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pavlovianfuckery · 2 months

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literally just a blowjob so calm down

at this point this is OLD but i'm going to post on here as well from now on i think? and probably try to fix the fucky formatting while i'm at it if i can.

this took way too long and i’m still not happy but fuck it, have 1200 words of garbage about giving dream head, bone apple tea you gremlins

Dreams have always been a place of comfort and escape, the more dissatisfied you were, the more vivid they would get. Settling in for another night of restless slumber, it doesn't take long for the dream to turn a bit steamy, as they often do. Your imaginary lovers are usually faceless and you never remember much in the morning. At least it's better than nothing, or the unsatisfying encounters you've previously had, at any rate. This time is different though. Before you're ready to wake up, the dream simply dissolves around you, leaving you confused and frustrated in the non-descript room.

"You mortals really are simple creatures." The smooth voice startles you but it wouldn't be the first time a dream changed on you by its own volition, so you don't really question the presence of the man leaning against the wall behind you, a haughty look on his face. "Though it is not often I encounter dreams of such...singular focus."

Being shamed by your own dream, that's new. But then so is he. He seems sharper somehow, more real. His dark clothes makes him stand out like an inkblot against the wall, though the voluminous coat does little to disguise the slim lines of his body.

"Perhaps we might be of use to one another." Though his voice betrays no emotion, it's pretty clear what he's implying. His gaze has an almost hypnotic quality to it, reeling you in like a fish on a line until you're standing in front of him. He's even more beautiful up close and you can't help but stare, which doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest. "Serve me, and I will grant you release."

Or not so much implying, then. But why not go along? Dreams have never hurt you before, after all. The crude suggestion sounds more appealing from his pretty mouth than it has any right to, tempting you. Hands itching to touch you hesitate, unsure how to proceed. Before you can decide on a course of action, his lips are on yours. They're softer than you expected. It's brief, barely more than a brush, testing the waters.

"If this is not what you want, you should leave now." The next time he kisses you it's with more urgency, a soft grip on your jaw and you respond in kind. Daring to touch him now, you sneak your hands under the hem of his shirt, marveling at the softness of his skin. Deepening the kiss as you explore a bit more, skimming your hands over the contours of his ribs makes him almost melt into your touch, breath speeding up ever so slightly. From one blink of the eye to the next, there are no clothes separating you anymore. As you start questioning how that happened he puts two of his fingers in your mouth, pressing your tongue down, making you drool.

"Hush now, you do not need to speak." Lightheaded already, his hand at your shoulder makes your knees fold all too willingly, not bothering to deny that you need this. You both do. Kneeling between his legs, his pale skin is just begging to be bruised. The thought of marking him with your teeth makes your mind reel with possibilities. You nuzzle his thigh, teeth and tongue, the smoothness of his cock heavy against your cheek as you pull his scent deep into your lungs. He only humours you for a few moments before urging you closer, his fingers cradling the back of your skull. "Go on, surely you do not mean to keep me waiting?"

Betrayed by the breathy edge to his voice, the need to be touched all but bleed from his words as his facade starts to crack. Before guiding him into your mouth you drag your tongue over his length, making him gasp as you taste him before sliding home. Every suck and swipe of the tongue is almost reverent. "Look at me." You watch him watching you, his eyes dark and lips parted. He's almost swaying on his feet, breath hitching. Your knees hurt, but you try to concentrate on the feel of his cock in your mouth, you want to be good. Every groan and murmur of appreciation spurs you on, you're doing something right, he likes. His grip on your shoulder is nearly bruising as he pushes you away for a moment, chest heaving.

"I will not be able to last," he has to force the words out, his body tense like the bow of a violin. "I do not wish to disappoint you." Any assurances you might have given die in your throat as he guides you onto the floor before finally straddling your chest, pinning you down. You start to protest, but he simply hushes you again.

"Grant me this much," he murmurs as he leans back, sinking his fingers inside you, thumb pressed to your clit. "I promise I will not leave you wanting."

Thighs trembling and slick, you can feel your juices sliding down and out of you as he works you, the practiced movements of his fingers making it feel like he has touched you hundreds of times before, knowing every spot to drive you wild.

"Open nice and wide for me." His voice is husky, almost fraying at the edges, you can tell he's getting close and all you want is to obey. He makes it so easy, tracing your lips with his tip, all but begging to be devoured, worshipped. It feels almost like a competition, to see who will give in first. Torn between wanting to come with him in your mouth and not wanting to lose, you redouble your efforts. Even as he thrusts into your mouth, nearly gagging you, he never stops picking you apart with his fingers, driving you ever closer to the edge. In the end you're the one to break first, clamping down around his fingers like a vice, the waves of pleasure making you falter as you moan around his cock.

"Yes, come for me, let me feel you." He draws your orgasm out with experienced ease, dragging it out until you nearly try to buck him off of you, his touch relentless. Feeling him swell in your mouth, a few more swirls of the tongue is all it takes to bring him off, making him pulse as he fills your mouth. He surprises you by pulling out, some of his come hitting your chin. As he milks his cock and covers your neck and breasts in it, the sound he makes is close to a whimper. Finally spent he rolls off of you, settling in pressed close to you, one leg slung over yours, seeking contact. Still out of breath he drags his fingers lazily through the puddles cooling on your skin, painting you with it. Admiring his handiwork through half lidded eyes as he marks you.

"You absolutely stunning creature," he murmurs, capturing your mouth with his in a sloppy kiss. It's a languid, boneless thing and he sighs contentedly against your lips. "Would you see me again, some other night perhaps?" The look he gives you through dark lashes is almost coy, his cheeks softly dusted with colour. "I should like to make my shameful performance up to you, if you would let me."

You would. Waking up you feel more relaxed than you recall feeling in a long time. And as you go about your day, you can't help looking forward to bed time just a little bit more than usual.

#dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #sandman x you #sandman smut #dream of the endless smut #the sandman fanfiction #my shitty shitty writing (affectionate)

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ymguchis · 1 year

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3 : 35 am — thinking of... riding shinichiro at night ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁

tHIS HAVE BEEN ON MY MIND FOR DAYS AND HERE I AM TO SHARE IT WITH YOU GUYS.

just imagine this. It's early morning, and you and Shinichiro were watching a movie. practically neither of you was paying attention to the brightly colored images on the tv.

on the one hand, Shinichiro found no interest in the screen in front of him. to be honest he was there to keep you company because you weren't tired yet. on the other hand, you didn't even know what you were seeing because the only thing you could think about was shinichiro. how were you going to focus on anything else if you had your hot boyfriend right next to you.

many things were going through your head and they all led to the same thing... fucking. you wanted him to fuck you so bad. for a few minutes you managed to calm down and go unnoticed, rubbing your thighs and keeping your eyes fixed on the television without really paying attention to the comedy that was airing at the time.

of course, shinichiro wasn't stupid and he could sense your restlessness and thinly veiled movements. Leaning on the sofa and with one arm on the back, he directed his gaze to your bare legs. then to your chest, covered by an oversized T-shirt that easily revealed your erect nipples due to the cold of the night.

it was supposed to be cold... but the room felt getting hotter.

a large hand landed on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze to get your attention. you were slightly startled by the surprise touch, after having been sunk for several minutes in the thoughts of the millions of things you wanted to do to shinichiro at that moment.

— 'everything's fine? I notice you... distracted'

he asked in a slightly tired tone of voice, not taking his eyes off the TV and keeping a firm hand on your thigh. he knew, he knew exactly what you wanted. What kind of boyfriend would he be if he couldn't notice his girlfriend's basic needs with the naked eye.

but he wanted to have fun, and nothing amuses him more than hearing you ask him to fuck you, of course.

you made a small noise of affirmation accompanied by a slight nod. you were aware of the little game he was playing, but the little pride you had left was not going to allow you to humiliate yourself by telling him what you wanted.

Although we all know how you would end up.

shinichiro looked at your face and smiled. your cheeks and the tips of your ears were red. another hard squeeze on your thigh and you were seconds away from losing your composure.

— 'ahh, are you sure? you don't need anything?'

the little bit of pride you had left went down the drain when you made eye contact with him. your eyes dropped momentarily to his lips, then to his perfectly carved neck covered by the necklace he always wore, and finally to that damn sweatpants that left anyone's imagination what lay beneath them.

— 'I-I need you shin' you muttered under your breath, looking down at your hands as you unconsciously rubbed your thighs even harder, seeking some kind of solace for your aching cunt.

shinichiro smiled almost wickedly, and effortlessly pulled you onto his lap. your wet panties and hot core fit perfectly on top of his semi-hard cock. Grabbing the back of your neck he gently drew you into a passionate kiss.

he separated from you and without saying a word he told you to get on your knees so he could lower his pants and boxers. his cock jumped up and lightly hit his stomach.

one hand rested on your hip and the other went to play with the elastic of your panties to tease you, releasing it and causing a small moan from you when you feel the itch on your skin.

— 's-shin! stop playing, please' you gasped trying to stop his teasing.

— 'okay, sorry. now yes.' shinichiro replied chuckling softly and putting aside your panties. He grabbed his cock, giving it a few pumps, and after a few seconds he was finally inside.

both of you let out a few silent moans, and without waiting any further you began to mount it quickly. shinichiro put his hands on your hips, urging you to go faster and faster.

— 'ohh, f-ffuck yes. just like that, l-love' shinichiro moaned loudly against your neck.

one of your hands went to his hair to pull it and unite your lips in a rough kiss, causing the moans and sobs of both to be muffled by the other's mouth.

shinichiro broke away from the kiss and roughly lifted your shirt to pay attention to your breasts. his soft lips attached to your tits, leaving love bites and sucking hard on your nipples.

—'a-ah ah, shit. shin, I'm close, please. fuck me f-faster!'

shinichiro planted his feets on the ground and forcefully began to ram into your pussy over and over again. the sounds of skin against skin grew louder than the noise of the TV in the background.

— 'mhm, are you close? yeah? t-that's it, cum for me darling'

Shinichiro's hard strokes made his cock go deeper and deeper, hitting all the right places that made you see stars.

— 'you feel so good, so fucking tight!'

his thrusts became more and more sloppy, and with one stroke in particular you came hard. your core pressed hard against shinichiro's cock.

— 'oh yess, fuck yes. I-i'm cumming, c-cumming' shinichiro gasped and seconds later he was cumming. His eyes rolled back and his mouth parted slightly as his thrusts slowed.

you dropped onto shinichiro's chest and slowly both of your breathing became calmer.

one of shinichiro's hands went to your hair and started stroking it gently. he placed a kiss on one of your cheeks and with a whisper he asked.

— 'are you sleepy already?.

THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SHORTER, BUT I LET IT GO I'M SORRY YAJEUDKEHDWK

hope you liked it !!

#spicy content🌡️#𖥻tokyo revengers #Tokyo revengers #Tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x fem reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #shinichiro sano #sano shinichiro #sano shinichiro smut #shinichiro sano smut #shinichiro smut #shinichiro x reader #shinichiro x female reader #shinichiro x you #⊹ ࣪˖⁩ writes !!#↺drabble

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fanby-fckry · 23 days

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Purely Platonic, Non-Contractually Obligated Sins

Chapter 1: A Fucking Day Off

Day 6 of Ace Alastor Week: International Asexuality Day (Free Space)

Word Count: 1,791 (and counting)

Chapters: 1/2 ( || Next -> )

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)

Rating: Mature

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Warnings: Religious Content, Angel Dust-Typical Sexual Content (Hazbin Hotel), (hence the rating), Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism

Relationships: Alastor & Angel Dust

Characters: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Minor Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Mentioned Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Mentioned Lucifer Magne | Morningstar

Additional Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Post-Season/Series 01, Fluff and Humor, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Humor, Attempt at Humor, Light Angst, Friendship, Platonic Relationships, Queerplatonic Relationships, Open to Interpretation, Established Relationship, Platonic Date, Platonic Romance, (I hope I’m using that tag right), Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Aromantic Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Has a Heart (Hazbin Hotel), Sex Worker Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust Being Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust Needs a Hug (Hazbin Hotel), (and Alastor is going to give him one), Banter, Dinner, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Series: Part 6 of Fanby’s Ace Alastor Week 2024

( <- Prev || Next -> )

Summary:

“Now what?” Angel asked. “You gonna actually take me out on a date?”

“That’s entirely up to you, my dear!” Alastor folded his hands behind his back, feeling quite pleased with himself. “I’m perfectly content knowing I’ve done my part to help the hotel’s one and only resident out of his contractually obligated path of sin for the night so that he can fail redemption of his own free will!”

Alastor thought Angel could use a day off, so he got him one! Of course, what Angel does with his time off is his to choose, but Alastor did offer him a date.

Better on AO3

Author’s Notes:

Originally this was day 4 – and still is on AO3 – but the OneWayStatic date prompt is turning out to be darker than previously expected, and I’d rather sandwich it between two fluff and humor fics than one fluff fic and one smut fic, so this one’s getting moved.

Also, I was hoping to finish the OneWayBroadcast today, but I don’t think that’s in the cards.

Alastor surveyed the lobby of the newly rebuilt Hazbin Hotel from the shadows. Husker was asleep at the bar – which, ordinarily, Alastor would attribute to laziness or alcoholism, but he supposed the reconstruction had taken a toll on them all – while Angel Dust was milling about, clearly restless.

Angel hadn’t bothered to wake Husk – which, in itself, was a sign of the spider’s distress – and was pacing, fidgeting, and constantly checking his hellphone device.

Well, this just won’t do! Alastor thought.

Alastor zipped through the shadows, rematerializing by Angel’s side. “Good evening!”

Angel cursed under his breath and almost dropped his hellphone. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get used to you doin’ that, ya know,” he said.

“Hardly anyone does!” Alastor said, cheerfully. He was particularly proud of his ability to strike fear into the hearts of men using nothing but low-level magic, timing, and his signature smile. “I even get Rosie from time to time!”

“You sound real proud of yourself, smiles,” Angel said, halfheartedly.

Alastor grinned. “And you sound absolutely miserable!”

Angel sighed. “That obvious, huh?”

“Afraid so, my dear.” Alastor leaned on his microphone – ah, it was good to have that back! “What’s got you so out of sorts?”

“What else?” Angel asked, rhetorically. “Work. My boss is the kinda freak that makes freaks like you look like upstanding citizens.”

“My fuckin’ skin itches,” Angel said, scratching as if saying the words out loud had pushed the itch to the forefront of his attention. “And it ain’t even withdrawals this time. I’m just… I’m not ok.”

“Ah.” Alastor wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to Angel’s honesty.

When Alastor first arrived at the hotel, he’d met an Angel Dust that buried his emotions under the mask of a performer putting on a show for anyone and everyone in sight, including himself. It was something the two of them had in common! But, as time went on, and they grew more comfortable in each others’ presence, they both began to lift their masks – Angel considerably more so than Alastor.

Angel’s newfound vulnerability was something that Alastor both envied and feared, although he would never say either out loud.

“Perhaps you should take the rest of the day off!” Alastor suggested.

Angel forced out a laugh. “No can do, smiles,” he said. “As much as I’d love a fuckin’ day off, Val’s got me booked for the night. Some bigshot who wants to” – Angel used his upper set of hands to create air quotes – “‘remain anonymous,’ but has no problem pickin’ me up at the hotel in front of Lucifer and everyone!”

“Haven’t talked to him personally, but he sounds like a pompous piece of shit,” Angel complained.

Alastor tilted his head at a forty-five degree angle, just barely covering his amusement. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” Angel pulled out his phone. “I’ve got receipts.”

Angel held the device up to Alastor’s face. Between the angle of the screen and the brightness, Alastor couldn’t really see what was on the damned thing, but he didn’t need to.

“Oh right,” Angel said, putting his phone away. “I forgot you’ve got the whole ‘deer in the headlights’ light sensitivity shit.”

That wasn’t exactly how Alastor would describe it – but he had developed some difficulty seeing under bright lighting since taking on this cursed, cervine form.

