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undiscovered-horizon · 7 months

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Die Happy - Sanji x Reader

SUMMARY: Sanji is disillusioned about your lack of interest in him. Someone like you could pick and choose among princes, kings and emperors. What's a measly cook to you? Nevertheless, his lovesick heart continuously rejoices when you choose him to waste time with.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.3k

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Part 2 -> "Maelstrom"

Sanji has never believed in ghouls, witches, faeries and the like. However, when he met you his belief began to shatter:

Like a dark sorceress covering the whole world with a curse, you lured all the influential, important men like fire does moths. At first, Sanji fooled himself that all those generals, merchants and noblemen only wanted something pretty to hang onto their shoulders but reality destroyed his comforting illusion when the said men offered riches most people couldn’t even fathom. If you asked them for an armada to sail to the Grand Line, they’d only ask what type of wood you’d prefer. Despite something akin to world domination lying at your fingertips, you always laughed those offers off, telling your powerful suitors that you would think about their words and get back to them.

Sanji once asked whether you’re truly considering marrying one of the generals or kings. Some more naive part of him hoped you’d say no. Alas, the truth, once again, was his adversary:

“Obviously!” you giggled at his silly question. “But I won’t marry the first one that offers me wealth and whatnot. First, I’d like to see all of my options and the world…” your voice trailed away as you vaguely pointed around the two of you. “Well, it’s a big place. Many more kingdoms to visit.”

But to his own demise, the cook was a fool unlike any other. He had no chance at winning your heart, no matter how much he’d try. Still, his untamable desire egged him on, whispering sweet songs of your grace. Even if he could taste your lips only in his imagination, he could do his best for you to have a reason to keep him around like a dog that begs for scraps at his master’s table.

Sanji knows he’s only hurting himself, only furthering his desperation when he makes you smile or earns a speck of your affection. Every dawn, he promises to free himself from your sorcery but when dusk comes and his left with the Moon, his only confidant, he realizes that he could never possess enough power to cut himself free from you. You’ve pierced his heart right through and if he pulls your knife out of his chest, he’s bound to bleed out and die. It’s better if he lets you have complete control over his mind and soul - it’s the only way he will make it out alive.

He’s left cold and lonely on that night. Soft, silver moonlight washes over him through the small porthole in the wall of his room. The sea is almost black at this hour of the night but it becomes a mystical sapphire when the Moon’s glow washes over the lazy waves making them glisten like pure diamonds.

Diamonds… maybe if he had diamonds, you’d see him as a man and not just a shipmate.

Quiet knocking on his door wakes Sanji up from his thoughts. Before he has a chance to get up and open the door or tell the guest to come in, the mysterious visitor enters out of their own volition.

Your tired face makes Sanji think about painting in museums - the ones all connoisseurs consider “classics” and “timeless”. The silk shirt you’re wearing looks not only awfully expensive but, which is much worse, to be a men’s size. Its hem ends right underneath your buttcheeks, threatening to expose your body should you lift your hands. In the darkness of his cabin, you appear as nothing beyond a phantom, a hallucination born out of desperation. And just like a ghost, you’ve come to haunt and torment him in the sweetest of ways; in a way only you can.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asks in a raspy voice. Sanji is doing a great job at appearing unaffected by your rather scantily clad form.

Carefully, you close the door behind you and walk towards him. Your skin glows when you step into the rays of soft moonlight pouring in through the porthole. Dishevelled hair, half-closed eyes and a slightly puffy face - Sanji has imagined you this way countless times but never actually seen. He can feel his body burning up, telling him to seize the opportunity, to wash you in the most charming and suave words he can think of.

“Nami kicks while sleeping,” you say quietly. “I swear to god my whole side is bruised at this point. Can I sleep with you?”

Sanji has to remind himself to breathe and to do so calmly. He’s cool, completely in control of himself. His mouth feels unbearably dry.

“‘Course you can,” he answers casually. With a swift move of his arm, he lifts the duvet. “Come on in.”

The pure bliss that suddenly appears on your face forces Sanji to take in a sharp, ragged breath. It’s an expression he also imagined one too many times when his desperation poisons his mind - not that he’s willing to admit it even to himself. He knows it’s wrong to even entertain a scenario in which you would grace him with such an enraptured face. Still, his will is not as strong as he often makes it out to be.

