of course you knew that you couldn't save everyone, but nonetheless did it bother you when the creatures of the night won.

“I’ll get the kit.” You mumbled, after making sure Dean had gotten to the bed. He had been hurt the worst tonight, throwing himself in the line of fire.

Sam sat on his bed, watching you move about the room gathering the supplies you needed to tend to Dean’s wounds. Sam was hurt too and he’d known you’d get to him eventually, but even all these years laters, he was wishing that he was first on your patch up list. He sat with envy in his eyes, as you worked on Dean’s wounds. Hating the hushed whispers between the two of you that he couldn’t hear. It should've been him making you laugh in your saddest moments. Truthfully, he held resentment towards Dean for taking his best friend, his life long crush from him without a second thought.

“Sam?” You called to him, pulling him from his thoughts, “You okay?”

Clearing his throat, he sat up and nodded, “Yeah, yeah, I'm okay.”

You gave him a soft smile, sitting down in front of him, “ ‘Kay, let's clean that wound, yeah? I think you only need a butterfly band-aid.”

He nodded, letting you get to work on his small forehead wound that he could've cleaned himself, but he loved when you did it. He tried his hardest not to stare you in your face, but he couldn’t help but notice your beauty. Even with all the dirt and sweat on it from the previous couple hours. To Sam, you never have a bad day. To Sam, you were the most beautiful woman in the world and he was pissed that he missed his chance with you. Maybe, just maybe had he not let his thoughts get the best of him when he was younger, you’d be his and not his brothers.

“What’s on your mind, Sammy?” You asked him with concern laced in your voice.

Sam’s green eyes glanced around the room, Dean not in sight, before they met yours. Was this his chance? Would he be able to redeem himself and spill his true feelings to you? How would you feel? Did you feel the same? Would you leave Dean and be with him like he truly felt like should've been since day one?

“Y/n..” Sam started, his heart beating out of his chest as he was getting ready to spill his feelings out to you, “I’ve been wanting to tell you this for years.”

Your eyebrows jumped in curiosity, wondering what the hell Sam could have been keeping from you for years. Yet, as soon as Sam went to spill his guts, the hotel room door had opened again and Dean reentered the room.

“Got some more towels, we’ll need them.” He stopped in his tracks, looking over at the two of you, eyebrows furrowed, “Am I interruptin’?”

You looked back over at Sam, who now had an unreadable expression on his face, “Sam?”

His eyes shot back and forth between you and Dean before he swallowed his words, clearing his throat with the shake of his head, “No, no, I–uh, I was just gonna say thank you. For everything you do for me—and Dean.”

You smiled widely, “Oh, of course, Sammy. You’re like a little brother to me.”

At that moment, Sam could swear that he actually felt his heart shatter into pieces. Y/n’s words had crushed any hopes he had of her feeling the same about him. A brother, a little brother is what he’d always be to her.

He watched as she got up, making her way over to Dean, taking the towels from him, but not before she leaned up on her tippy-toes to give Dean a kiss. In Dean fashion, he wrapped his arm around her waist and leaned into it, deepening the kiss as if it was the last time he’d kiss her. Pulling away the couple whispered a plethora of ‘i love you’ and ‘i love you more’ before Y/n wandered to the bathroom so she could be the first to wash tonight off of her.

“Yo,” Dean called, cracking open two beers and passing one to Sam, “You good?”

Forcing a thin smile on his face, he accepted the beer, taking a long swig of it, cringing at the stale taste of it, “I’m great.”

Sam Winchester, always coming in second place.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester angst #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester fic #sam winchester imagine #spn fic

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shimkongzlove · 4 months

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Ryouhei x reader

A/N - loved windbreaker but I couldn't find many fics related to it so I decided to write one on my own . It is terribly written with a bunch of spelling mistakes and a basic plot. Read at your own risk ❌️❌️

Warning- mention of blood , violence , a bit of angst , sexual themes ( ig that's it )

You were working as an intern in the xyz hospital ( choose any name u like ) for your winter break . U loved working there , the staff was sweet and u received a good pay . But there were a lot of things which dint particularly suit your liking ,first and foremost it was situated in a rather shady area , the patients who came there during ur night shift were let's just say interesting .