“Just take my word for it,” Angel insisted. “Guy talks like he thinks he’s better than everyone.”

“He’s supposed to show up here around seven – which is way too fuckin’ early by the way,” Angel said. “Johns never know what to do with me when they book me out for too long, and I wind up sittin’ around, twiddlin’ my dick because they can’t get it up again, but they can’t get a refund, neither.”

Alastor checked the time. 6:57 pm.

“I know next to nothin’ about him. No name, no pics,” Angel listed, counting them off on his fingers. “Just that he’ll be wearin’ red. I’m s’posed to recognize him from that and this dumb passcode he came up with…”

Alastor queued up an instrumental and sang a slightly modified version of the matching lyrics.

“Got a date with an Angel

Got to meet him at seven

Got a date with an Angel

And I'm on my way to Heaven”

Angel stared at him, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.

“Tsk tsk,” Alastor tutted. “I know you’re a spider, but surely there are better ways to catch flies!”

Angel laughed – a real laugh this time. The honest, uncontrolled kind that left one’s sides aching and compelled everyone else in the room to laugh along.

“Alastor,” Angel said, once he caught his breath. “Ya gotta stop buyin’ my time.”

Alastor was grinning from ear to ear. “Well, if your poor excuse for an Overlord would give you a ‘fucking day off’ as you put it, I wouldn’t have to!”

It had admittedly become a bit of a habit. Not a bad habit, but a habit all the same.

Angel would start to become restless or overworked, causing Alastor to notice his distress and find some way or another to discreetly buy him some time off. Sometimes they spent the allotted time together, though more often than not, Alastor left Angel to do whatever he pleased with his newly found free time.

“How’d you even do it this time?” Angel asked. “Val had the whole conversation over Vitter and said the guy paid with Voxmo. I’ve never seen you on a hellphone or a computer or anything with internet access for that matter.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, my effeminate friend!” Alastor wrapped an arm around Angel and reeled him in closer. “I’ve had access to the ‘internet’ for as long as the Vees have been mooching off of my domain, rebranding radio waves as this so-called ‘wi-fi!’”

“Holy shit, I never thought of it like that,” Angel whispered.

“Wait a second…” The spider aimed an incredulous look at Alastor. “Are you tellin’ me you’ve been playin’ dumb about modern tech and culture this whole time?”

“Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag!” Alastor played the sound of a cat yowling – which caused Husk to flick his ear and stir in his sleep.

Angel Dust wiggled out of Alastor’s grip. “Can’t believe the Radio Demon has a secret Vitter account,” he said, shaking his head.

“Actually, I created that account specifically for this occasion,” Alastor corrected. “Just because I have internet access doesn’t mean I’m ‘chronically online,’ as the youth say.”

Angel smirked, as if a truly wicked idea had entered his mind. “Hey, Al,” he said with faux innocence. “Look up ‘Radio Demon rule 34.’”

“Angel Dust,” Alastor replied, voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “In the kindest way possible, go touch grass.”

Angel laughed again. “Ok, so you know enough not to search rule 34 and to tell me to get a life/go fuck myself.”

“Precisely!”

“Alright, internet literacy test passed,” Angel said. “Now what?” he asked. “You gonna actually take me out on a date?”

“Wow, thanks, asshole.” Angel rolled his eyes and flipped Alastor off with three different hands. “Finally startin’ to see the nun parallels now, Sister Alastor. The holier-than-thou attitude and constant guilt take me right back to my days as a Catholic schoolboy.”

“You should keep a ruler on ya,” Angel added. “Just in case I start writin’ with my left hands.”

Without thinking, Alastor rubbed his thumb over the knuckles of his own left hand – which was thankfully still behind his back, and therefore hidden from view.

“Hm.” Alastor pretended to consider Angel’s sardonic suggestion. “No, I think you might enjoy corporal punishment a bit too much for it to have anything but the opposite effect.”

Angel shrugged. “You’re not wrong,” he said. “But, now that I know you’re in it to watch me struggle or whatever-”

“Technically,” Alastor interjected. “That was my reason for involving myself with this hotel and the nonsensical notion of ‘redemption’ to begin with.”

“Yeah, yeah, reality is the best entertainment and you get your kicks outta watchin’ us lesser demons struggle.” Angel Dust waved his upper hands dismissively and folded his lower arms against his chest. “But I’m a petty bitch.”

“And you tipped your hand.” Angel took one index finger and pointed it directly at Alastor’s chest – sufficiently accusatory, without physically touching him. “So I’ve decided I’m your problem for tonight.”

“Fair enough,” Alastor said. “I suppose I’ll make good on my offer for a date.”

“It don’t gotta be nothin’ fancy,” Angel said with a shrug. “We can just hang out at the hotel and order MacMammon’s or somethin’.”

A record scratch played in response to the word, ‘MacMammon’s.’

Alastor cleared his throat. “Regardless of the circumstances, I will not be eating or serving any ‘fast-food.’”

Alastor said the term, ‘fast-food,’ like it was a curse. Because as far as he was concerned it was one.

Angel snorted. “The cannibal is a foodie,” he said. “Figures.”

“I have standards!” Alastor said. “And if I expect my date to raise his above Lucifer’s kneecaps, if only for tonight.”

Alastor queued up some lively background music. “The night is young!” he said, taking Angel by the hand. “Come with me and I’ll cook you some real food!”

“Hold it, smiles.” Angel dug his heels into the carpet, refusing to move an inch. Alastor could have pulled him along using Eldritch-enhanced strength, but…

“Time out,” Angel said, sounding a bit hesitant. “I just wanna clarify some shit before this goes any further.”

Alastor waited patiently as Angel collected his thoughts.

“This is still, uh… platonic, right?” Angel asked. “Just two friends sharin’ a meal? No happy endings or nothin’?”

“Completely platonic,” Alastor confirmed. “No strings attached. I may have purchased your time for the evening, but adding a sexual element to our relationship is decidedly not something I’m interested in.”

Angel breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.”

“What’s He got to do with it?” Alastor asked, prompting another wave of giggles from Angel Dust.

“Thank you, Alastor,” Angel said, instead.

“Well, now you’re just feeding my god complex!” Alastor said, accompanied by his own laugh track. “And Heaven knows Gluttony is my sin!”

“Pride, too,” Angel noted.

“Yes, Pride, too,” Alastor agreed.

The two friends walked arm and arm out of the lobby, headed towards Alastor’s room for a night of purely platonic, non-contractually obligated sins.

#acealastorweek2024 #fanby’s fuckery #fanby’s fics #hazbin hotel #alastor #angel dust #radiodust #platonic!radiodust #aroace alastor #asexual alastor #aromantic alastor #suggestive

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hellsfirekeepsyouwarm · 1 year

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Commander (All Hell Breaks Loose)

Hello everyone, finally i got this done. It's been forever and i developed an obsession with Graves in the process of writing this. What can i say, i like the bad guys. This is for the Graves fans :)

This is a sequel/prequel to All Hell Breaks Loose Series, before Reader became a member of 141. In this Reader is an active member of the Shadow Company, taking place about 2-3 years before the series plot. BUT you can read this as a standalone, no need to know the plot of the series :) let me know if ya'll want more Graves content.

Philip Graves x F!Reader

Warnings: p in v, no protection (ya'll know the rules), cream pie, finger work (can't write down the other word) language, blood, slight sub+dom dynamic, not proofread, literally filthy

Summary: You are itching to get out of the car after a long day, and a way longer drive with your Commander's eyes set on you the whole time.

All Hell Breaks Loose Masterlist

Blood is sticking to your dirt coated skin, mixing with sweat and God knows what else. The car is too crowded, you have breathed in the air the other men breathed out. At this point, you don't care. You don't care about the disgusting clothes you are trapped in, neither the uncomfortable close contact with the person's bodies next to you. The only thing - or you would say person - you care about is sitting in the farthest seat away from you, eyes locked firmly on you, in the same state as you. He has a big cut on his cheek towards his right ear, but a huge fucking grin on his face. That damn grin is enough for you to forgot every damn bullet you shot, every little scrape and bruise.

You are itching, too restless for the last ten minute of this agonizing car ride. Base isn't that far now, but it feels like ages. Years until you can have his lips on your before literally blow up from the tension in between your legs. He is your fucking end.

Vance is talking your ear off, he's been doing that the whole ride. He has that adrenaline rush in his system working override, just as you, but damn he needs to shut up before you elbow him in the jaw. He's leaning close, you hear him, but do not understand a single word. You smile back at Philip, not caring who's seeing the fucking obvious pull to each other, and hell they probably already know he's fucking you.

When the car halts in the garage, you jump out like it was lit on fire, leaving a dumbfounded Vance behind who realized you wasn't listening the whole time, the team's laugh echoing back to you as they bicker with each other, not caring for your immediate leave.

Graves is hot on your trail, not fast enough to catch up to you, just to have the view to himself. Your body heavy with all the gear strapped on you, gun in your hands, braided hair messy with loose strands sticking out, soaked with your sweat and someones's blood. At least he hopes that it's not your blood.

The sway of your hips is still visible under all the protective clothing, and you might or might not play into it a little bit knowing he's right behind you.

You think you are so freaking discreet, but anyone who sees you chased by the Commander will know right away what's about to go down. But no one would ever bring it up, or question it. Not with Philip.

You body is burning from his stare, a smile plastered on you, full of pride and lust and everything beyond from the mission, from his apparent and steady steps close, hot on your heels, and from what he'll do when he catches you.

You practically tear down your door to your room. The room you have the privilege to even occupy, but if you think about it, this is the least for the right hand of the Commander, right?

You only manage to discard the bulletproof vest from your torso before Phil barges through the wide open door, swinging it behind his back, eyes never leaving your form. The door is shut by his back with a loud bang when you collide with him. Lips already hungrily tasting his, smelling gunpowder, sweat and iron. All that with his own unique scent is making you feral, your primal part reacting to it without faltering.

He groans into your mouth, hands grabbing your ass with an iron grip, pushing your groin to his, the bulge in his pants forces a gasp out of you, giving him the access to slide his tongue next to yours, fighting for dominance you can't match. But you'll try.

"You want this cock, don't you baby'?" He whispers into your mouth, hands trying to find a way under your shirt, fumbling with your cargo pants.

"Uhum.." You mumble, head foggy from his cold hands around your waist, his hips constantly rocking against you creating a growing pressure in the pit of your stomach.

"Uh-uh, try that again." He stops, switching to his work voice, grabbing your chin forcing you to look at him, into his eyes full of confidence. Demanding and irrefutable. Fingers digging into your soft skin, he can feel your jawbone perfectly in his hand, fitting too well to the tip of his fingers.

"Yes sir." You croak. You comply, earning the rocking motion back from his hips, an urgent small kiss planted on your lips before he retreats to take of his own vest. You help him with one hand, the other you use to search for skin, just a small touch because you know you don't have the luxury to have him fully naked tonight.

You catch a glimpse of your weapons right at the door when his vest hits the ground next to them, the weapons you should have returned back to the armory right away. But who the fuck cares when the boss himself didn't do it, right? No one cares if it's him, no one dares to care.

Now it's his turn to push you back, your lips stuck in his teeth, his rough chuckle music to your ears as he earns several moans from your throat. He takes this few steps to undo his belt, letting it hang lazily out of the waistband.

He guides you until your ass bumps into your desk, several papers fly off of it, his hardness grazing the insides of your thighs when he lift you up to sit on the desk. "You look so fucking beautiful right now, fuck me." He growls, leaving your mouth to suck on any available soft spot on your neck, enjoying the veins pulsing under his lips.

"You waited for this all day, huh? Is that right? Tell me." He commands again. You have to talk unless you want to be left there hanging, with so much pain in your core for him.

"Yes." You breath out, giving him more access to your neck, his teeth leaving aching marks soothed with his soft tongue after. The desk slams into the wall as he rocks his hips again and again, and it makes an awfully loud noise. And he's not even inside you yet.

"Yes what?" Fucking hell. "Yes, sir."

"Atta girl."

"I want you." You say, barely above a whisper, already lost in the building up ecstasy of him.

"How? Use your pretty voice, don't go shy on me now." He retreats from your neck, admiring his handiwork from afar, and you whine a little before you feel his hand around your belt. You nod repeatedly showing him how much you approve of his action. Your eyes flicker down. "Eyes up here angel. I asked something."

Oh yes, what was it?

"Fuccccck." You moan, furious with his teasing. "I want you inside me. Have me, fuck me, love me."

"I know, fuck i knew right away when you looked back on the field. You fluttered those pretty lashes at me with a big fuckin grin on your lips. You were already soaking wet..." He halts for a moment just to shove down his hands in your pants, to your folds, so slick his fingers slide perfectly down to your opening. His eyes flicker, lips parted with a sigh. "...just like right now."

His fingers got lost in your slick folds, thumb pressing and circling on your heat with such a force that the knot in your stomach pulls your insides towards that particular place he assaults. So deliciously slow put persistent, using the right amount of pressure that's quickens your already rapid breathing.

You don't catch on your movements that comes so naturally,just when his other hand stops your hips from grinding against his fingers, shooting you a disapproving look. He can act all tough and rough, but his flushed face, heavy eyelids over his lustfull eyes are a telltale sign of his very own need for you. It's not a want anymore, it's pure and addictive need. Need for a fix of each other like it's the best, mindblowing drug you every used.

He brings you back every couple of seconds with a new sensation from your haze, now two finger steadily pushing in and out of you, feral for more, you grab onto his upper arm, a way of grounding you and maybe grounding him too. "Don't play with me, Commander."

He fucking loves it. The way you keep authority for him while he fucks you is a high for him itself, his cock twitching in his pants, desperate to break free. You can feel it against your thigh, making you smirk, a smug one that will surely fuck with his brain.

"So fucking ready for me, eh?" God bless him for using his free hand to struggle down your pants, with the steady pounding and curling of his fingers in you. Sometime grazing over the sensitive bud to keep you on the edge, but not push you over it. "And needy too."

He looks his best like this, undressing you, pleasuring you with the most satisfied face you every witnessed. No successful gunfight, smooth mission, or the smell of new money could sooth his burdened features like you giving your all.

His finger slips out, a frustrated laugh leaving his lips. He literally drags the pants of off you, underwear somewhere gone with it. You spread your legs wide as soon as the clothing is gone, cold air hitting the wetness around your pussy, inner thighs and ass is dripping from his messy fingering. He steps back, looking so lost in thought, consuming the image of you, loss of words. Then the switch in his head jolts him awake, tearing his own clothing down just enough to free his length, wasting no time to meet your cunt with a grunt, the warmth of your slick turning him into putty in your hands. Muscles releasing the tension held in for god knows how long, weight leaning on you for support. It's his time to get lost in the moment, your hands gently running through his hair, enjoying this side of him until it lasts. The quiet and vulnerable him that's so rare sight, non-existent to others. Pride swells in your chest, knowing it's you who have the privilege to have his trust in you to be this comfortable.

You are so tempted to just snake your fingers around his cock, to guiding him inside of your cunt. You would die to see his face turn into a frown, mad that he isn't the one setting the tone, the one leading the course of events. Oh he would flip on you, and that it what makes this much more interesting.

"Uh-uh, don't even think about it sugar." You hand is stopped midway by his calloused fingers, sinking roughly into your arm but soft on the skin. He leans in close, his dick moving with him slightly creating a delicious friction on your clit that makes you moan so loud in the tense room. "I thought you knew better."

"I wasn't thinking." You voice is muffled by his sloppy kiss, all teeth and saliva, oppressive against your own willingness to surrender.

"I can tell." It's true, you are brainless when he is this close to fill you up, the only thing mattering is him still torturing you when he should be pounding into you by now.

"The only thing on my mind is why the hell aren't you fucking me?"

You utter with low voice, yelping right at the end from the pressure of his hand at your neck, the force of his grab faintly smacking your head to the wall behind you. There he is.