“Sanji, you are my salvation,” you tell him while getting under the covers with him.

“I know, love.”

It’s both strange and natural, the way your body fits his. As though the two of you have done it so much the memory of your muscles twists and turns your limbs to rest in the most comfortable and intimate way. The odd familiarity makes Sanji think that maybe in another lifetime this is how he always sleeps. He wishes he could find himself in that reality even for a second. Alas, it’s too far out of his reach.

“Damn, you’re really comfortable,” you mumble against his chest. Your hot breath makes him shiver. “And warm. I don’t think I’ll be going back to my bed.” A small grin of cosiness appears on your face - one that Sanji will never forget.

His broad chest and strong arm normally go unnoticed by you but now they’re like a fortress. And just like high stone walls are an unspoken promise of security and happiness, his firm hold on your body is a silent oath of a good night's sleep.

“Stay as long as you want,” he whispers back to you.

Maybe if you weren’t so exhausted, you’d notice that his words aren’t a statement but a plea. They’re the last thing you remember before drifting off to a restful slumber.

Your breathing slows down and gains a steady, shallow rhythm. Keeping you close to his chest, Sanji allows his hands to gently brush against your arm and back. His movements are feathery, almost fearful. He wouldn’t want you to wake up and change your mind about spending the night beside him - he can indulge in his heart’s desire but he must do so carefully.

“If you only gave me a chance,” he whispers into the night.

Knowing you’re asleep and bound to remain ignorant of his affections, Sanji kisses the top of your head. His lips linger against your hair while he takes in the scent that haunts him day and night. Unknowingly, his grip around your body tightens at that moment as though he has suddenly grown most terrified of having you disappear. Too many nights he’s dreamed of this exact scenario only to wake up to a cold, empty bed.

When the dawn arrives and you leave his arms, this little moment of affection won't mean anything to you. It means nothing now. Sanji knows this very well. He doesn't try to lie to himself that maybe you'll wake up a changed person and finally see him as more than a friendly comrade. Although tonight means nothing to you, it holds an unspeakable weight to Sanji, who will forever gloat about the fact that when you needed help, it was him you turned to. It was his arms that guarded your sleep for a few hours.

Fighting off sleep until he collapses, Sanji revels in the feeling of you against his body and pretends, even if for one night, that you’re his the same way he will always be yours. Watching you sleep cuddled into him, he swears he could die happy now.

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neteyamsilly · 1 year

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i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 2

summary ;; Your burning determination to prove your father wrong and Jake's wish to teach you a lesson both end up in a pyrrhic victory. PART 1 | PART 3 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; im speechlessly overwhelmed at the sheer amount of love you guys showed me these past couple of days. like. literally never had something like this happen to me before. i got too excited to finish this chapter to give back to yall, there was an attempt to proofread but... i hope it's not too bad, please enjoy! as always, if you see any mistakes, im sorry!

The path further into the floating mountains was all the worse to navigate thanks to the lack of light, the only useful guides you had were the faintly flickering bioluminescent lights from the forest deep below. The branches twisting around each other to create a naturally built bridge from mountain to mountain benefited from this, contrasting as a clear obscured line to your eyes against the glow underneath.

The easiest part of your journey, in hindsight, was just skipping along this line.

You weren’t exactly happy about this.

The more you left behind, the more you were freaked out that Neteyam or anyone else was onto your intentions already and hot on your trail right this moment. Imagining father making a beeline to you in the air with Bob, a cruel, merciless whistling arrow, made you all jittery and almost puking kind of nervous, pulling at the depths of your stomach.

Your rationality told you that it was a half an hour walk to your spot from the tent, and Neteyam would be hurrying the more he thought he wasn’t able to catch up with you along the way, so you had around twenty minutes until the whole family was panicking and raising the clan to look for you.

Tuk had gone missing once thanks to some hide and seek game with Lo’ak (she’d hidden so well and was waiting for her siblings to find her already, blindly sticking to the game for an entire day, not out of stubbornness but childish purity), and this was exactly what had gone down —

the resentful part of you questioned if father thinks of you highly enough to resort to that.

If something happened to you, he would maybe urge your brothers to search for you for a while, and drop it then — leaving you to your own devices happily.

Maybe.