Night shifts were something that u did not enjoy even hated to a certain level . They were tiring, boring and deprived you off of sleep . Yet what was important had to be done

4:30 am

A cold gush of winds welcomed u as u exited the hospital . The walk home was rather quite until u heard grunting from a nearby alley . Normally u would have ignored it but today u were feeling rather curious

U peeked into the alley way only to find a man surrounded by blood , lying on the cold floor . U stood there Debating whether to help the man or not and atlast ur heart won over ur mind .

U made your way to him cursing yourself for even stopping in the first place . Kneeling down next to him u observed his features . He was handsome no he was hot as fuck , the scar running down his face Made it 100 times better maybe it wasn't that bad of a decision to stop

While u were in your little dream land the man in question had regained his consciousness, his instinct led his hand to your wrist breaking u away from your thoughts .

The panic started to set in 'fuck he's awake man I hate my self for this ' , " who are you " said the stranger in question not letting go of your wrist which was starting to hurt " you're hurting me let go , please " ur plee fell on deff ears " I'm a doctor ur bleeding profusely if we don't sto-" ur words were cut short by the man pulling u closer "I asked who the fuck are you " he asked once again ignoring ur words . His deep voice sent shivers down ur body , ur face was just inches away frm his " si-sir I'm y/n , I can help you , your wounds look deep we have to stop the bleeding "

"I'm fine " he said letting go of your wrist " don't need help frm a complete stranger " "sir pls these wounds look serious I promise I mean no harm " as much as u hated the man's attitude u were still a doctor by profession it was your duty to help those in need

"My house is just 5 minutes away from here I can help stop ur bleeding and then we can both go our separate ways forgetting this ever happened deal " before he could argue his body gave up and he fell right into your arms

'Fuck he's heavy ' u somehow managed to drag him to your apartment . U laid his body down on your bed and started collecting all the medical supplys needed for the treatment .

Ryouhei's pov - 'man does my head hurt ' regaing back his consciousness he started to realize that he was not in an alley fighting people but rather he was lying on a bed one that was not his , his vision was still quite blurry from the hit he had taken , realizing he could not do much in his state he layed there accepting his faith

"Oh, ur awake I was just collecting the medical supplies needed for your treatment " "where am i" he said once again ignoring u " ur at my house, I promised I won't harm u so rest assured" u said walking closer to him " I dint quite catch ur name " " ryouhei " he said In an uninterested tone " well ryouhei-san you'll need to take of your um... clothes for me to help you..." u said as blood creeped up to your cheeks

He adhered to your request without any further question . He had a well toned body with a few cuts and scratches here and there . U caught urself staring a little more then needed, face as red as a tomato "take a pic it'll last longer " were the words that broke ur train of thoughts u felt an ache between ur legs ' this is so unprofessional, but man he's so hot ' "so-sorry, ehh anyways I'll start your treatment it's gonna sting a little so try not to move that much k?"

Sitting next to him on your bed u started your treatment , u felt him shiver under your touch "why are u doing this " he asked " I'm a doctor, it's my duty to help those in need " ur words sounded sincere to him " I'm a bad guy ukw that right " " I'm just here for the intern ship , i dont know the dirty business that goes around here " u said eyes still on his wounds , somehow u dint feel scared by his declaration , his hands went to your waist pulling ur body even more closer to his , stopping ur movements " everyone here knows who I am , many are scared to even approach I could do anything to you and ppl won't even bat an eye "

"U could have harmed me the moment you woke up yet here we are , so ik u won't do anything to me , atleast that's what I'd like to believe " " tch, ur way too confident " u decided not to reply , the time after that passed by silently

After about 15 or 20 minutes u were done putting bandages on his chest, arms and shoulders there were still a few cuts and scratches on his back so u asked him to turn around . He was now laying on his back

The spots were hard to treat because of the position u both were In , the only best possible way for u to reach them was to sit on his back "ryouhei-san ...the wounds on your back are kind of hard to reach so I'll need to change my position to treat them " " do whatever u want"

So u did what u had to , your theigs were now on either side of his body ( u were wearing shorts) touching his bare back.