"Language! You are speaking to your superior, soldier!" His growl is predatory, your body reacting to his antagonistic action is beyond sick, but it's fuel to your fire at this point. The pressure on both side of your neck increasing, cutting off oxygen just the right amount to send you into a blisslike state, eyes rolling back, your orgasm growing tremendously in the pit of your stomach.

The ecstasy doesn't stop there, soon you feel him distance himself from your entrance just to push in with full force, there is no agonizing taunt in his movements, just pure power in his hips clashing to yours.

His hand never leaves your neck, releasing and pressing at the right moments, his dick filling you painfully good with hard thrusts. The amount of energy put to his body just to fuck you senseless is inhuman, while your drive is enough for a faint moan through gritted teeth and a dead grip on his upper arm.

"That's what you like, huh? Cockdrunk, needy for me to fill you up still covered in the blood of our enemies?" You remember him talking like this the first time, confused from why are you so turned by his words, forgetting to utter anything that makes sense, mouth hanged open.

There is in fact blood on both of you, none of it is yours. The blood on the cut on his face has dried before you stepped out of the car, and that cannot make this much mess on your uniforms. It's intoxicating.

"Yeah look at it. You are so fucking turned on. Oh. My. God." You were ashamed and embarrassed by it at the beginning, but now you just nod drunkenly, eyes jumping between the blood stains and his eyes watching your every reaction to his remarks. That is his turn on. How your behavior changes every second from everything he inflicts on you. His voice, his touch let that be harsh or gentle, his movements and actions, how much you can see or feel. And when you smile under his choking palm, clench around his cock, squeezing so sweetly he has to slow down so he will last longer, he's so gone. It's his personal drug. The burden and adrenaline of battle mixing with clear pleasure like the colors on marble. He can pick out and grab every feeling, taste them separately, but together it's the real fucking deal, overwhelming almost.

"Can i touch myself?" You ask, more like plead, the apparent but rarely enough friction on your clit is killing you, knowing the drag of his hips every 2-3 thrust is for that reason, to make you go batshit crazy. It's fucking working.

There is doubt on his features, contemplating before nodding his head in a clear motion. His gaze trails the way your fingers smoothly linger on your breast sliding slowly over your bellybutton to the place where your body needs the pressure. It seems like you aren't the only one filled with a long awaited bliss, Phil's body trembles when your fingers starts to work on yourself with a delicate touch, thrusts becoming unrushed, concentrating on your ragged breathing and hips drawing luscious circles on his length. It's a way for to get him move into you again, pushing your pelvic just to being held back by his hand. A pathetic whine leaves your lips earning an ear to ear grin from him.

"Ask for it sugar, you know how this works." Yes you do, but your whole being wants to defy him, and take from him not ask for it. You feel your high so close, so close that you couldn't stop now, won't let the pace die down. But he will, he will deny the peak from you if it means he can the double it later, and at the end he's always right. Now you just don't have the patience.

"Please. Please move." Voice high pitched out low on volume does it for him, giving you what you want. The fast pace and powerful jolt of his body into you is like electricity hitting you, the patience you lack is now dissolved from him, chasing his own release mercilessly.

The sound of the small slaps of skin against skin fills the room alongside with your grunts and moans. Your head and back rhythmically bumps to the wall with Phil's dick burying itself deep in you, hitting that oh so fucking sweet spot more often now as Philip positioned your legs higher. It's devastatingly beautiful, the whole experience stinks from the dirt and blood and your all day long sweat, but mostly the best sex you ever had in your life. You want to kiss him, suck on his tongue earning those unholy growls he usually makes, but your body is too overpowered, used and pleasured simultaneously.

"Inside me." You grunt, a hiccup like sound interrupting your words as your back hits the wall again. His gaze shots up to your face from the place where you become one, eyes laced with fog of everything happening at the moment. He's always looks lost and zoned out when he's close. "Please cum inside me." You repeat oppressing the weakness in your voice.

"Music to my ears." He smiles widely before returning his eyes back to your hands dictating a crazy rhythm on your clit, already feeling the climax numbing the back of your head, hearing the rush of blood in your ears. With every little vibrating circle on your bud you breath out a whine, making Phil switch from fast to hard, hitting your core so perfectly you come around him screaming.

Eyes roll back to your head, trying to keep yourself still on the desk while your body shakes with the full force of your orgasm, fingers numb over your sensitive clit, thinking you'll have a freaking seizure if you touch yourself again.

"Don't fucking stop now Darlin'." Graves pushes your hand out of the way, harshly pressing his thumb down earning a second wave of ecstasy destroy you, and that's all he needs to spill inside of you, grunting with smaller and smaller thrust, filling you up like never before.

You wished you could have seen him, but your mind went black and nothing could make you focus on anything else than your cunt squeezing everything out of him.

Your body shakes every time his thumb takes a lazy drag over your clit, you wonder how he manages to even move an inch after all this. All you can hear is his breaths,- vulnerably loud and rapid - coming closer, feeling his forehead buried in you chest. You stay there for a few moments, both of you regaining, trying to send signals to your limbs, but it's pretty fucking obvious you won't use them today anymore.

Philip has more presence of mind, hearing him shuffle and grumble while he slowly pulls out, and you wished he would have waited a couple of minute to pull yourself together. You hiss at the sudden emptiness, which he tries to soothe with gentle slides if his fingers on your fold, the remains of your orgasm still shocking your body.

"Fuck me." His raspy voice is scratching your ears, only that charging your battery up again, awakening what lead you to this bedroom at the first place. When you open your eyes, he's admiring his handiwork, a towel in his hands, pants pulled up loosely, all messy and breathless.

"I just did." You reply soundlessly, voice non-existent. His cheeks burning in a cute pink shade, lips turning upwards in an honest grin, the towel in his hand approaching you slowly.

"I thought it was the other way around." He says making you look up at his blue eyes filled with so much unreadable emotion, averting your attention from the drag of the towel between your thighs, which makes you take a shark breath in, too sensitive even from the breeze of the air.

He leans down to kiss everything away, to soothe your aching body, now gentle and slow, tasting the aftermath on your lips. He takes his time, sucking on your lower lip between open mouthed kisses and pecks planted anywhere his mouth reaches. Sweet, dripping from honey, apologizing for any harsh grab of your hips, sinking fingers that leaves bruises and for the sore muscles you'll surely have the morning.

"We stink." You state nose crunched up from all the smells, mind wandering to a hot long shower session. His laugh vibrates in your mouth, his palms holding your face from both sides to keep you in place for one last kiss on your nose.

"Yeah we do." There is no denying it that you are marinating in an all day long filth. "But fuck you are a sight to see darlin'"

Sometimes you see this look in his eyes that screams love, just like now, his eyes still hungry and filled with satisfaction, planting the seed in your head that he just might love you. He might.

#philip graves x reader #philip graves smut #philip graves imagine #philip graves #philip graves x f!reader #all hell breaks loose

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ofallthingsnasty · 1 month

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I love the thought of a feisty darling with Doffy a lot, but there is also something about you just... giving up. Mentally checking out. Growing numb. The lights are on but no one is home, that kind of thing.

And really, it's all about the contrast of you being nothing but a shell of your former self, colorless to the vibrant decadence, the omnipresent opulence that surrounds you. Put in shrill but expensive clothes that you find neither exhilarating nor distasteful, just treated like a mannequin, limp shoulders heavy with jewelry; that's how you shuffle through the many chambers that are now your home. Restless and sluggish, completely aimless, just wandering to keep the noise in your head at bay. Never interested in one particular subject (well, maybe except for one thing - fleeing from Doflamingo for just another moment, another minute), you just rot away in bed if no one pulls you out of it by early noon or stare out of the window until the sky changes color. You eat what's put in front of you - sometimes too little, sometimes too much, you don't care. It tastes all the same, be it meat or dessert - and it might as well be slop to you, it's all turned into some kind of porridge when you're done grinding it between your teeth, anyway. And you let Doflamingo poss you, preen you, dote on you - it doesn't matter what you want, what you feel - there is no point in doing anything other than what he says and then to earn your pitiful, grey moments of nothingness. He took all joy from you, inch by inch, and now you're so hollow you're almost grateful for the void that has been left behind - it's easier this way, the complete surrender makes every atrocity he commits easier to bear.

That monotony, that dull itch of life could be endurable, you think. Just getting swept up by the current of emptiness, by the shifting of hours into days into weeks into months - that you could stand, even if it meant pissing your life away for drab boredom. If Doflamingo was a man of voyage and you had to just play the darling spouse seeing him once, twice every few months? Ah, life would be grand, almost, with the way that the sun doesn't light up your eyes anymore. (Because then, you'd just fall into that blissful trance until he returned, time and time again.)

But he's not. The devil loves his home and comforts and you on top of all of that, so he keeps his too-big hands around your shoulders when you watch the ice melt in your untouched drink, opens that mouth wide and grins something awful while he lounges with his prized possession stiff and cold by his side. All the fake-blue pools and umbrella-specked cocktails he provides you with look bizarre right next to you, who doesn't even spare them a half-hearted smile of fake gratitude. And when you're by the water he likes to lounge at and he keeps you barely covered in something that's hot pink and itchy, you don't even feel the heat of the sun beating down on you. Maybe you would have been self-conscious many, many moons ago - all of you on display, a millimeter next to the epicenter of gaudy and excessive that is the king of Dressrosa himself - but no, you don't even care to sit upright. Elbows perched on your thighs, you stare at the water dancing under light, not really seeing. The only thing that bleeds through your ennui is his skin on yours, how his warmth seeps right into you. How it shakes when he laughs, how he rubs little circles into the fat of your back when he doesn't - but he never takes that hand away, either. Always there, always loud and colorful next to your dull face, your tired eyes. He appears to care, goes through the motions - from touching you, talking to you, holding you, fucking you - but it's all fake, all just a little play he likes to engage in, one that you have given up on. And while he shines and shines like some dark stone someone polished too many times - you tarnish more and more.

You're just so tired now. So utterly lifeless.

#tw.yandere #/doflamingo #/one piece #i think he'd like either a feisty little thing or a lifeless doll...

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aranarumei · 4 months

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the anomalous agate (part four)

hello, all. we've made it to the home stretch! this is the last main chapter of the anomalous agate—there's an epilogue after this, as well as bonus extra set more in the world of hanzawa to tashiro. I've also been playing around with the idea of doing a sort of… director's commentary? something like that. where I get to indulge and talk about some of my thoughts.

for anyone who has no idea what this is about, go here for part one

for those who do, here's the ao3 link, and if you prefer tumblr, it's just under the cut

case 2-x: the anomalous agate (part 4)

Sunlight set the streets before me aglow. It was, by all accounts, the warmest day in autumn we’d had this year, and I was beginning to sweat. There was a restless kind of itch inside my skin that I couldn’t seem to quell. Part of it was the bruise—the mark had faded, but now the area of pale purple felt consistently irritated.

The other part was the fact that it was Saturday afternoon. Richard had closed the shop to make a special house call, and it was only now that I realized I’d spent the majority of every weekend working in Ginza. Rather than feel like I was chomping at the bit, though, the sudden free time left my skin itching to head into Jewelry Étranger like always.

After poring over my various options, I’d decided to spend my day off on various chores and errands. I was currently on my way to the supermarket, but in the absence of any attractive deals awaiting me, I was dragging my feet in the afternoon heat. While looking around for a reasonable distraction, my attention was waylaid by the sight of the café I’d entered just over a week ago, and after considering its merit as a temperature-controlled room as well as my flagging enthusiasm for shopping, I decided to enter.

The moment I stepped inside, a cooling breeze swept over my skin, and I was immediately refreshed. Then I scanned for a free seat and caught sight of a familiar head of black hair. A chill skittered up my spine; the person in question turned around and froze the moment our eyes met.

Hanzawa Masato’s mouth parted in an involuntary ‘O’ shape, and I knew, again, that I was bearing witness to a scene I shouldn’t have seen. I thought about tucking myself into a different corner of the café, but the person he was sitting with had already spotted me, and obliviously waved me over.

Hanzawa’s companion was a boy with half-dyed hair, the natural dark brown color abruptly transitioning into a sharp blond-gold. In the time it had taken me to approach them, he’d moved to sit next to Hanzawa, leaving a free seat for me on the other side. I took the offered seat awkwardly, wondering if there was any normal way to introduce myself.

Thankfully, Hanzawa took the lead in greeting me. “…It’s nice to see you, Seigi.”

“…It’s nice to see you too, Hanzawa.” As shocked as he’d been when we’d first made eye contact, he didn’t look irritated or out of sorts. I addressed the person next to him. “And you are…?”

“Tashiro Gonzaburou! Is it fine if I call you Seigi, too?”

“Sure,” I said, a little stunned by his easygoing smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Tashiro.”

Before we could get too deep into a conversation, I ordered an iced americano. Hanzawa took a careful sip of his milk tea—it wasn’t the kind that Richard liked, but I wondered if that was why Hanzawa had asked for the royal milk tea in our first meeting.

Once I’d gotten my drink in hand, Tashiro asked, “So how’d you meet Hanzawa-senpai, anyways?”

Before I could muster up a vague enough answer that would satisfy a guy who seemed wholly blunt and direct, Hanzawa cut in with a response. “Seigi works at a jewelry store in Ginza,” he said. He addressed me: “I was under the impression you worked weekends?”

There wasn’t a hint of turmoil on his face. I thought I’d gotten better at reading him, but I had no idea what he was thinking at the current moment. The circumstances through which I’d met Kaede were kind of awkward, so maybe it wasn’t right to explain… but it wasn’t like these were non-awkward circumstances, either.

“Oh—well, yeah, that’s normally the case,” I said. “But Richard’s making a house call today, so the shop’s closed… we’ll be open tomorrow, though.” That was at least double the words necessary for an explanation. It wasn’t like Hanzawa was going to show up and buy something—he didn’t need me to prattle on about the exact specifics of Jewelry Étranger’s schedule.

“A jeweler’s store?” Tashiro mused out loud before clapping his hands in epiphany. “Hanzawa-senpai, were you buying earrings?”

“…Perhaps?” I’d seen Hanzawa be reticent with information before, but the tone of his voice here was an obvious tease.

With a put-upon sigh, Tashiro asked, “I guess you’re just allergic to straight answers, huh?” At Hanzawa’s answering smile, he added, “Are you finally going to tell me how many piercings you actually have?”

Hanzawa seemed to consider it for a long time, before simply declaring, “That’s no fun—I’ll let you keep guessing.”

For all that I’d worried about an awkward situation, Hanzawa and Tashiro were more than able to carry conversation. Rather than cultivate a sense of unease, Hanzawa’s air of mystery had turned into something almost playful, something which Tashiro’s presence seemed to actively encourage. The two people sitting across from me both carried an inherent kind of charm—from Tashiro, so natural he likely didn’t notice it himself, and a deep, practiced consideration from Hanzawa’s end. I would have been fine just watching them talk to each other, but Hanzawa took note of my sense of distance and conscientiously pulled me into a discussion about various customers that had passed through Jewelry Étranger. We began to trade stories about the interesting people we’d encountered—Hanzawa had stories about almost anything, and Tashiro helped out at a bathhouse near his home that was full of interesting characters.

Still, I couldn’t help but feel the sense that I was a third wheel in this situation.

During a lull in the conversation, Tashiro tilted Hanzawa’s drink towards him and took an exploratory sip. “You got a new flavor,” he observed. “Don’t you usually stick with the same one?”

Hanzawa’s gaze lowered towards Tashiro, slumped forward on the table in the perfect picture of relaxation, Hanzawa’s drink in hand. He tilted his drink back towards him and took a sip. “It is college,” he said. “I think you’re meant to loosen up a little.”

“And have all-night karaoke sessions?” Tashiro replied with a laugh. He straightened back up in his seat, not once breaking eye contact with Hanzawa, and added, “You’ve never really been uptight, anyways.”

Hanzawa raised an eyebrow. “I was president of the disciplinary committee, you know.”

“Hirano-senpai was vice-president,” Tashiro replied scathingly.

I had no idea what that name meant, but seeing as Hanzawa’s lips twitched in amusement, it was an excellent point.

“Anyways, you weren’t uptight, you were up in everything!” Tashiro exclaimed. With his brows scrunched in concentration, he began to count a list of Hanzawa’s activities on his fingers. “President of the disciplinary committee, captain of the ping pong club, head of the dorm, all the random stuff you did for the cultural festival that you’re still doing…” He punctuated his list with a dramatic huff. “I was right—you are a masochist. I bet that hasn’t changed in college.”

On second thought, maybe the ability to carry a conversation didn’t exactly mean one was a good conversationalist. I didn’t know how to look at the two of them without feeling embarrassment, but strangely enough, Hanzawa didn’t seem to mind the impropriety.

His lips curled into a threatening smile. “Tashiro-kun, are you sure you want to repeat that?”

At the deep fondness hidden in his voice, I had a sudden epiphany. Blankly staring at Tashiro, I knew—this has to be what that guy meant.

Unaffected by Hanzawa’s words, and unaware of the whirling thoughts in my head, Tashiro simply muttered, “This is exactly what I mean.”

“How is the ping pong club, anyways?” Hanzawa asked, confirming my suspicions as he pivoted topics.

Tashiro flashed him a peace sign. “Doing great! The guys in our year keep telling stories about you—that’s how they terrify the first years!”

“And I’m sure you’ve let them know that these are terribly unfair rumors?” Hanzawa said, leaning towards him. He fluttered his eyelashes, the action dancing on the edge of mockery and sincerity. “Disparaging a poor alumnus who can’t even defend himself, really…”

Before he could get too far in his speech, they both seemed to realize there was a third person at the table and jerked back into regular sitting positions. Hanzawa ineffectually cleared his throat, and said, “Ah, Seigi—you used to be in a karate club, right? Don’t you still keep in touch with the members?”

“…Well, not any of the newer ones, really,” I said, doing my best to convey that I hadn’t seen anything incriminating. “But I help out in events every once in a while, and I’m on an email chain with a bunch of people I knew at the time. It would be hard to pick it back up all of sudden, but I’ve been considering it.”

Hanzawa’s eyes flickered over to my fading bruise. He opened his mouth as if to ask me a question, and then seemed to think better of it.

“I did karate for a year, actually!” Tashiro piped up.

Genuine disbelief and interest bled into Hanzawa’s voice. “Really?”

“Closer to half a year, probably,” Tashiro amended sheepishly. “But yeah, I cycled through a lot of different sports back then, so I know the basics. Maybe I would’ve picked it back up in high school, but then I got conned—”

“You bore the consequence of terms you accepted, you mean,” Hanzawa cut in.

“Conned,” Tashiro repeated with extra emphasis, “into joining the ping pong club. But karate requires a lot of discipline, so I probably wouldn’t have ever stuck with it for long.” He sighed. “Now that I’m the president of the ping pong club, I can’t even skip practices!”

“Well, obviously,” Hanzawa drawled. With a lightly accusing finger pointed at Tashiro’s hair, he added, “Unfortunately, I only hear good things about you from your clubmates. They don’t even think your hair makes you look like a ruffian!”

“I haven’t dyed my hair in two years because of that stupid rule!” Tashiro replied. “Seriously, what was that president thinking…”

“Probably that you’d grow your hair out and then cut off all the dyed parts,” Hanzawa replied dryly.

“No way,” Tashiro said. “Besides, this is kind of my brand now, anyways.”

“Delinquency?”

Tashiro glared at him. “If only he knew your hair was dyed,” he griped, “then I bet he’d—” He paused in the middle of his complaint and peered at Hanzawa’s unchanging expression. “He knew?”

“Well, my hair doesn’t stand out like yours does.”

“So what?” Tashiro asked. “Just because you look normal doesn’t mean you are.”

Hanzawa ruffled his hair in retaliation. “Show some respect for your senpai,” he huffed. Ignoring Tashiro’s squawks of protest, he added, “Besides, we didn’t force you to dye your hair back to brown, right?” With his hand still near Tashiro’s hair, he curled a stray stand around his finger. “Has your hair been growing much longer recently?”

“Yeah,” Tashiro said, smoothing his hair back into submission. “I think I damaged my hair pretty badly when bleaching it, so it grew kind of slowly, but recently that hasn’t been the case. I don’t know why, but it’s useful for now, isn’t it? I might not even need a wig.”

“…A wig?” I ventured.

Pink dusted Hanzawa’s cheeks. “I—I forgot… that you wouldn’t know,” he finished smoothly, though I had a hunch what he meant to say was I forgot you were there. I’d feel offended if it wasn’t for the fact that this meant that Hanzawa had drastically lowered his guard around me.

“It’s alright,” I said. “Is the wig for your cultural festival?”

“You know about that?” Tashiro asked.

“I heard a little about your… cross-dressing competition?”

“It’s officially termed a beauty contest,” Hanzawa said, “but unofficially… no one calls it that.”

“That’s cool,” I said lamely, but maybe Tashiro had picked up on the sincerity in my voice because he blinked at me for a few moments before beginning to motormouth.

“Hanzawa-senpai’s helping me out!” he exclaimed. For the first time since we’d met, he ducked his head out of shyness. “It’s—for this year, I’m participating… some guys wanted me to do it in my first year, but I refused to, and well, I’m way taller than I was back then so it’s kind of weird, but still—I think it could be kind of fun? And it turns out that a lot of making things look good is in costuming and makeup, which I don’t know anything about, but of course Hanzawa does because he creepily knows everything, right?” He paused, and added, “For that bruise on your face, he could probably help you out there, if you wanted?”

“Oh—he already did, actually,” I said. “I learned how to cover it up when it was way too obvious to go to work, but I didn’t want to bother, otherwise.”

“Of course, he’s amazing,” Tashiro said, like it was a natural law of the universe, and Hanzawa stared, spellbound. “I don’t know how anyone’s going to pull off anything good next year because he’s got things so well-handled. It should really be impossible for a human to actually do that much”—he turned to Hanzawa and glared without much heat—“so maybe actually rest some time, would you?”

Slipping back into his regular grace, Hanzawa gestured at the café. “Isn’t this resting?”

“It’s—I don’t mind that you’re helping,” Tashiro said, a frustrated edge to his voice. “I’m happy about it; I just need you to be, too.”

Hanzawa’s gaze drifted to an aimless point in the air. “Don’t worry about that,” he said, voice a little strangled. “I’m… going to stop by the restroom before we head out.”

With that said, he glided towards a distant corner of the café. Tashiro’s eyes tracked his back as he moved, and once Hanzawa left his line of sight, he studied me with careful eyes.

There wasn’t any pressure behind it, but I couldn’t look away.

Tapping his empty drink against the table, Tashiro said, “Like he said, we’ll probably head out soon.” His voice had dropped in both pitch and volume. “You seem like a good guy, Seigi—it was nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Since that’s the case… he jokes about it, but if you run into Hanzawa-senpai again, could you make sure he’s not actually running himself into the ground?”

Caught by the sincerity and intensity of his request, I agreed without a second thought. “Sure.” Then I realized it wasn’t the kind of promise I could meaningfully keep, but I didn’t know how to clarify my inadequacy.

“I seriously mean it,” Tashiro whispered, “a guy like that has to be a masochist for how much work he takes on. I mean, he’s helping me even though he graduated already…”

It wasn’t the kind of thing I could say to his face, but I had a feeling that Hanzawa didn’t consider helping Tashiro as work. Hanzawa was only a year younger than me—maybe not even that, since I didn’t actually know his birthday—and so Tashiro was two years younger than me at best, but I couldn’t help but feel a rush of odd assuredness at the fact. Looking at him, I could understand, a little, what Richard had meant by saying that non-interference was sometimes the respectable choice.

When Hanzawa returned, he raised an eyebrow at the slightly somber mood of the table—Tashiro staring at his empty drink, and I, lost in my thoughts. “I’m going to assume you started gossiping behind my back,” he said.

Rather than lie, Tashiro dismissively waved off his statement and said, “I told him to look out for you, since you’re up to something or the other. The moment you’re out of my sight, you’re doing all of these interesting things I don’t even know about…”

Stunned by his frankness, Hanzawa’s reply was stilted. “It’s… only expected, I suppose. That I can’t be around as much anymore.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Tashiro clarified. “It’s just a thing. Drag me around sometime when you go on your strange adventures, would you?”

“…I’ll consider it, okay?” Hanzawa said, gentler than I’d ever heard him, and I knew, surer than anything, that those weren’t empty words.

With Tashiro appeased, Hanzawa and I locked eyes.

There were a lot of things that I wanted to say. That more than ever, I felt that lapis lazuli was a perfect stone for him. That he was absolutely capable of grandness and importance. That Hanzawa carried different aspects of himself like he was a living example of metamorphism. But seeing him like this was the exact reason I couldn’t say anything to him. Today, we hadn’t spoken a single word about his visits to Jewelry Étranger, but I’d never felt the pressure to. Each time I’d met with Hanzawa, he’d been on his back foot—navigating his interactions with Richard and I at Jewelry Étranger, worrying over Kaede, or helping me cover my bruise.

But here, without any jewel in his possession, there was someone that recognized Hanzawa as he was. Maybe, then, he didn’t need anything at all.

Tashiro had asked me to look out for Hanzawa, but really, it was the other way around—I just never had to ask. Though there was a lot I didn’t know, I had the feeling that Hanzawa and I were similar types of people. If someone saw us as special, it would be impossible to let go.

I swallowed down all those presumptuous words, and said, “Have a nice day.”

“…You too, Seigi.”

— — —

Three weeks later, I was making a cursory sweep of the Jewelry Étranger floor, watching the clock tick over to closing time, when the door swung open with a blast of frost.

In swept Hanzawa Masato. He was wearing the same shade of pale blue he’d worn during his first visit, but he’d opted for a warm turtleneck instead of a light sweater. He’d layered it with a soft brown coat, but his face was still tinged pink from the cold.

The door clicked shut behind him. I felt as if the broom in my hands should have clattered to the floor, but it stayed in my grip.

Even though it was our duty to greet a client, it was Hanzawa that broke the silence first. “I wasn’t sure if I’d be interrupting something,” he said. Something about his demeanor was noticeably different—he didn’t look uncomfortable, but he wasn’t speaking with his usual practiced composure, either.

I glanced toward Richard—he kept a cool face, but there was a slight deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes that he hadn’t yet shaken off.

“You’re not interrupting,” I said, leaning my broom against the nearest wall. “Feel free to take a seat.”

“Hanzawa-san…” Richard began, before he fully collected himself. “It’s nice to hear from you again. Would you like me to bring out what you’d looked at previously?”

“I’ll make tea—” I offered, but Hanzawa stopped me in my tracks.

“There’s no need,” he said. “It shouldn’t take too long.” He took a deep breath, drawing closer without taking a seat. “To answer your question, Richard-san—you mentioned you carried different kinds of agate, yes?” At Richard’s ensuing nod, he said, “Do you carry any earrings with blue lace agate, then?”

Professionalism snapped Richard back into action. “We do have a few,” he said, rising from his seat. “I’ll be back out in a moment, then.”

Once Richard had disappeared into a back room, Hanzawa offered me an appeasing smile. “I’m sure all these repeated visits are bad for business, but I do actually plan on making a purchase.”

“Richard treats all of his clients sincerely, whether they purchase something or not,” I said in instinctive defense. Maybe my next words weren’t appropriate for an employee to a client, but I’d run into Hanzawa outside of work twice. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure you’d be back. Even though we ran into each other again…”

“I wasn’t planning on it, then,” Hanzawa admitted. “So I do appreciate that you didn’t pressure me.”

“What changed?” I asked.

“I won’t ruin all my mystery,” Hanzawa replied, a little flippant, and I was reminded of the lightness with which he and Tashiro had conversed. “But the simplest explanation is that I figured out what I wanted.” At my blank stare, he laughed, and explained, “I liked the lapis lazuli. But something so ostentatious won’t ever be my style. I said I wanted a statement piece, right? This is one—but it’s a statement to me, not someone else.” He gestured towards his sweater. “And it’s this shade of blue. I do like blue.”

What I’d noticed earlier was the difference between composure and confidence—the latter of which was unmistakable in Hanzawa’s voice.

“If you’re happy with your choice, that’s great,” I said.

In lieu of a proper reply, Hanzawa said, “…If you ever feel like hanging out sometime, Seigi, you do have my number.”

I didn’t give a proper reply, either; Richard returned with his collection of blue lace agate.

There were only three pairs of earrings, so he offered to have a stone worked into jewelry if Hanzawa preferred. Despite his initial hurry, Hanzawa took the time to inspect each set of earring as carefully as he’d studied eyeshadows. Finally, he decided that Richard’s offer wasn’t necessary, and picked out a pair of teardrop-shaped earrings.

“Can I wear these out of the shop?” Hanzawa asked as Richard advised him on the best way to store jewelry. After brushing past his annoyance at the interruption, Richard gave the okay, and so Hanzawa carefully tried them on, closing the back with a soft click.

After making his goodbyes, he paused by the opened door. In the next moment, he whipped back around to face me, displaying a brilliant, evanescent smile. Against all odds, he’d found a way to glow beneath the gray winter sky.

Just outside the door, I caught a glimpse of a green hoodie, and heard a familiar voice. “Your ears!”

Startled, Hanzawa turned and closed the door behind him, but I caught his response just before the door swung shut. “My earrings, Tashiro-kun. Really, it’s rude to point…”

As if on cue, the clock ticked over to closing time. I wasn’t sure when I’d see Hanzawa Masato again, but I knew—whatever conversation he was about to have, it wasn’t one he’d run from.

#hey look! now you guys finally can know why i changed my icon!#like i said then: new year new me babey!#this wouldve gone over way better if i actually posted this at new years like i wanted to lmao #kiri.txt #hanzawa masato #nakata seigi #cfojr #the anomalous agate #my writing #the case files of jeweler richard #tashiro gonzaburou #richard ranasinghe de vulpian #any typos are my own... word skipped straight past em!#tho that means nothing bc spellcheck sucks nowadays #jeweler richard

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scythe-daddyy · 2 months

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Recently I've been missing writing a lot but haven't been feeling very inspired by anything. My autistic burnout makes it hard to do literally anything at the end of the day and my weekends are usually devoted to recovering. It makes me kinda sad sometimes bc I feel as though I have no hobbies to enjoy anymore but hopefully there will be time in the future for that to turn around.

In the meantime I did find this little drabble deep in the trash fire of my Google docs and fiddled with it a bit. It's not much but I was pretty happy with it. It's a short character study of Stein during an episode of his madness.

TW self harm, paranoid delusions, violence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It comes on slowly at first, like a tickle in the throat that steadily intensifies, grows into a cough, a sickness. Nagging. Persistent.

Stein feels it first in the back of his skull. An itch, buried deep in the occipital lobe. It’s...distracting, but nothing that can’t be pushed aside. Ignored.

But much like a wound: when ignored it festers. Grows. Rots the surrounding flesh. Eats away at the rest until it’s poisoned the body with infection. Septic.

So the itch grows, spreads like cancer. Slithers its way down the spinal cord and settles in the nerve endings. And Stein can no longer ignore it. Can feel the electricity thrumming under his skin -- deep under the epidermis, the connective tissue, the muscle -- feels the static that has replaced his bone marrow. His body hums, like the fluorescent lights that glare over his operating table, like the computer screen he can't look away from, and the madness hooks into him like a parasite.

Click. Click. Click.

Next, he gets restless.

The static becomes audible. Gets louder. The feeling of it isn’t gone – in fact, it might be worse. But the crescendo of white noise drowns out everything else, and for a while Stein forgets the deep-seated itch under his skin in favor of the roaring nothingness stuffed like cotton in his ears.

And then he breaks. Comes apart at the seams -- even quite literally, sometimes. Tears himself apart to keep himself from tearing others apart. Peels back his own skin in a final manic, desperate attempt to rip the shadows out of his body, to rip out his own soul from his rib cage. Someone laughs.