Ryouheis pov

He was going crazy , the feeling of your theigs deff caused him to get a hard on not only that ,since the moment he met u . He was doomed. U were so pretty ,ur skin shining in the moon light, ur sweet voice, ur scent everything about u was intoxicating he couldn't take it much longer

He turned around causing u to yelp and hold on to his shoulders for support u were now basically straddling him " ur driving me nuts " "what did I d-" before u could finish , u felt smth poking ur inner thigh "oh" " yea feel that , that's what u did , you gotta help me now babe "

The end

( this is sooo poorly written 👎 but I had to to justice to my man ryouhei , there are barely any fics about him 😭😭 lemme know if yall want a pt2 )

( ps- this is the first fic iv ever written so please go easy on me and I hope yall enjoyed it)

#windbreaker #jay jo x reader #ryohei windbreaker #kazuma crew #windbreaker webtoon #windbreaker headcanon #windbreaker x reader #jay jo

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lostcauses-noregrets · 14 days

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Why is the answer always "Levi said this Levi did this" whenever one asks about the signs of Eruri in canon? Levi's side is pretty clear, but every time I talk to an Eruri and I ask "but why do you think Erwin loved Levi" the answer is very long but it's mostly empty and just "I am sure he did" or "but Levi loved him so Eruri is canon". Sorry this isn't a "hehehe your ship is one sided it's not canon" type of question. It's more of a writing-wise question, since you are a writer yourself I thought you'd give the best answer to this.

I am wondering, is this because of lack of Erwin's pov in aot manga or anime? I know Erwin is important and plays an important role and story revolves around him in s3 p2 and all that but when you look at the bigger picture he's mostly just there. He's in the story but you don't see his pov. We don't get to see the inside of his head until the end. Is this why "does Erwin love Levi" question is a hot topic in aot fandom always? Or are there any side stories like smartpass aus that suggest Erwin had feelings for Levi? I'm sorry I don't know those very well I only know the manga and the anime.

Lastly, I am sure you answered this before but my question is very specific, do you actually believe it was mutual? After all it's fiction and you don't need their love to be mutual to ship them. People ship characters who barely interact. It's what fandom is and that's totally normal and valid. I guess I am wondering if you ever doubted, th ship or even yourself which I do a lot (in a "oh I love this so much and I read so much fics I made myself believe" way) Thanks I hope this doesn't sound rude or offensive, my English isn't very good so if I sound rude that must be it it's not my intention :)

Ooof there’s a lot of different questions here but I think they boil down to the following:

Are Erwin and Levi’s feelings for each other mutual? / Does Erwin reciprocate Levi’s feelings?

Why do people question Erwin’s relationship to Levi?

Do I personally believe their relationship was mutual, and have ever “doubted the ship”?

I’ve answered the first question many, many times over the years. You can read all my various answers here. In short I do think that Erwin reciprocated Levi’s feelings and I think the evidence is there in the manga, the official guidebooks, the Smartpass stories, and the side content for anyone who cares to see it. I’m not going to list all the side content here, but there’s a very old post by @erbeansandravioli that links to a lot of it: Eruri receipts.

As to why people question Erwin’s relationship to Levi, well that’s an interesting one. Some people clearly just don’t get Erwin’s character (see the previous ask I just answered), they don’t understand his role in the plot or the significance of his relationship to Levi. For example I’ve seen people arguing passionately that Levi’s vow had nothing to do with Erwin, which is just mind boggling to me. It’s certainly true that Erwin is a much harder character to read than Levi who very much wears his heart on his sleeve. Erwin is more reserved, and holds his cards closer to his chest. However the fact that Levi is the only one who he reveals his true self to is significant. Daisuke Ono put it beautifully when he said in an interview that the amplitude of Erwin’s feelings is so great that it can be hard to see.