He turns on the radio but it plays nothing. Just adds to the static. He tries to drown out the voices, but they lurk in the frequencies. Conspiring whispers so quick he thinks he misses them, but he knows they're there. What they say he can't be sure, so he turns the volume up to a roaring squall and he listens. He knows they're there and he won't let them get him.

Stein used to have a TV– used to watch it as a distraction, until the people on the screen started talking to him. Their faces would warp with sharp smiles, telling him to do things he thinks he shouldn’t. The voices would echo and blend into one loud accumulation of all of them, something of its own kind of static. One day Stein finally set his fist through the glass, shattering the screen to shut them up. It sits in one of the many empty rooms, alone, a reminder in the shadows.

He must keep himself whole, fights to hold himself together, keep the cracks from fracturing further. He drags the needle through his skin, pulling the thick black thread taut. He is precise, surgical, just like a doctor should be. If he can't rip the madness out then at least he can keep it inside, bound under crusted stitches. Controlled. As he sews himself back in place, he tries to think of the words an old partner once said to him, but those belong to the shadows now, too.

It’s almost like kintsugi, but that is an art devoted to beautiful things. Stein is not a beautiful thing. And that is not a thought rooted in insecurities, for Stein has never understood something so superficial as vanity. Madness is an ugly thing. Gruesome and bloody, devoid of morals. And because of what sleeps inside Stein’s bones -- because of what tears him apart, leaves his body a broken, visceral mess, he is no porcelain deserving to be fixed with gold. He is flesh, torn up and stitched back together.

#franken stein #soul eater #soul eater fanfiction #my writing #character study

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the-cookie-of-doom · 5 months

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Prompt: Arm has all kinds of fun and fancy gadgets to play with. (Practically has his own sci fi sex shop bc he's a Freak). Arm notices Kim has been StressedTM. He offers a way to... decompress..

Arm is a good bodyguard. His performance during the routine physical tests are above average, he has a sharp eye for security, and his loyalty is unwavering. For these reasons, Kim determined Arm to be an acceptable chaperone for his brother, and promptly dismissed any other thought of the guard.

This lasts until Kim is leaving the tower from yet another frustrating meeting with his father, and finds Arm in his path, with Tankhun nowhere to be found. He attempts to brush past. Arm does not let him. This, at last, gains Kim’s full attention; something the more intelligent staff employed by his family strive to avoid.

“What?” Kim says, his voice whip-sharp and a clear dismissal, despite the apparent question. He doesn't have time for this.

“Khun Kim,” Arm begins. He pushes his glasses up his nose and clutches a tablet against his chest.

“What?”

“Ahh… I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but Khun Nu sent me.”

For the third time, Kim snaps, “What. Do you. Want?”

“Respectfully, sir, I think it would be better if I showed you.”

Again, Kim thinks, I don’t have time for this. But his brother is relentless. Kim knows from past experience that once Khun sets his mind on something, he’s worse than a dog with a bone. He’ll send Arm after Kim again and again until he gets what he wants.

Easier to get this over with.

“Fine.”

“Right this way, sir.”

Arm takes him back through the compound, Kim’s skin buzzing the entire time. He hates it here. His conversation with his father only made it worse, left him itching for a fight, something to ground him. The long journey they take doesn’t help. Neither does the silent elevator ride, Kim glowering at Arm the whole time while the bodyguard hides behind his tablet.

They end up on the family’s private trainer floor. Kim used to spend most of his time here before he left, spending hours in the gym until he was too exhausted to move. That restless buzzing beneath his skin has always been there, just under the surface, frenetic energy demanding an outlet.

“Just in here, Khun Kim.”

Arm enters a complex code into a panel on the door, and then they’re granted entry. Kim can’t deny he’s curious to know what could be inside to demand such measures.

It’s… not what he expects.

“Arm,” Kim says slowly. Carefully. His voice has no inflection, betrays no emotion, as he surveys the room. ��What are we doing here?”

At first glance, it looks like a workshop. The room has several work benches littered with mechanical equipment, various gadgets that Kim doesn't recognize. When he looks closer, though… At least some of them are recognizably sex toys.

What the fuck, Khun?

“Aha. You see, Khun Kim, Khun Nu thought you’ve been… stressed? He says he’s worried about you, and how you usually take care of such things, so he asked me to help you decompress. In a safe and controlled manner. If you wanted.”

This is surreal.

Kim turns around and walks out without another word.

Kim comes back a week later, catches Arm after his shift has ended, and demands, “No one can know, or I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”

“Of course, sir. I will be entirely discreet.” Kim believes him, if only because years of service to Tankhun will have taught anyone a healthy dose of discretion.

Arm agrees to meet him at his apartment—far away from the prying eyes of the compound—the next evening. Kim spends the entire day all but vibrating out of his skin, and all but drags Arm inside when the guard finally arrives with a briefcase at his side.

“Would you like a demonstration, sir?” Arm asks when he sees the confused way Kim is handling the device. Kim would rather shrivel up and die, actually, but a part of him is unbearably curious. Thankfully Arm doesn’t wait for an answer.

Arm takes the small silicone object from him and presses an invisible button on the side. All of a sudden it buzzes to life in his palm.

“This is a bullet vibrator,” he patiently explains. “You can use this anywhere you like. It can be used to tease the nipples or head of the penis, or pressed up behind the testicles for extra sensation, or used internally for prostate stimulation.”

Kim does not blush. He doesn’t.

“Fuck, fuck—”

“Are you doing alright, sir?” Arm asks, polite, like he isn’t torturing Kim.

“No,” Kim groans, trying to twist away from the near-painful pleasure. Arm, it turns out, brought several more of those naughty little bullet vibes, and didn’t hesitate in taping a pair of them to Kim’s sensitive nipple, circling them around the throbbing head of his dick, and pressing them up behind his balls—Kim didn’t think that would feel like anything, but the combined stimulation is blinding.

And it doesn't matter how he twists and squirms, he can’t get away from it all.

Blessedly, Arm stops his torment and pulls away the two vibes in his hands. The ones on his nipples stay, though, and Arm fiddles with his tablet until the vibration pattern changes to an unpredictable undulating wave of intensity.

Arm returns to him with a silver cylinder. Before Kim has a chance to asks what it’s for, he slides it down his cock, cool and wet, and flips a switch that makes it pulse against Kim’s length. It squeezes around him like a throat, waving from top to bottom.

“Hold this, please,” Arm instructs. Kim does; his fingers ache when he realizes his white-knuckled grip on the sheets to grasp the thing, and he only just keeps himself from thrusting up into it. He’s trying to maintain some composure.

Then arm gently grasps his sac and wraps something around it, tucking the band up nice and snug against his body. There’s a broader piece at the back that tucks up against his perineum. More tapping at that damned tablet, and it buzzes to life.

Kim whimpers.

Hours must have passed by the end of it. Kim doesn’t know. Doesn’t care, either, about the time, or about anything else. His body is sore like he spent hours in the gym, and his mind is quiet, and his skin is thrumming with oversensitive pulses of pleasure, but not restless agitation, and he feels like syrup.

“How are you feeling, Khun Kim?” Arm asks. He pushes his glasses up his nose. Unlike Kim, naked and panting where he’s splayed out in the center of his bed, Arm is entirely put together where he stands beside it. He doesn’t have a hair out of his place, his suit just as crisp as it was when he arrived.

“... Good,” Kim eventually says. Arm gives him a professional smile.

“Excellent. I’m pleased to be of service, Khun Kim,” he says. “Don’t worry about returning the equipment; it’s yours, now. Please let me know if you have any questions.”

“I will.”

Arm bows respectfully, then leaves Kim alone, staring at the ceiling and trying to pull himself back together.

When he finally does, dragging himself out of the bed to take a much needed shower—his legs unsteady beneath him—he notices Arm’s tablet left on his nightstand. He picks it up.

It’s unlocked.

Kim looks at the briefcase at the foot of his bed, still lying open, and considers the devices they hadn’t had the chance to try.

He lays back down.

#cookie writes #armkim #?#good enough #Kim doesn't even get fucked lol #Arm barely touches him at all #very limited skin contact #very professional #Kim is absolutely losing his mind over it

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yinyunnsworld · 2 years

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If His Eyes Weren't Fooling Around.

Character: Rei Sakuma

Words: 998

Type: Fluff

Gender: Female

Synopsis: During his walk around the park with his beloved to explore with, he found himself to gaze at the view, relishing every thing he saw before he came to propose and got down on one knee.

If his eyes weren't fooling around, the resplendent moonlight shone its glow, it beamed ever so brightly as it turned into the full moon. Walking on each grass felt like the world breathed, colours of green nourished the path. And as if the person before him was Peresphone, flowers seemed to blossom but none of them outshone them.

If his eyes weren't fooling around, he heard the light humming as if it's a lullaby. Her eyes glinted like the diamonds, blessed with bliss. Her fingertips gracefully touched the flowers randomly, it was all magical. Everything about this was magical.

Fleeting touches of theirs against the petals, the diamond e/c eyes gazing at the view with fondness in her eyes.

If his eyes weren't fooling, with this, he became Hades. Not with the desire to kidnap her and make her stay, but the desire to make her his queen, shower her with everything he had.

And if his eyes were fooling around, the e/c eyes glanced up, gazing at the young man's blooming red eyes. Admiration was all he saw within her, his fingers itched to grab a hold of her cheeks, soothing it gently一

"Hey, why are you staring? Do you like the view?"

If his eyes weren't fooling around, she was like the dove一gentle, graceful, and somewhere beaming under the sun. "Ah, no. I'm just amazed with the view the world's offered. If the lady wishes, shall we take a deeper stroll in the garden?"

"But it's late at night. Don't you think we should head back and rest?"

With his vampire like antics, he felt restless. Especially if he were to stand next to the h/c haired lady. "If you desire rest, then let's head back. But the night is still young."

She walked closer to him, fingertips grazed gently on his cheeks' skin. If his eyes weren't fooling, a glint of mischief stirred with tenderness. He swore his cheeks were hurting from the smile, however with this single touch of hers一he couldn't help but smile a bit wider.

"I see, the lady wishes to fool around."

She only let out a giggle一soft like angels chanting its lullaby, the world stopped its howling wind to let him cherish the voice. And at there and then, he wanted to grab a hold of her face and bring her close to him, to e gulf her in his warmth.

His finger tips moved on its own, out of his will, grazing against her cheeks as how she did with him一all sweet nothings poured out from his lips the moment he took a turn to take a breath. "You look beautiful tonight."

"Huh, so that means I've never been beautiful?"

He let out a mused chuckle, oh how much he wanted to savour her words, to sugar his ears. "Perhaps I should reprhase my words. You're beautiful, and especially tonight you seem like a Moon Goddess came and play on Earth for a while. And during the day, you resemble spring."

"Goodness, cheesy you are, I see."

She rolled her eyes, smiling uncontrollably as she playfully hit his chest. Her smile couldn't get any wider, if picture could catch the view he'd keep it.

"We've been dating for a while..."

"Yea?" Her laughter died down, regaining her composure by looking up to his ruby eyes once again.

The moonlight shone its glim on the diamond ring, shining brightly between his thumbs. Though, he may not have flowers on his hand, chocolate to share under the starry night.

But he did have his heart ready.

If his eyes weren't fooling around, his fingers that once graced itself upon her cheeks trailed down to where her hands dangled. Lacing them together, his heart somehow skipped another beat. "What do you think about spending one last night together?"

"...Huh? W-what do you mean?"

If his eyes weren't fooling, he gazed at the hollowness slowly took over her eyes, the confusion stirring her face一he certainly didn't like to leave someone hanging, to leave someone confused.

The wind howled another round, a bit more windy than before, blowing past both hairs to the point leaves were broight to be flown away. It blew from the south from his dear lover's side, resulting her to turn her attention to the wind.

"Wait, I think we sgould talk inside. You know to clear our heads and一"

Here's his chance.

He kneeled, taking out the ring with a smile soft as ths a feather, the glint of hope and bliss stirred with anxiety as thoughts started to ravel itself in his head, 'What if it turned out to be the worst? What if she rejected me?'

But the sight of the diamond ring, the moon beamed with its luminosity to reflect the gem, he could never be more proud. "(Name)," he called, sounding like a soft whisper.

If his eyes weren't fooling, the hollow gaze she accidently casted disappeared, replaced with something he couldn't decipher fot his running thoughts blocked his access. Uttering a name was difficult, let alone to say his purpose一a heavy lump weighed his throat, he couldn't speak.

If he were to stop now, backfire now, the fairy in front of him would disappear from his grasp. But he didn't want to have anyone of his palm一he wanted her to be free, for her to decide what she wishes to do.

So if he were to be rejected, it should be fine, shouldn't it? So with breathless voice, with his heart that weren't fooling around, with his eyes to stay true to what's ahead as he gazed deep into the iridescent e/c irises, he gently spoke,

"If the world ends, let me bring you in my arms. When a new life starts, let me be the one to greet you every morning."

If Rei Sakuma didn't fool himself, he spoke with utmost truth:

"Will you marry me?"

#ensemble stars x reader #ensemble #ensemble stars imagines #ensemble stars #enstars x y/n #enstars x reader #enstars imagines #x reader #rei sakuma #rei sakuma x reader #lmao this is very short and dumb but who cares lol #yin writes☆

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dulcewrites · 10 months

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Mauled Hearts

Aemond has lost an eye, but gained a dragon. He is sure he is slowly losing much of his sanity, but he has gained an equally nutty friend.

I had this small little au idea for what would happen if Myrah came to King’s Landing sooner than she did in Finding Common Cause. It sort of spiraled into me writing this because I’m super curious about that time jump after the driftmark incident. So much happened and it’s a shame we didn’t get it in the show imo. This picks up right after Driftmark. I see Aemond being 11/12 and Myrah is 13

Aemond is late for dinner… again.

Alicent tries not to fixate on the empty seat on the other side of the table. She often had to tell herself nothing was wrong, even when she could feel the eventual doom in the pit of her stomach.

When he didn’t arrive with his sibling, she sent Criston out to find him. She made the rules clear very to all of them. No flying right before or right after dinner. Always, always, tell a guard where you are going to be. She reminds Aemond of this the most. Doing it every morning while she watches the maesters repatch his eye bandages. He grows restless with them by the day. The bandages and the maesters. Opting to redo them as soon as they leave the room.

Alicent just watches. Tongue tingling to say something. Fingers itching as well. She doesn’t know if that is the urge to help her son feel better or the urge to peel her skin from her body. Starting with the fingers till is freyed and left open.

Aemond hates the help he receives. He was always far too precocious for his age. She often thinks he came out of the womb with the world on his shoulders. A difficult birth on her part leading to a haughty attitude passed to him. It’s only compounded since the indecent. He insist on doing things himself as much as possible, despite looking miserable some of the time.

Aegon loudly blows air out of his lips, staring at the meat pies that have yet to be touched. Alicent raises a brow at him, and he raises one back. Defiance and annoyance written on his face.

She can’t help but wonder if that is how she looks everyday. Same melancholy, detached eyes.

It makes her plaster a fake smile on her as the kitchen maids continue to cart out food. The meal was not to start till everyone had arrived; another rule of hers.

The seat next to her is also empty, but she is far more grateful for that. Viserys had locked himself in his room since receiving the raven a week ago.

Rhaenyra and Daemon. Married. Celebrating their newlywed bliss.

He had bitched and moan about it while Alicent tried to hold back a bile helping him change. The nauseous feeling was for serveral different reasons. She always noticed the way Daemon’s eyes trailed people. Daemon Targaryen was a simple man, or at the very least his stunted mind only allowed him to register few emotions on his face. His eyes only computed hatred and toleration; within those two camps came a spectrum of other things under the surface. Anyone less used to watching and observing as Alicent would miss it.

She saw the looks of wanting enacted on Rhaenyra from her uncle.

“I swear it! On the memory of my mother!” Rhaenyra said, and silly Alicent belived it. No wonder everyone lies to her; she makes it so easy for them.