It could also be that some, perhaps younger, readers just don’t recognise their relationship for what it is. It’s certainly not a typical shounen romance, but it is a deeply believable adult relationship; one that is based on mutual trust, respect and understanding. This is from a previous ask I answered on the subject:

It frustrates me enormously when people deny their canon relationship, despite Yams being at paints to explain it repeatedly in the guidebooks. I want to shake them and ask what the hell they think a relationship looks like when you’re an exhausted 30 + year old war veteran who has spent their entire life fighting for survival. It looks like this; finding someone who you can trust with your life. If you were to ask me what characterizes a successful adult relationship I would say it’s exactly this; mutual trust, respect and understanding, and when push comes to shove, the willingness to do everything in your power to help the person you hold most dear, even if that means letting them go.

And as to whether I’ve ever doubted the ship, the answer to that would be no, never. Sure we’ve never seen them swear undying love in canon (though some would argue with that and point to Erwin’s "Arigatō Levi".) I wrote this in response to an ask about Eruri canonicity:

Do you mean that you don’t believe they’re canon because we never see them kiss? Because they never marry? Because the main focus of the story isn’t romance? All those things are true, but in my opinion, they’re also not the only things that make a relationship canon. Particularly when that relationship is between two war-weary 30 year old men who have been fighting for survival almost their entire lives. The irony is that, in some ways, Erwin and Levi’s relationship is actually quite conventional. They really do behave a bit like an old married couple. They have a long standing relationship that has matured over many years, they have their own weird sense of humour, they’re not afraid to challenge each other, but they care about one another deeply, and they also trust each other unconditionally. That’s all the canon evidence I need tbh.

Having said that, you are absolutely right that you don’t need any canon evidence to ship a couple. Hell, I’ve had great fun written Hanji and Petra as a side ship and I don’t think they ever even interacted in canon. In Erwin and Levi’s case though there is more than enough evidence in canon to attest to the significance of their relationship.

Hope this answers your questions.

#asks #eruri #eruri relationship #erwin smith #erwin meta #snk

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drawingdroid · 5 months

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The Unknown Regions IV

A Din Djarin x Fem Plus Size Reader Fic

Summary: You, a soft astrophysicist, meet the hardened Mandalorian in less-than-ideal circumstances. Your abilities will lead to you crossing the galaxy together in search of his green son.

Read Chapter 1 | Read Chapter 2 | Read Chapter 3

This chapter is rated +18! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: Expect conversations about weight, body dysmorphia and internalised fatphobia that may be triggering, so read at your own discretion; reader is AFAB and user she/her pronouns; no use of y/n; smut; the bucket stays on; naked female clothed male; hurt and comfort; Sad Din :(

Word count: 3,745

A/N: Din and you have a misunderstanding and actually talk openly about it like ADULTS! I love fiction!!! Finally, smut is here dear readers, I hope you enjoy it. I've struggled like crazy to write this chapter bc smut felt forced and I wanted a smoooth transition. I am not super happy with the result, but hey, I need to know when to let go. I've been thinking this would be interesting from Din's pov too, lemme know what you think. And yes, I know I don't respond to any comments I love reading them but anxiety kills me when I hit reply! I'm so sorry!!!

🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐

You were so focused on your calculations that you didn't notice Din observing you. Leaning against the doorframe casually, the bounty hunter had his gaze fixated on you. He was stealthy for such a big man, so when his gloved hand gently touched your shoulder your heart skipped a beat.

“¡Mando!” You jumped from your seat. He immediately retrieved his touch as if he had been burnt.

“Sorry I…I didn't want to startle you.”

He looked so uncomfortable right now you felt bad for him. Well, had seemed uncomfortable around you for the two weeks you had been travelling together, so that wasn’t new. You were sure your presence around the ship had prevented him from relaxing at all. It was normal, its size had you clashing with each other all the time and it didn’t provide any privacy. And the Razor Crest, you have learnt, was also his home. Well, his and Grogu's.

He told you about the little one a night he was being especially silent. The moon you had stopped at looked inhabited and arid. He commented it was similar to Arvala-7, the planet where he found the child. After that, you listened while he spoke about how he met his son. His beautiful voice was full of pain and you ended up offering your hand for relief and support. He was hesitant but ended up accepting your warm touch.

Since then, casual physical contact had been a constant between you. With the days passing, you grew bolder with it, no longer squishing yourself to prevent your bodies from touching in the tight space of the Crest, and more like rubbing your plush body against his armour. A friendly hand on his shoulder, his on the small of your back. Therere were brief moments that made your heart flutter at the contact.

The truth was that living together had only made your initial attraction to him grow: observing such a mighty warrior performing the little tasks of day-to-day life was somewhat endearing. The things you could learn about someone just by looking at them at their little routines were incredible. You realized he was a methodical, goal-oriented man, and although he looked serious he did things like speaking with his ship when you wouldn't notice. He was also very caring, not only about Grogu but also his covert, the name he used to refer to the other Mandalorians he lived among. And he had the highest respect for his culture and his creed, something you really admired about him. Every day, you hoped he admired you back, too.

“Don’t worry about it, I tend to become so self-absorbed when I work I forget my surroundings.” You fidgeted nervously with your hair, feeling the burn of his gaze, until his visor shifted to the nav system. “Oh, I calculated the coordinates for the final jump and double-checked them. It’ll take around 30 standard hours to arrive there.”

Since you were travelling towards uncharted space, you couldn’t just jump to the planet, even though you knew the coordinates it was reckless without knowing the obstacles you could possibly meet, so it was more sensible to do it on shorter jumps.

“Let me check.” Mando leaned towards the console, supporting himself in his strong arms. You hoped your gasp at his sudden closeness wasn’t too audible.

“Are you doubting my calculations?” You meant to sound sassy but your voice came shaky. He was too close, hovering over you while checking the route. If your body wasn’t covered due to the cold of outer space, he could have noticed the goosebumps his proximity provoked.

“You can't drive a ship.” He deadpanned. You didn't feel bad about his affirmation, it was a fact. You had never had the opportunity to learn.

“I know my numbers, Mando.” You retorted, confident in your ability. He stared at you while you tried to remain unbothered. The truth was that the banter and his physical closeness had you a little flushed. His gaze finally left you to resume checking the panel and you rolled your eyes, although you understood his doubts. After all, his child and his ship were at stake

“This is flawless.” He admitted after a while, turning his helmet to you again.”Good job.” You opened your eyes widely at the praise and observed his muscular frame towering over you. His beskar looked beautiful, reflecting the starry space. He looked beautiful.

“I’m happy to help in any way I can.” You responded in a small voice, swallowing hard.

Neither of you moved for a while and you sighed involuntarily. With how close you were, you could just lean on him as you had been longing to do. To be embraced by his big arms. He sighed, his visor not leaving your frame. You wondered if he felt the pull too. He had to. The magnetic field was just too strong.

“Mando…” He shifted his position, coming even closer to you. You could observe your doe-eyed reflection in his Beskar helmet. He raised his gloved hand and reached for your round shoulder again. This time his touch was gentler than ever and his orange thumb caressed your clothed skin. Mouth dry, you wondered what would his next step be.

“I need…my seat to make the jump.”

The spell broke. Your brain was not computing. You swore you could die right there from the embarrassment. Of course, you were sitting on the pilot's chair. He only wanted your fat ass to move. And you thought you were having a moment. What an idiot, fantasizing about embracing him or whatever, when he only wanted to resume the trip to get to his son as soon as possible.

Clumsily, you stood up, your face hot with embarrassment. Inevitably, your bodies rubbed in the tiny space. You were a big woman, he was practically on you and the cockpit wasn’t precisely ample.

“Of course.”

The feeling was all-consuming and you rushed towards the sliding door, abandoning the cockpit in a heartbeat. You couldn’t see how a very confused Mando observed you leaving, asking himself how he had offended you.

Tears of embarrassment stained your cheeks when you managed to curl inside the bunk. Mando had been so kind to let you sleep there, and you had been loving it. The first night you couldn't help yourself and used your fingers to make you cum three times. His masculine fragrance was everywhere. It was like being embraced by him and your imagination was an overactive one.

But now, having his scent kriffing everywhere wasn’t helping to deflect the feeling of rejection that had taken you. Why were you being like this? Of course, it wasn’t the first time you were turned down. Or the tenth. By now, you should be used to it. But nevertheless, it hurt a lot.