It was only a matter of time before Rhaenyra was another fly in his web. Alicent recognized the lust like she did the hatred.

You don’t hate me because of my father. You hate me because I married your brother. Do you wish you were in my place? Do you wish Rhaenyra was him? Can’t get the acceptance you want from your big brother so you patiently wait for the day that years of gifts and lurking comes to fruition.

Targaryens were terribly funny like that. It would not the most far fetched idea in theory. Daemon viewing Rhaenyra as an extension of Viserys. The way Alicent is always viewed as an extension of her father.

Another no show at dinner. He had the same disgusted response to Rhaenyra and Daemon’s marriage but for different reasons. Otto never hid his distain for Daemon and vice versa. Alicent was envious of them in that regard. Daemon especially. How his emotions were able to ebb and flow freely. No one to tell him he wasn’t valid in them.

She had one moment of anger. A flash of something that burned underneath the surface from the day her mother was buried in the ground, from the moment her stay of King’s Landing became permanent, from the moment she had to lay on her back and have Viserys on top of her. Night after night. Put her body on the line to bear him four children.

She defends herself once, tries to avenge what happened to her son, and she gets whispers of 'mad queen' in court. Somedays, she wants to prove those people right and have their tongues cut out.

But Alicent cannot even pretend to be that cruel. The way others around her cannot pretend to not be that cruel. She immediately apologizes with white hot guilt and shame burning her body while members of her so called family just literally burn everything in their wake. People included.

Lady Rhea dead, Laena dead, then Laenor shortly after. A titled lady and two dragon riders in their own right, all gone. What is to say she and her children will not be next?

"You are not foolish enough to think they have nothing to do with his death, right," her father looked exasperated by her wide eyed look of shock when she learned about Laenor.

Now you see her what she is. What the king's stubbornness has wrought.

She had no comeback when Otto reiterated that same sentiment days ago. No argument for what is the truth. At times, she just wanted to scream at Viserys to wake up. To realize that he is the fucking king; if he does not want his precious daughter in harm's way, he could stop it easily. If he does not want Rhaenyra and Daemon married, he could make it so. If he wanted his daughter to not have bastards or have no one whisper about their parentage, he could have told her to watch herself after the first boy came out just as plain featured as his father. What is stopping Viserys from wielding that power other than his own cowardice? He could have stopped it all the moment before he decided to remarry.

The Mad Queen and the Cowardly King, what a horrid pair they make.

But Alicent has quickly learned that the only time Viserys feels comfortable reminding everyone he is king is often at her expense. And now at the expense of the children he had with her.

On cue, Criston and Aemond stroll into the dining hall.

Aemond cheeks are a bit pink when he finally plops down. Alicent opens her mouth to ask him where the seven hells he’s been, but out of the corner of her eye she sees Criston shake his head slightly. As if to say, we can talk about this later.

They had gotten good at that. Shared looks of communication.

Alicent tries to read between the lines as dinner goes on, but it to no veil as Aemond won’t meet her gaze. Helaena whimsically makes her way through a story about Dreamfyre. By the time dinner is done, Alicent’s interest is far too piqued in what Criston will tell her to even move from her spot.

The kids all give her a kiss goodnight as the evening turns. Before he leans to kiss her on the cheek, Alicent grabs Aemond’s arm softly.

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

His face scrunches in a way that Alicent assumes may be painful because of the healing stitches. He looks over at Criston for a moment then back at his mother.

“You look pretty today.”

Alicent almost laughs at the gall of her second boy. Almost.

“Thanks,” she says dryly as he pecks her. The last of the guards take him away to his room.

Alicent by passes the small goblet in front of her, and goes straight for just the wine jug itself. Criston takes a seat at the table, watching as Alicent downs the wine. She knows when she leaves, she will have to go visit Viserys. Make sure is isn’t slumped over his stupid model, like she found him a couple nights ago.

Or gods willing choked on his own vomit.

“So,” Alicent waits for an explanation.

Criston opens his mouth, then closes it. She can tell he is trying to think of the words to say.

“I do not want you to be upset, your grace.”

Alicent rolls her eyes. He’s always brought would the formalities when he had to tell something bad. She wonders what trouble her children have gotten into now.

“Aemond has a friend.”

She blinks surprised. That was not what she was expecting.

“A friend?”

“Hmm,” he chews on lips. “A friend… that is a young lady.”

“What,” she says it far louder than she intended to. Startling even the kitchen help that come to pick up the plates. She lowers her voice once they are alone again. “What?”

“She is innocent and harmless,” Criston warns. “Well, mostly harmless.”

“Mostly,” Alicent voices gets a bit high.

“They read together. One time I caught them collecting butterflies for Helaena which was nice and -“

“Helaena knew too?”

Criston grimaces. It is a look he has been giving her a lot lately. This look of horrible pity but also cautiousness. Like he is expecting another knife related incident to take place at any moment. Had she reach such lows that Criston of all people was worried about another rage filled outburst?

Alicent slumps in her chair. Even while being painfully attentive, she still manages to never get her children. The kids did always have a knack for sneaking around. From the moment they could stand and walk on both legs, they managed to evade her. On one hand, she could chalk it up to childlike curiosity and recklessness. Something was squeezed out of her at a young age. But the other hand, she could not help think it was a omen for her relationship with her kids. No matter how hard she tries, there will always be parts of them out of her reach. Literally and figuratively.

“I also might have heard them chanting things in a language I did not understand. Then damning a girl named Becca.”

Alicent’s face shifts to mortification.

“But she’s a nice girl. A little strange but no one is forcing Aemond to be around her, so he must enjoy her company,” Criston comforts. “I would not let anything happen to him. Not again.”

Alicent swallows thickly. It was a shared guilt that ran through them. She goes over that night daily, sometimes multiple times a day. How she could’ve stopped it from happening the way it did. She knew how much Aemond wanted a dragon. She should’ve been down there with him. It may the Targaryen blood that gives him the ability to fly that behemoth he loves so much, but he is hers. All of them are hers. The fault of that night was lies at the adults’ feet, including Alicent’s

Her, Viserys, Daemon, Rhaenyra, Laenor.

So overcome with humiliation after Viserys called her Aemma, she retreated to her chambers and stayed there with little care for how it may look. That was till she got a frantic knock from Ser Westerling. Before that horrible knock, Criston watched her cry for a moment before leaving her to her own devices. She could tell he wanted to say something in that moment, but did not risk overstepping a boundary.

A boundary that was frankly overstepped the moment she found him in the Godswood with a blade pointed towards his chest. It was overstepped when she overrode her father’s pleas not to, and had Criston sworn to her.

Alicent, an avid reader in her girlhood, read about the bone rattling allegiance knights have to their queens. She often she fears she got the worst of the bunch. Steeped in honor and attentiveness as he is in violence.

To be fair, she is sure she would be prone to burst of vision blurring anger if she had to protect a family like this one.

At least it was something they could understand on a fundamental level - the utter macabre of a lifetime of servitude.

“Who even is this girl?”

Criston’s lips tilt up in a half smile. “Myrah. Myrah Everlane.”

Alicent tries to rack her brain for any memories of meeting people with the last name Everlane. She bustles around so many people daily, it is hard to keep up at times. It sounds vaguely familiar but not a house that she would keep on her radar.

“Well, maybe he can invite her to dinner one night?”

Alicent tries not feel hurt about Aemond not telling her.

“…. Sure you grace…. maybe,” Criston doesn’t look convinced.

How different can this girl be? She’s what? Ten and three at the most.

But then Alicent thinks about herself at that age. Anxious, unsure, and clinging to the only lifeline she had at the time…. A Targaryen of her own. It pains her to think about how her girlhood feels like a distant memory; how court changes young ladies. Suddenly her reservations for Aemond melt away.

Gods help whoever this Myrah is.

———

In a way, Aemond knew it would not work.

Despite all the books he had read about the magic of Old Valyria, and the how Targaryen blood is special, it would be a bust. He could not feel any less god like waking up each morning, and was no skill of ancestors of bloogmages that came before him here to guide.

But it was admittly wildly entertaining watching Myrah take it as seriously as possible. Right down to outfit she decided to wear. Wrapped in deep red, oversized silks she said she took from her mother. Half her of long hair pulled up with various gold hair accessories. Rogue smeared on her lips.

To be honest, she reminded more of the Braavosi and Lysene dancers that would be brought in for special occasions as the castle. More whimsical with girlish frolic than like a powerful maegi ready to do blood sacrifices. Not even the fire in front of them helping her cause.

Though completely in character, Myrah still insisted he be the one to work with the pig’s blood.

“If I get anything on this, my mother will use me as a blood sacrifice. She got this fabric the last time she was in Dorne,” she sniffed, large book in hand. “I still don’t understand why we had to use a pig and not something smaller like the last time.”

Aemond shifted uncomfortably. “Because I said so.”

“Because I said so,” she mocks under her breath. Sighing, she holds out her hand. Do you have your list?”

Aemond fiddles with his pocket before pulling out writing parchment and handing it to Myrah. Her brows shoot up towards her hairline.

“This is quite the list. You added punishments to the names?”

“Many people deserve to suffer and I want to be thorough,” he shrugs. Myrah nods slowly before reading the list outloud.

“Lucerys Rivers - ,” she stops herself tentively. “There was a rumor I heard that their father was… awfully strong.”

Myrah was a lot of things, Aemond thought. Brash was one of them. But brash in the way he appreciated. Not afraid to say the obvious outloud while keeping what she needed to close to the chest. When he tentively brought up wanting to curse those a little closer to him, Myrah nodded, good natured and understanding. Families are tough, and I’ve never cursed a king. It will prove my power.

“Strong and dead.”

“Lucerys Rivers - nothing but eternal suffering and haunted by the ghost of actual Velaryons till his eventual death... being fed to Vhagar. Jacaerys Rivers - burned alive. Rhaenyra Targaryen -,” she pauses again, holding the paper out. “What is that word.”

Aemond squints, even his own handwriting tricking him. “Umm, sharply.”

“Rhaenyra Targaryen - sharply put to question, eyes plucked out one by one. Viserys Targaryen - guilted, tongue chopped off, then pushed down the stairs.”

The last part made Myrah giggle as she handed the paper back to him.

“Alright, let’s do this,” she flips some pages in the book before straightening her book regally. Letting her large eyed flutter shut she begins speaking in Qohorik. Myrah had picked the Low Valyrian dialect quickly. It makes Aemond wonder how she would fair with High Valyrian. It rolls of her tongue smooth like silk. He had noticed how entrance he was till she opened her eyes expectantly, eyes darting to the blood then to the fire.

“Oh,” he realized it was his turned.

He crumbled his enemies list and threw it into the fire. Followed by blood of the pig. It was an ordeal of itself getting it. Sneaking into the kitchen with one of his Valyrian steel blades. Myrah was of course a terrible lookout. Eyes wandering to the tarts sitting out versus the door. Luckily enough, they were only caught by Criston, who gave them a strange look then a resigned sigh before walking Aemond back to his room then Myrah back to hers.

They sit there in silence watching it all get mangled in the fireplace.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Aemond snorts. “Just like the last time.”

Myrah closes the book. “These things take time.”

“Has Becca from back in the Vale been damned to enternal sadness yet,” he challenges.

“No,” she narrows her eyes. Deep pools of amber darkening. “But I expect for my friends to write me any day now about how miserable she is.”

Aemond shrugs, not convinced as his vision was trained on the fire. He used to think something was wrong with him. Guiltily blaming the Hightower in him. That is must’ve done something to the Targaryen blood. But really, he is just unlucky.

He is not God like his ancestors said Targaryens were. He is terribly mortal. A one-eyed mortal. Fake blood magic or not.

“I need to make sure I’m not late for dinner again,” he says abruptly, suddently feeling that familiar pit of sadness in his gut

Myrah frowns a bit. “What’s wrong?”

“Who said anything was wrong?”

“You have that dopey, awful look on your face.”

Aemond looks over at her with the best glare he can muster. Myrah’s face doesn’t change, a serene calmness marrying her face. He hates how everyone looks at him these days. Sympathy or… disgust. It makes him hate leaving his room. But Myrah just looks through him, as if she never notices the bandages that cover have his face.

“I overheard some people speaking about my eye,” he mutters, embarrassed.

Something flashes behind Myrah’s eyes. “Fuck them. Fuck court and fuck King’s Landing too.”

Aemond is a bit taken a back by her choice of words, but he had heard the sentiment before. The luster of the Red Keep worn off quickly with Myrah. Finding the politicking and fakeness nauseating.

“I was so excited to come here, and now I’d take the Vale with all its sheep and mountains and windchill over this place. There’s no Lady Tyrell asking my parents where they are really from or stuffy old people who have nothing better to do than talk about other’s wealth or lack thereof.” She takes a deep breath after her spiel. “Whether you have one eye, or both. Or you’re missing any other limbs, you’re still Aemond Targaryen. Prince of the realm and rider of the largest dragon in the world. If anyone makes fun of you, that says more about them than it ever will about you.”

She pauses for a moment.

“And when in doubt you can just feed them to Vhagar.”

Well… she’s not wrong about that.

Myrah leaves him with the pep talk, and then a squeeze of the hand. He hopes it wasn’t sweaty when she did. He tries not to meet Criston’s gaze as they walk to dinner.

“Did you have fun?”

All Aemond can do is hum nonchalantly. Not trusting his voice, or the uneven way his heart beats.

#this is so random but I want it out of my drafts lmaooo #it was cute and fun to write tho #maybe I’ll continue it and do one when they are teens then one when they are the age they are in fcc #I’m trying to finish the small thing where Baelor is born (in the modern universe)#but I hate every ending I write sorry #fcc aus

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love-too · 1 year

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I don’t think I have ever talked about this with someone. Or rather, I tried at first, but people were set on misunderstanding me at the time. It literally keeps me up at night because of the shame I still feel thinking back on it.

Anyways, I was still in elementary school and here we have this tradition of organizing a big dinner with parents and kids for the end of the school year. I remember me and my family were getting ready and my mum started asking me and my siblings who we’d like to seat next to. My siblings answered and then, when it came my turn, I answered with the name of a boy who I found really smart and mature and emotionally kind. All of this platonically. But, as soon as I said that, my siblings and my mum started teasing me (now I use the word teasing, but at the time it felt just like they were making fun of me) and telling me that I had a crush on him and I wanted to kiss him and blah blah blah

I remember yelling - YELLING - because of this. I was a fierce, but quiet kid so it wasn’t exactly like me to do so. And I tried to reason with them, but they wouldn’t budge. I felt so much shame at that moment and tears filled up my eyes. My god, the memory of the frustration I felt still makes my skin crawl. I felt like I wasn’t being heard. Why was the truth getting ignored? I wanted to straighten things out, I wanted to make sure that they knew I didn’t have a crush on the boy. I wanted to make sure that their thoughts matched my view, but how could I have done that, when they were so unwilling to listen?

So I just stopped talking about boys in front of basically anyone. I watched my words and measured my reactions regarding them. And then it wasn’t enough, because, after puberty, I had to start doing the same things about girls. And that was even scarier because that meant they were suspecting I could be queer, and that’s not the best in a christian family worried about sin.

Now, looking back at it, I think this is one of the reasons why it took me so much to come to terms with being aroace. Because at first I thought I actually wasn’t, I was just trying to disguise my feelings. I thought I had *made myself* unemotional and unavailable and that it was just a matter of time and retrying.

So I went down to the beach and kissed a boy and I let him touch me in ways that I didn’t dislike, but that I wasn’t exaclty seeking. And then I tried to heal and getting out of my shell and make queer friends, because I’m 23, I’m away from home and I’m old and time is running out. And the moment I do and I get comfortable and I let a boy card his hands through my hair in public while we seat across from this girl that’s just making fun of his restless hands and not teasing about the situation - because there’s nothing to tease about, because we’re just friends and we’re all queer and I might still not have said the words out loud, but I feel like they would accept it without a second guess - and I tell my mum in my excitement of finally having new friends, the first thing she asks is: and is he handsome?

And I once again feel seven again, trying to yell at my mum that I don’t have a crush on the boy, that I just feel we’re akin and we get along well. But this time I’m halfway across the world, so I just clutch my phone till my knuckles get white and I lie and I out him as something that he’s not. And the shame is still there and my skull itches in the spot where he braided my hair in the same way that my throath does under the power of my tears needling at my lungs. And this is all so stupid, and I’ll never be able to be myself, not even 15 years apart, not even halfway across the globe. I just want to rip my hair off.

#personal #sorry for posting this on a sunday #but i feel like if i don't let it out i'll just go insane #aromantic #aroace #asexual #asexuality #am i asexual #am i aromantic?#sexuality crisis #roba mia #13.11.2022

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yezielmoore · 2 years

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21. Solution (pt.4)

More Eureka AU!! This was supposed to be a timeskip, but it just felt bad to leave the last, angsty, part be the last one before the Great Returning.

.-,-.

She was contemplating the aetheryte shard in their camp when her horns picked up the crunching of gravel.

“You’re going out again, aren’t you?” Came Vyncent’s voice from her right.

Athene turned her head slightly in his direction, the blue glow of the aetheryte shard casting strange shadows on her face. Vyncent was frowning at the hard-packed earth, arms crossed in front of him. As always, he was wearing his jacket and had pulled its hood as far down as it would go, to cover his garlean third eye that was now an actual third eye.

She pressed her hand against the shard. It tingled and she imagined she could feel the pull from the others.

“Now that we are as protected as we will probably get, I think it's time to reconnect the aetherytes,” Athene said instead, which was an answer in itself.

Being able to evacuate in a matter of seconds would be invaluable. Of course, that meant securing the other aetherytes, but beasts tended to avoid them, something about their resonance bothering them, so as long as she could sneak into each place, Athene could activate them and wait for the premises to be vacated.

It wasn’t a long term solution. Most of the island remained out of their reach. There was a veritable storm of aether at their backs that rebuffed their every attempt to tame it or bypass it. They didn't know how to leave the Aetherial Sea either.

But… baby steps. They were alive, they were protected, they had food, next they would have ease of movement. It was not insignificant.

All of this was true. It wasn’t the whole truth, however. Athene didn’t know how to explain it beyond ‘new instincts’, an excuse that grated on her the more she said it, even if it was true. Facts were facts though, and there was a restless feeling building inside her, like an itch under her skin she could only soothe when she perched on the tallest point in the camp.

Staying put for a few days to recover had been fine. She helped the kids with their little gardening project, she rested and inquired about the health, mental and otherwise, of her friends. Now, however, it was becoming evident to everyone that she was restless. She needed to move, to get out and, heh, spread her wings.

Vyncent nodded. “Be careful,” he ordered, looking like he regretted speaking out loud, but also like he would bulldoze his way through the awkwardness if it was the last thing he did. He was stubborn like that. “I mean it. You… we care about you too, you know? Not just because you took it upon yourself to guide us when this happened and kept us alive.”

“I didn’t keep you alive,” Athene protested in shock. “We did that together.”

Vyncent gray eyes found hers for a brief moment before he averted his gaze to the shimmering barrier over their heads and… okay, she did design that, because she was good at them, but everyone pitched in to make it permanent and useful.

“I’m not good at this,” he muttered in a low voice. “We don’t want you to die, okay? If something happens… it happens. But don’t sacrifice yourself for us.” He gestured to their camp. “You made this the safest it can be, and for that we are grateful, but it isn’t worth your life. The network isn’t worth your life either. So if you decide to go, if you need to go, just… don’t be stupid and don’t die.”

Athene was speechless. It’s not that she didn’t think they cared for her. It was obvious that all of them did, to varying degrees. This vehemence was different though, especially coming from someone as reserved as Vyncent.

Probably why he volunteered for the task.

“Of course.” What else could she say, after all that? “I’ll do my best, I swear.”

Vyncent visibly relaxed at that. “Good, that’s… good.”

The silence stretched between them for an uncomfortably long time until Athene cleared her throat.

“So… those linkpearls you and Funana were tinkering with. How’s that coming?”

Seeing Vyncent's whole face lit up at the, frankly terrible, change of topics. The slight embarrassment she felt when he raised an eyebrow at her was well worth it, she decided. She shrugged in response and Vyncent chuckled before launching on an impromptu presentation of his and Funana’s project.

“I think we may have finally found the right combination of materials and runes to isolate the worst of the Lifestream interference, so theoretically we could…”

Athene guided the enthusiastic man to a makeshift bench, nodding along to his explanation to the problems they encountered while trying to make the linkpearls functional again, one of which seemed to be attuning to the voices of the dead.

That was… unsurprising, given their location, but incredibly creepy regardless.

Despite it all, Athene relaxed against the man, letting his voice wash over her, letting everyone’s care warm her from the inside. Tomorrow she would set out again, but today she was amongst family.

#and athene really needed to hear #some of those things #go vyncent #smack some sense into her #ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #athene noctua

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rozcdust · 2 years

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I know how this story goes

pt. 9

Pairing: Rindou Hairani x f!reader x Sanzu Haruchiyo

Genre: Crack, SMAU

Word count: 700ish

Warnings: Violence, substance abuse, profanity, irresponsible behaviour, reckless driving, reader is a cocky bitch, rindou hates her guts

Synopsis: Bonten needs a driver for a job. You just so happen to be Rindou’s fuck buddy with a talent for speeding and knowing the map of Tokyo’s back streets like the back of your palm. Rindou hates you.

pt. 1 | previous | next

Kokonoi couldn’t help but pity Kakucho, who was stuck sitting between Sanzu, looking happy as clam curled up in y/n’a hoodie, and Rindou, whose fingers were twitching as he contained the desire to knock Sanzu out.

Kakucho looked as if he craved a fast and painless demise.

Kokonoi gave him a sympathetic look, and then proceeded to fully ignore Kakucho’s mouthed ‘save me’ and pleading looks.

Rindou was absolutely fuming, glaring daggers at Sanzu, who was fully oblivious and just happy to exist in y/n stupidly huge hoodie.

Ignoring Ran’s smug and knowing looks, he tried to focus on the report Takeomi was giving, relaxing the tension in his muscles a bit.

Then Sanzu spoke and Rindou had to grip the armrest of his chair to not lunge over Kakucho at Sanzu and fucking strangle him.

Rindou has been twisting and turning for the past few hours, and as the dialog clock on the side of his bed hit 3 a.m., he had to face it, it’s gonna be another sleepless night.

Sitting up in his bed, he ran his fingers through his hair, sighing loudly.

Getting up to put on some clothes, he grabbed his box of cigarettes from his nightside table, silently opening and closing the doors to his room to not disturb Ran.

Making his way across their dark apartment to the balcony, he grabbed an ashtray, setting it on the small balcony table before gently closing the balcony doors.

Sitting down on one of the chairs, he sighed, going to light up his cigarette. Shivering, he immediately regretted not grabbing his jacket at least.

He hated nights like these.

He himself would personally say his insomnia wasn’t bad, even though Ran would argue otherwise, having found Rindou passed out on the balcony, or the couch multiple times.

It was worse when he was a teen, but since then, Rindou got it under check with sleeping medications and women warming his bed, but sometimes, he ran out of his meds, and forgot to pick up a new prescription or ask Sanzu for some, and was too exhausted to go pick someone up, and then he was stuck like this, restless and irritated with an uncomfortable itch just under his skin.

He considered calling you to come over, not even for sex, he was too tired for that now, but for comfort, he knew your soft words and tender touches would help, if not enough to fall asleep, at least enough to soothe the static buzzing in his brain.

And after all, he always slept better curled up in your arms.

Pulling out his phone, quickly unlocking it, already having found your contact and typing out his message, his thumb hovered above the send button.

It was late, but that wasn’t the issue, you’re awake more often than not either way.

What if you’re with Sanzu?

Aggravated at the thought alone, he extinguished his cigarette, lighting up another, the buzzing in his head reaching an uncomfortable level.

Why was he that upset?

He didn’t think about it too deeply before, chalking it up to his fear of being replaced acting up, but he still couldn’t get rid of the lump in his throat.

He couldn’t really blame Sanzu, he asked Rindou multiple times if it’s okay and Rindou gave him a green light every time, and as much as the junkie could make him want to pull his hair out at times, they were still friends.

Why was there this unsettling feeling in his gut then?

He thought about you for a second, thinking about your snarky and overconfident personality, and the way your eyes lit up when he insulted you and you had a chance to bite back, a grin never leaving your face.

He tried to not think about how your lips felt against his, or how comfortable he was when you’d run your fingers through his hair, or how those few sweet words you offered him every now and then made his heart flutter.

You were just a quick fuck, a no strings attached deal he found satisfying and exactly what he needed.

Then why did his heart drop at the thought of losing you?

A realisation hit him, almost as if a lightbulb above his head lit up, and he choked on smoke, almost dropping his cigarette.

Kokonoi was fucking right.

Taglist (open):

@rindous-wife @marrymemanjiro @kampfkuchen85 @camilosa @shadoweepingscream @1818cigarettes @gulfkfl @youpieceofwasabi @bxnten @lovelybimbo @babu-haitani @tsukkisukkii @ihateuguys @kenma-yuuu @yukihime-mikeys-girl @lagrimasdeglitter @pirana10 @hana-patata @reapersimps @sammcaav222 @brokencoinlocker @graythecoffeebean @waywardzonkprofessorpainter @own-it-baby @chilledraft @haitanihime @odecamiskorden @t04dxm @wakasa-wifey (bold can’t be tagged, i’m sorry 🥲 and god i hope i’m not forgetting anyone, if i am please let me know!)

a/n: would you look at that, we’re finally moving along 🤪 also fun fact this was supposed to be an angsty toxic relationship fic but with i knew i’ll be also doing fighting dog and two angsts would be mean 🤧

#tokyorev #tokyo revengers #rindou haitani x y/n #rindou haitani x reader #sanzu haruchiyo x y/n #sanzu haruchiyo x reader #bonten #kakucho hitto #kokonoi hajime #manjiro sano #ran haitani #rindou haitani #sanzu haruchiyo #akashi haruchiyo

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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years

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Daddy Issues | Draco Malfoy

Wow I’m sorry I didn’t mean to disappear like that Lovelies! Sometimes I forget depression and writers block are a thing until they punch me in the face and force me to go MIA for a hundred years! I guess I’m back? I hope? Fingers crossed? Anyway, I’m sorry this isn’t a TVD fic but I figured Y’all would appreciate something over nothing. I missed you all more than I can say! I hope you enjoy, I love you all!

Description: Draco and y/n are best friends until Draco’s father threatens y/n. She avoids Draco until he confronts her.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: Like none, it’s kinda sad but not really, the only flaw is bad writing

Word count: 3.4k

Tags: Angst, FLUFF

(not my gif, I just love it lol)

Your heart stings from across the courtyard, the gap between you and the blonde boy tangible. For a second you don't know whether or not your heart is even in your chest anymore or if it’s in his hands. In that case your heart is sitting on a bench, sandwiched between Blaise Zabini and Vincent Crabbe. Maybe he isn’t holding your heart, though, maybe he is your heart, in which case you’re avoiding your heart’s piercing gaze.

Your hands twitch at your sides, itching to grab his or to twist through his silky hair or do anything other than lay idle when he is only mere steps away from you. Your hands ache to touch him and usually you would be doing just that: clinging to his robes or twisting the rings around on his fingers or simply tangling your own fingers with his slender ones. Your hands feel painfully empty without him to hold on to.

That makes sense though, he’s your best friend after all. You’re rarely ever spotted less than five feet away from each other. Everyone at Hogwarts can see how utterly entwined you are, every part of him wrapped around your finger and every part of you sitting precisely in the palm of his hand. You orbit each other, drawn in by a gravity that the rest of the student body can’t deny.

Right now, though, that gravity is being tested and everyone feels a little bit like they’re floating away.

Draco sits exactly seventeen feet and four inches away from you. You can feel his eyes on the back of your head, like lasers, searing into your black and gold jumper and refusing to look away. It burns but you embrace it, taking any contact, even imagined, that you can get from him. Even if it hurts. You would gladly burn for the blonde Slytherin if it made him happy. This doesn’t make him happy, though, being ignored by the girl that commands his entire life. You know that, but you also know that it’s for the best.

You run your hands through your hair, tugging on the strands relentlessly and closing your eyes. You see his father, the tall, grim man, and replay the conversation you had in your head.

“He has a bright future ahead of him, y/n.”

Lucious had backed you into a corner, both metaphorically and literally, the stone of the castle biting harshly into your skin, “I know that, sir.”

He stood tall, menacingly, like he was bigger than the castle itself, “he doesn’t have time for nonsense, y/n.”

Your hands trembled, the cold of the dungeon nipping at them fiercely, “he’s very bright, Mr. Malfoy, I don’t think I’m slowing him down.”

The neutral, if not cold, expression on his face switched then to one of red hot anger, “did I ask what you think? It’s time the two of you separate. He is to be married next year and not to some silly Hufflepuff girl.”

“We’re just friends, sir,” your eyes had long since found the floor.

“Don’t be daft, my son is infatuated with you. If I catch you near him from this day on I will not hesitate to destroy you, do you understand me? Do not speak to him again.”

That was two weeks ago and you haven’t dared to go near him since, spending every waking moment of your spare time in the Hufflepuff common room. You aren’t brave, you didn’t march up to your best friend and tell him that his father threatened to destroy you. You would be lying if you said you even thought about it. The reality of it is that you’re a coward and have iced Draco out in fear of having his father hurt either of you.

His father’s words still ring in your head. Don’t be daft, my son is infatuated with you. Your heart flutters hard in your chest, your rib cage the only barrier keeping it from finding him across the courtyard. Draco is infatuated with you. Apparently. He hasn’t said so, only his father. Still, you can’t help but hope that it’s true.

But then that makes your chest burn and palms sting again. You aren’t allowed to hope that Draco wants you. You aren’t even allowed to hope that he wants to be your friend. You’re not allowed anywhere near him, let alone allowed to kiss him. Would he even kiss you? Probably not. You tug even harder on your hair, as if pulling each strand out will somehow take the pain away. Don’t be daft.

“Y/n,” gentle hands wrap around your tight fists, “you’re hurting yourself.”

You forgot Luna was there, sitting next to you on the bench, the bench that is seventeen feet and four inches away from Draco. You let the airy Ravenclaw unravel your fingers and hold one of your hands, rubbing circles on the back of your palm. It doesn’t feel the same, her grip is too soft, her fingers too short. Draco’s fingers are longer.

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog of him from your senses, “sorry, I know I’m not the best company right now.”

Luna only smiles at you and rolls her eyes gently, “I know it’s hard for you right now.”

Of course you told her. You weren’t able to tell Draco so you turned to Luna, your other best friend. You nod your head at the blonde girl, too tired to speak.

“I think you should tell him though, he looks bloody miserable without you,” your eyes widen as if on their own accord.

You feel dizzy at the thought and not the good kind like when Draco spins you around. No, this is the bad kind of ‘I’m definitely going to throw up’ dizzy. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears rapidly. Thump, thump, thump. It almost sounds like footsteps, angry ones, pounding towards you. That can’t be right.

“I can’t tell him, Luna, you know that.”

A hand lands on your shoulder, warmth spreading through your jumper. You open your mouth, ready to thank Luna for relentlessly comforting you, but close it quickly when a thought hits you. You glance down to your lap, just to double check. There, on your lap rests your hand carefully wrapped up in both of Luna’s. Crap.

“What can’t you tell me?” It takes everything in you to not let his familiar voice curl around you and pull you further into his touch.

You shift out of his hold, not turning to look at him yet, afraid to see the expression on his face. Would it be anger? Sadness? Disgust? The last one makes your heart drop, the thought of the blonde boy being repulsed by you causing you to curl into yourself slightly. You would take anything from him but that.