All your life, you were always the clever, bright friend. The daughter who didn’t cause trouble. The gentle and caring one. But you were never called beautiful. Even by your romantic partners. They may say things about how they loved your “fat ass” or “big tits” but this didn’t make you feel pretty but just objectified, and especially, not truly seen as a sentient being. The worst of your male companions even complained about your size and how they weren’t able to manhandle you as they would have done with a smaller woman. You knew this was rooted in their deepest insecurities and how being perceived as smaller than their partner affected their self-esteem... But what about yours?

The truth was that Mando’s gesture (or lack of it) hadn’t been so hurtful, but the stream of memories it triggered, and now you found yourself sobbing under his sheets. When you felt the familiar blow of entering hyperspace, you only hoped that he remained in the cockpit and let you hide for the rest of the trip. But he didn’t.

First, you heard the familiar footsteps coming down from the ladder. He cleared his throat and then knocked softly at the bunk's door. Your blood froze.

“Hey I'm…I'm sorry.” You could clearly hear these weren't words he said often or lightly. A knot formed in your stomach but the tears stopped.

“It 's okay.” You responded with a raspy voice from the crying.

“No, I shouldn't have doubted your route. You're the professional.”

You couldn't decide between bursting into laughter or crying again. He was clueless, wasn't he? Maybe you could just roll with that and hide your true feelings. It was a good opportunity and it’ll save you from an uncomfortable moment. But you weren't the kind of person to do that.

“Mando, do you really think I'm mad because of that?” A pensive hum was his only response.

The bunk's door opened and a very confused warrior appeared right in front of you. Your eyes were red but your smile was bright. You felt your heart hammering inside your chest. He looked so helpless, all his self-assurance gone because of your tears. You sighed, gathering the courage to speak.

“In the cockpit, there was a moment when you were very close to me...” Mando immediately stiffened.

“I'm so sorry if I made you uncomfortable because of that. I thought…” His voice was strained through the modulator. You shook your head.

“I'm the one who misunderstood the situation, Mando.” You stared at him but it was clear his metal head wasn't computing. “ You were almost all over me. I thought something was going to happen. Between us.” You had to clarify.

The gears inside the helmet started turning and finally, you could see those broad shoulders relax a bit.

“You expected…you wanted something to happen between us?” He asked using your own words. You bit your lip unsure, but you were already too far gone to stop this.

“Yes Mando, I really like you and what happened in the cockpit made me feel rejected. That's why I was mad.” This time you tried to explain yourself clearly as you didn't want more misunderstandings, even though your skin felt like molten lava. Mando remained silent for a while, shifting his weight and finally took a step towards the bunk, putting a hand against the frame of the door.

“Why would I reject you?”

“What?” It wasn't possible you had heard that right.

“You've understood me perfectly.” His voice turned darker and commanding. You swallowed at the sudden change of demeanour.

“I don't know. Many have rejected me before. It made sense.” You felt vulnerable and hugged your knees trying to appear smaller unconsciously. Opening up about your fear of rejection wasn't in your plans today. “Where I come from, being overweight is frowned upon.” You added in a small voice, ashamed of your feelings.

“Di’kute!” He grunted the foreign word, audibly angry. To your surprise, he sat next to you inside the cot and grabbed your hand. “You're a gorgeous woman, mesh’la. They were bantha fodder if they couldn't appreciate you.”

It may have been your already sensitive state, but tears came again to you. His faceless stare burnt you, as well as his body heat inside the tiny space. But he continued with the praise without letting go of your hand.

“Where I come from fat is a good signal. It means health, and strength. Extra padding in battle.” You giggled but he was serious. “It's synonymous with peace and not living off ration bars. It means giving birth to healthy younglings.” He added the last point in a raspier voice and you stopped breathing thinking about the meaning behind those words.

“Mando…”

“Come here mesh’la.” You didn't recognise the last word but obeyed and the next moment you were in his lap. “Can I touch you?” His voice sounded kinder this time, less commanding. Your heart was going to explode.

“Please.”

And then his hands were all over you. Tracing the outline of your curves, grabbing the supple flesh of your tights, grazing over your generous bust. The touch was so intoxicating, passionate but slow, as if he wanted desperately to memorize your shape.

“Your body is precious, I'll put a hole between the eyes of whoever made you feel the opposite.” You had never felt aroused by violence, but Mando's voice whispering that in your ear made things to you. It felt so hot inside the bunk by then you felt the necessity to get rid of your clothing. Nevertheless, in spite of Mando's praise, you doubted when you grabbed the hem of your tunic. He sensed your hesitancy. “Are you gonna show me that beautiful armour padding?”

You giggled, amused by how playful he became in bed, and finally removed the piece of clothing. His sharp breath was everything you needed to hear.

“Like what you see Mando?” You teased, discarding the tunic and feeling a bit more confident because of his reaction. While he was a victim of a momentary paralysis, you took your chance to caress his biceps where any armour protected his skin. He was as hard as Beskar there and you thought this warrior could be the first to actually manhandle you. That thought only contributed to the heat growing in your centre dangerously.

“Dank Farrik I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off you after this.” His voice sounded pained behind the vocoder while he appreciated your soft body.

“Then don’t.” You coed, and then guided his hands to your breasts that were spilling from your bra dangerously. Mando exhaled loudly as if all the tension he had been holding the last weeks was released. His gloved thumbs found your nipples fast, the stiff material feeling so good against your sensitive peaks. “Don’t be afraid, you can be rougher with them.”

Mando actually moaned at your honeyed words and you couldn’t name a more heavenly sound. He explored your tits with devotion, giving them all the attention in the world until your nipples couldn’t be harder and your breathing more agitated. But then, after some time hovering over his legs, yours started to feel numb from sustaining the position so you had to move a bit to feel your muscles again.

“Sorry, my legs went numb.” You excused yourself, but in a heartbeat, his hands shifted to your plush hips and you got the hint.

“Sit.”

“I’ll crush you.” Looking away, your previous self-confidence cracked a bit after his petition. You were too heavy, he will be uncomfortable and then…

“I carry bounties three times my weight for a living.” With the cocky affirmation, he interrupted your racing thoughts before spiralling. “I’ll be okay.”

You haven’t seen him in action yet, but the image of the Mandalorian manoeuvring a bounty out of pure strength made you shiver, yielding to his command. But you wouldn’t drown without dragging him with you.

“Stars woman!” He grunted when your clothed cunt made contact with his bulge. Not satisfied enough with that, you rolled your hips a couple of times to torture him further. Your plan backfired, as it provoked both of you to moan in unison.

“You wanted me…to sit.” You sassed between laboured breaths. Mando growled in response, but his hands travelled to your behind until they were grabbing a handful of your round ass.

“Do you know where else I’d want you to sit?” His voice was raspier than ever, the desire on it crystal clear to you. He really wanted you.

“Mando!” This playful side of him was unexpected but you were loving every moment of it. He took advantage of his leverage to move you impossibly closer to him, making you squirm when your sensitive nipples touched the colder beskar of his cuirass. Your hands snaked around his thick neck and you found yourself completely squished against your huge warrior. His erection felt so hot and hard between your legs that your cunt only grew wetter and wetter, making you wonder if he could notice. Then he started to move and soon you were moaning in the crook of his neck, grinding like a loth-cat in heat.

“Please mesh’la, let me make you feel as good as you deserve.” All the cockiness of his tone was done when he asked you with the most laboured breathing. His hands started caressing your spine and back rolls and you were a puddle in his strong arms.

“Let me…let me get up to remove my pants.” He indeed let you, but his hands didn´t, and while you stood to remove the last of your clothes, he continued exploring your body completely mesmerized. “Mando, I can’t undress if you don’t put your hands away!” You giggled standing on the threshold of the bunk waiting for him to realize. His helmet turned up to look at you then as if he was weighing his possibilities.

“Allow me to undress you, please.” The tone of his plead made you shiver and your cunt walls spasm. Your noded suddenly shy and the next moment he was on his knees unfastening your boots. Maker, what a sight.