You stand curtly, turning to face Draco, all too aware of the lack of space between you and him. Six inches at the most, every breath he takes makes his chest brush yours. You still don’t look up at him, not anywhere ready to meet the eyes of the boy you’ve been avoiding.

You lock your eyes on his silver and green tie, mumbling to it instead of him, “What makes you think I was talking about you, Draco?”

You finally glance up at him and wish you hadn’t. His eyes, usually a bright blue, are dull and rimmed with red. The bruises under his eyes stand out against his cheeks. He’s always had dark circles but this is extreme. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, like he hasn’t eaten in days. It’s almost garish, but then again nothing could ever make the Slytherin Prince look anything less than perfect. He looks destroyed, almost as if his father had gotten to him too. You have to stop yourself from reaching out, choosing instead to look away again.

“Are you serious right now? Tell me this is all a joke y/n!” The courtyard goes silent when Draco raises his voice.

You squeeze your fists, the tone of his voice a punch in the gut. He never shouts at you. Draco is never anything but soft around you. Right now, however, he’s seething. No one around you dares to make a sound.

You close your eyes, trying desperately to stop a traitorous flood of tears, “Draco, please don’t do this right now.”

Draco takes a step back, as if your words had shoved him, “if not now then when? You’ve given me no choice! You run every time you see me, you don’t answer my notes. Do you even read them anymore? Can you just explain why you bloody hate me?”

His voice cracks when he says hate, like its acid in his mouth. In any way it’s acid to your ears. You could never hate Draco, it’s very much the opposite actually. You’re painfully in love with him.

“I don’t,” you have to pause to clear your throat, trying to rid the lump, “I could never hate you.”

His hand grasps you chin gently, his rings cold against your skin as he pulls your face up to meet his eyes, “then tell me what’s going on. Please.”

You squeeze your eyes close, sinking into the warmth of his palm for a moment. You can’t remember a time you’ve gone this long without the blonde boy touching you. You can’t stop the tears from trailing down your cheeks and into his palm. You can feel the hitch in his breath as if it had come from your own lungs. You wrap your own hands around his, squeezing his fingers gently before pulling them away from you.

“I can’t, Dra. We can’t do this anymore. I’m,” your voice trembles, your eyes still closed, his hand still locked in yours, “I’m not good for you. We can’t be friends.”

You release his hand, taking a few steps back from the love of your life. This time, though, he doesn’t let you get as far, taking two steps towards you for every step you take away from him. It doesn’t take him long before he’s in front of you again, closer and even more determined. His eyes burn into yours, his hands restless. You know he wants to touch you. At least, you hope he does. You want to.

“Don’t say that,” there’s a strength behind his words, one you have yet to hear until now, “don’t you dare say that! Tell me what’s going on y/n, you need to tell me! I can fix it. I can make it better whatever it is just please tell me. Please, love.”

Love. That’s new. Your heart cracks even more when he says it and maybe that’s because you know you won’t get to hear it again. You wish you could grab the word from his lips and hold on to it. You want to put it in your pocket so at least you can have a part of him, the very best part of him, for when he walked away. But you can’t, so there’s no use in trying.

“You can’t fix it this time, Draco,” you take another step back and your back hits the rough surface of a tree.

He fills the space between the two of you once more and this time you’re stuck. Your palms continue to sting, reminding you relentlessly how much you need to touch him. You scrunch the hem of your jumper, trying desperately to quell the pain. Your wrists feel like they’re on fire, something you’ve come to realise that means you’re about to have a panic attack. He can't see that happen, you refuse to fall apart in front of him.

Of course he notices, though. That’s your Draco, he notices everything about you. That’s his job.

He grabs your face again, stopping you from frantically looking everywhere but him, “of course I can. When have I not fixed your problems? Remember when those Ravenclaws’ were messing with you? I took care of that, didn’t I? And Parkinson? Zabini? I took care of them too. Remember when Snape wouldn’t let you hand in your assignment because you had the flu? And the time you passed out in the stairwell? I fixed those too because I can. Because I wanted to and I do what I want. Now, all I’ve wanted for days is you so if someone said something to you I need you to tell me so I can sort them out and get my best friend back. Now.”

He stares into your eyes the entire time, daring you to turn away. You feel like you can’t breathe, your hands once again wrapped around his but this time clinging for dear life. You’ve been terrified for two weeks and the exhaustion hits you in one, whopping punch to your stomach, the second punch of the day. Without warning your legs give out, all of your weight falling into the blonde who seems to expect it. His arms wrap around you, holding you against his chest for the first time in what feels like ages.

You don’t realise that you’re sobbing until you try to speak, “Dra, I’m so scared. I’m tired,” you grip his robes in your fists, your head falling against his chest, “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, I feel like I’m falling apart.”

He pulls you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you and holding you against him. You can feel the sigh of relief he releases and his heartbeat slowing as if it’s your own. Maybe that’s because yours does the same. For the first time in weeks you’re engulfed in Draco and you cling to him, circling your arms around his waist and pulling yourself impossibly close. He wastes no time either, wrapping his cloak around you and burying his face in your neck.

Your body shakes furiously in his arms, everything you’ve been bottling up comes pouring out in a torrent of sobs and hiccups. Draco presses closer to you, towering over you and shielding you from the rest of the world. You let his peppermint scent engulf you completely,

“For Salazar’s sake y/n I need you to tell me what’s wrong. I need to fix it, love. Please tell me,” his voice is low and choked.

He’s right, you know he’s right. You squeeze your eyes tighter and grip his back, savouring the muscles under his dress shirt for a few more seconds before you know you’ll have to let go.

“Your father told me we couldn’t see each other anymore. He told me,” you pull out of his arms, leaning back against the tree, “he said, well, it doesn’t matter what he said. We just can’t be together.” Draco’s eyes widen and your cheeks heat up, your words ringing through your ears, “I mean we can’t be friends.”

Draco steps closer to you, running a hand through his hair and closing his eyes. He mumbles something under his breath that you can’t hear but you’re almost positive that it’s a curse. When he opens his eyes, your heart stops. His blue eyes burn into yours, glassy and angry but with something else too, something hot and fierce. Your heart restarts when he places his arms against the tree, caging you between it and him. You can’t resist placing your hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat pick up as well.

“What did my father say, y/n.” He isn’t asking you, he’s telling you.

You lower your eyes, not bothering to fight him anymore, “he told me he would destroy me if I kept being friends with you. He said you were getting married and that you could never marry a Hufflepuff and that he would destroy me if he had to.”

He staggers back with each word, like each one shoves him more than the last. He squeezes his fists before straightening his fingers, shoving them once more through his hair. His shoulders are tense, his back straight. His eyes are screwed shut again.

“Bloody hell,” he pulls at his hair, biting his lip, “he’s lost his damn mind.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, tugging at your jumper, suddenly hot all over. Now is not the time to be getting riled up over Draco but you can’t help it, he looks exquisite. Messy hair and an un-tucked shirt, the veins in his hand prominent and his rings glittering in the afternoon sun. He’s absolutely and undeniably perfect.

“It’s ok, Dra, you’ll be ok,” you try your best to comfort him but he snaps his eyes open, looking at you like you’ve gone mad as well.

“My dad threatened to kill you! No I am not okay!”

This time you walk to him, pulling him into your chest again and wrapping your arms around his neck. He sweeps his arms around your waist, pulling you so close that you have to stand on your tiptoes to keep your arms around him. His hands grasp your hips tight and you immediately know what he wants. You oblige, wanting it just as much if not more, jumping up and wrapping your legs around his stomach. You tuck your face into his neck this time, breathing in the slightest hint of apples, green ones.

You don’t speak, practically feeling the words bubbling in his chest, “My dad told you he was going to kill you, love. He threatened you and he didn’t even tell me. I am definitely not okay. I need to do something. I need to talk to him. And he told you I was getting married? He’s lucky he isn’t here. I don’t care if he’s my father, nobody talks to my girl like that.”

He’s rambling, something he does when he’s at his end. His words wrap around you, tangling with every part of you and sinking into your skin. They lull you into a daze of sorts, almost nodding off on your best friends shoulder. You don’t realise how tired you are until you’re in his arms, safe. And then it hits you, and you’re wide awake again.

“Your girl?”

You cut him off mid sentence, squeezing your legs tighter around him to bring his attention back to you.

“What did you say, love?” Draco hikes you further up his body, readjusting his grip on you.

Your cheeks flame, your neck hot. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something that you’re not quite sure you’re ready to give. His lips are so close to yours, his breath hitting your lips with every exhale. The courtyard around you fades away and Hogwarts itself holds its breath.

“Did you call me your girl, Draco?”

He doesn’t blush like you thought he would, “yes, I did. That’s what you are. Mine. And Merlin help my father for trying to take you away from me.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, letting his words sink into your flesh. They curl around your bones, laying down a warmth that you’ve been craving for longer than you can remember. He’s right. Of course he’s right, he’s Draco. You are his and you always have been. His arm around your back tightens, jostling you enough to make you cling harder to him. Your fingers find their way to the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair. He leans his head back, giving in to your touch willingly.

He holds your gaze as your fingers weave through his silky hair, capturing you with his eyes and refusing to let go, “I’m yours, Draco. Please don’t let me go.”

He leans his forehead against yours, “never, love.”

Hogwarts releases the breath it had been holding, the noise of the courtyard once more fluttering around you. You go to get down from Draco but he stops you, tightening his arms. You only shake your head and smile, letting the sunshine warm your face.

Your heart aches slightly still though, “what are we going to do about your father, Dra?

He starts walking, the sudden movement causing you to tug his hair a little harder.

His voice is strained when he finally answers, leaning down to rub his cheek against your head, “just let me handle that, ok?”

You give in, for now, laying your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes for the final time, “where are we going, Dra?”

“We, my love, are going to take a very much needed nap.”

#draco malfoy #draco #malfoy #draco x reader #draco x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy x female reader #draco x female reader #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter #hufflepuff #slytherpuff #slytherin

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quillquiver · 3 years

Text

Destiel Coda to 15x20: Carry On. Major spoilers ahead. Because this story is ours.

Heaven is the open road.

It’s always kind of been that, for him. Solace and escape. Comfort. Freedom. It’s gravel crunching under Baby’s wheels and Zep blasting on her speakers. The cooler filled to the brim in the back. A never-ending sunset. So when Dean slides behind Baby’s wheel and leaves the Roadhouse behind, he’s happy to drive. He thinks he’s owed that, maybe—to leave. To go anywhere. Everywhere. Nowhere.

No monsters in Heaven, right?

So he drives. The landscape changes because he wills it to; golden fields of wheat turn to jagged, snow-capped mountains, desert sand shifts to the ocean lapping up against a rocky shore. It’s good until it’s not—until Dean’s hands itch and restlessness squeezes the breath from his lungs. Baby hasn’t been this empty in a long time. He’d forgotten how big she is inside. How much space there is.

It’s weird.

For supposedly guaranteeing peace, there’s something unsettling about… this whole thing. Something hollow, maybe, or incomplete.

Heaven’s lonely.

Dean presses on the gas and his intent changes, endless highway turning to unmaintained logging road. Mile markers morph into pine trees and he grips and re-grips the steering wheel. Praying isn’t a conscious thing anymore—not since you changed me, Dean—but there isn’t a whole helluva lot he can catch Cas up on. So he pulls up to the lake, kills Baby’s engine and just… wants? Wishes.

Asks.

“…Cas?”

But Cas doesn’t appear in the passenger’s seat. And he doesn’t show up in the back. And the more Dean waits—he can wait, he’s good at that—the clearer it becomes that there’s no one coming. Maybe their signal got jammed. Maybe there’s no praying in Heaven. Hell, maybe Cas is too important to come down and hang out—maybe he’s not allowed. Whatever the reason, it hits Dean all at once.

Grief. Loss. Anger and heartbreak and fucking despair, because no matter how hard they fight, no matter how many times they save the goddamn world, peace doesn’t apply to them. Dean shoves Baby’s door open and stumbles towards the dock. He ends up on his knees, tripping over his own feet, vision blurred and breath tight around the lump in his throat. He pounds his fists into the wooden boards. His chest is gonna collapse onto itself; he’s a dying star and he knows it’s impossible, he knows he’s already dead but this is it this is all there is it’s crushing him—

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean moves before he understands what the fuck is even happening.

He falters at the last second—skids to a stop with less than a foot between them, eyes wide and heaving laboured breaths like he’s run a marathon. “Cas,” he breathes. His hand drifts up and brushes Cas’s arm, his fingers. “Are you…? I mean, Cas—I—you—”

Cas looks… almost the same. Same hair and baby blues. Same godawful coat and tie. But there’s something tense in shoulders—something prickling at his eyes. He’s stock still in a way he hasn’t been in years. “What—” he shakes his head. Frowns at the ground. Collects himself. “What—ah, happened? Where’s Sam?”

“Safe,” Dean says.

“Dean—”

Dean doesn’t think he’s ever been this nervous before, but in the wake of I loved the whole world because of you, grabbing Cas’s hand pales in comparison. His heart is bruising itself with how hard it’s beating against his ribs, his palm sweating as he grasps Castiel’s fingers, mouth dry as he tugs him close. Since when have they ever done personal space?

“I prayed to you,” he says hoarsely.

“I wanted to fix this first. Heaven—I didn’t want to come back empty-handed.” Dean goes for broke and holds his hand. Cas’s eyes widen. “Not just for you,” Castiel rushes to say. “For me, too. I needed… I needed to—”

The look on his face when Dean presses a finger to his lips would be hilarious if Dean wasn’t sure he was gonna puke. His hand drifts to touch the curve of Cas’s cheekbone and the line of his jaw. He’s shameless. Unapologetic. Cas sways closer and he’s warm and solid and alive.

“You’re a moron,” Dean breathes, because what he actually wants to say is gumming up throat as it always has.

Cas prickles like an offended, disgruntled bird and he’s the most gorgeous thing Dean’s ever seen. “I—”

He kisses him.

It’s dry and quick and chaste, pressed to the corner of his mouth, but it’s a kiss. A real kiss. And it’s like once he’s started, Dean can’t stop. He pulls back enough to meet Cas’s eyes before allowing himself to move forward again, and by the time their mouths brush Cas is holding so tightly to Dean’s wrists it feels like they’re gonna bruise. The next kiss is an impression of one; soft and barely there—exploration, permission, promise. Cas’s brows are furrowed and he chases when they drift apart, catching him in something more solid. Intentional. All at once, he moves to wrap his arms around Dean’s waist, holding gripping clutching as Dean’s hands cup stubbled cheeks and bury in dark hair and move over the breadth of his shoulders. Cas is here. Cas is here. And they’re—they’re finally—

Dean wrenches away only to throw himself at Castiel in a hug, face buried into his neck. Cas’s hand presses to his back and Dean shivers. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Dean,” Cas murmurs.

Dean breathes shaky against his skin and nods. Presses his mouth there just because he can. “I fucking love you, Castiel,” he says, and it’s an argument wrapped in fear and self-loathing but it’s out, he’s said it, and Cas only holds him all the tighter for it. Shifts a little. Pulls back so Dean lifts his head and can be more easily kissed. He swipes his tongue over Dean’s bottom lip and he opens for him, guides him when Cas falters, overwhelmed.

“Dean,” Cas breathes, like his name’s a benediction, a prayer. Like he can’t say anything else. “Dean—”

Dean huffs a laugh. Nods. Stumbles back towards the Impala and tugs Cas along with him. The guy’s like a celestial octopus, and they trip over each other’s feet until they’re pressed up against the passenger door, kissing deep and wet and lazy, and this is it, right here. Cas. Baby. Sam safe and sound and alive.

This is Heaven.

#destiel fic #destiel coda #coda fic #15x20 #spn spoilers #s15 #first kiss #this is how I think it should've ended in heaven #currently outlining how the series should have ended after 15x18 #so stay tuned for that if you're interested i guess #adventures in fanfic

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