When he finished with your footwear, he removed your shocks and started caressing your ankles, going up your calves painfully slowly until he finally reached the waistband of your pants. By then, you were shivering out of pure anticipation. But he still took the time to discard first your pants leaving you in your soaked underwear. He stopped and removed his hands for you to your surprise. Maybe he was having second thoughts? Maybe he didn’t like what he saw?

Your thoughts didn’t spiral for long, as Mando started removing his gloves still kneeling at your feet. Your eyes went wide: it was the first time you saw any of his skin. Gloves finally apart, you could appreciate it was a beautiful hue of gold before his thumbs were hooked in your panties. Without seeing his expression, you could feel the reverence in every touch Of his. It was like you were something holy and he was praying at your shrine. Then it hit you: this wasn’t just a fuck for both of you. This will change things.

“You’re drenched mesh’la.” The last piece of clothing was finally removed and his curious hands didn’t take long to open the folds of your glistening cunt. You looked away a bit embarrassed but he assured you. “You’re so beautiful and soft I can't help myself but...”

Then he did the most surprising thing. With his fingers covered with your slick, he went to the inferior part of his helmet and made disappear. He yas kriffing tasting you.

“Dank Farrik and you taste heavenly too.” Things became fast in a moment. He suddenly stood up in all his imposing height, totally covered in contrast with your nakedness, grabbed your but and in a heartbeat was lifting you from the floor. You squirmed in surprise, your legs rapidly snaking around his tapered waist, feeling all the whole glory of his erection against your pussy. He then turned in his heels and laid you in his bed delicately. But you weren’t playing tame anymore.

“Mando, I need you please.” Your plea was accompanied by a roll of your hips against the bulge on his pants, and you moaned at the sensation of the harsh fabric against the sensitive skin there. Mando grunted at the contact and obeyed you, removing his crossbody ammo belt. You continued the grinding while he battled with the straps of his hip belt, pleasuring yourself against his hard cock, until the leather piece full of pouches hit the ground with a loud thud.

Finally, his hot hands were all over you again and he leaned over your body. But then, he froze in place. You looked at him quizzically when you heard something metallic rolling on the floor. Maybe something important? Maker, you knew he kept bombs on the belt…

“Wait,” he said, leaving you naked in the bunk where you experienced the worst ten seconds of your life thinking you were going to be blown away before having sex with the Mandalorian. But his absence was brief, and he returned with a spherical object between his golden fingers. Something you didn’t recognize at all.

“Is it a bomb?” You asked clueless. He chucked but there was something off about it.

“It’s from a lever in the cockpit.” You sighed in relief knowing your life or his weren’t in danger. Noticing how he wouldn’t stop looking at the metal ball, you knew he wasn’t okay. Finding your tuning between the mess of sheets and blankets, you put it on and sat on the edge of the cot. You didn’t feel annoyed because the intimate moment was interrupted: it was clear something was disturbing him.

“Hey, Mando, look at me.” You asked, holding his bare wrists most delicately. He flinched at the contact and you noticed his pulse was derailed. Then he looked at you like he had just noticed you were there and started apologising.

“I’m so sorry I…” It looked like he didn’t even know how to start explaining himself. You’ll say he sounded even embarrassed.

“It’s okay, I’m not upset. We don’t have to continue if you don’t feel like it.” His shoulders slumped and his gaze fixated again on the ball. And then you noticed, by the light shivering of his torso. He was crying. Your heart broke in a thousand pieces. “Come here, baby.” You cooed, opening your arms to the Mandalorian, hoping you could offer some relief to whatever he was experiencing.

To your surprise, he fell to his knees again and then sank his helmet into your lap. His shoulders were convulsing more visibly now and your chest hurt for him. You started caressing the back of his neck, hoping it felt soothing for him, and remained like that for a while.

“I’ve got you baby.”

You didn’t know how much time it passed with Mando sobbing against your tunic and you doing your best to make him feel better, but after a while, it looked like he was calmer.

“I already lost him once.” His voice was coarse from crying, and even though the lack of context you knew immediately he was referring to Grogu.

“We’ll find him and take him home, Mando.” You responded softly, feeling something warm spread inside you and not stopping for a second your caresses.

“Din.” He finally unburied his head from your lap and looked at you. “My name is Din Djarin.”

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