Were you even worth it in his eyes for a search party? You wondered if he cared enough that you disappeared.

But that was a stupid, childish thought you knew you fantasized about a lot — perhaps this was why he’d called you immature. This was no mindset for a strong, independent, confident hunter. The thought father was right, even a miniscule bit was bitter on your tongue, worse than what he called black coffee.

Disappearing so you’d find out just how much he cared was unfair to mom, for one.

She had lost so much in such a short amount of time, the stories she sang poignantly about were hard to listen to without tearing up. Her home. The trees of voices, all the lost ancestors. Her father. Uncle Tsu’tey. Her first ikran, Seze. Loss upon loss you think there’d be nothing left to give anymore, but sky people’s fire was always hungry, always willing to waste more to grow bigger.

You wouldn’t forgive yourself for making her cry in your pursuit to punish father. Never.

You weren’t a child.

Just wanted to be one, sometimes.

Wanted father to babytalk you, pet your head longer than a passing touch as he walked away hurriedly to attend to other matters, make beads for your braids the way he always did from pretty stones he found on ponds, carve you little trinkets when you graciously had to give up your toys to Lo’ak and Kiri’s greed.

Your neck piece was all them in fact, he’d see it if he ever paid enough attention, or perhaps it was all insignificant to him, five kids meant countless belongings for each individual child had been passed down from his hands, it would be a miracle for father to recognize you still wore his clumsy creations. But again, it had been too long since he’d even looked at you affectionately, he wouldn’t See.

He’d transferred those habits entirely to Neteyam at one point in time.

Your older brother would always ruffle Lo’ak’s hair and tease him the way father used to, comfort him in his own playful way, and even though the younger looked discontent at being babied, you knew he was happy Neteyam was quite literally his shadow to look after him through tough times — including shielding from father’s line of fire. In return, he was suffering from being a foil to the older son, you understood the struggle because you were going through the same comparison, you just weren’t obsessed with catching and living up to father as much as Lo’ak did.

Win some, lose some, I guess.

Plus, Neteyam was trembling under the massive planet-weight pressure, he had to set the standard, he had to live up to the older brother title. He was becoming more of a father figure to Tuk as days passed and the Olo’eyktan became more transparent from his family’s life as a dad to five.

Besides, Lo’ak made trouble enough for two people to go around that you felt bad for your big brother, Kiri was thankfully more mellow (despite frequently hanging out together with him and Spider) compared to him that Neteyam could breathe, not having to divide his attention.

You were in awe of her about how disconnected she was from all the changing dynamics. She had her own problems you could never understand, more spiritual than your grandmother, and ever the ethereal soul who you thought would disappear into Eywa if flesh wasn’t holding her down to Eywa’eveng.

You were the teeniest, tiniest bit jealous of her (and Tuk) holding the softer sides of father, the boys thought he was deliberately softer because they were girls — but you were also a girl, so why weren’t you allowed in?

Well, thanks to that, you’d gotten closer with Neteyam and known him better after the whole clan had settled on High Camp, so it wasn’t all that bad. You could badmouth father all day long sitting on some rock and make him laugh abashedly, guilty that he was smiling along with the trashing of the father’s name he respected so much — it was therapy, as Norm had taught humans frequently sought back on earth. It got you trying some things with Neteyam, becoming more of a companion and ranting buddy for him who he could be honest and open with, so that he didn’t have to worry about taking up a larger role in your life to fill father’s missing presence. You were concerned about him more than he could be concerned about you.

That got you contemplating if father had noticed how comfortable his two oldest children were with each other that it was always Neteyam who he sent after you. A girl could dream, no? For one moment, it wasn’t because it was Neteyam’s responsibility, but because father was paying attention to how his kids got along.

The image of him pushed you to be frantically fast to reach your destination as the fear returned with might. If he caught you right now when you had no ikran to prove him wrong, the punishment he was sure to give would be way more humiliating, you at least wanted something in your name to taunt him with if you were going down anyways.

A smile crept up your face at imagining him discombobulated and speechless, unable to pick out one thing that you did wrong.

The carelessness that came with your speed combined with how dark it was to see where to clutch and put your feet on caused you to slip up countless times when climbing, the sharp rocks scraping the insides of your palms and insides of your forearms, lifting your skin up. What you cared about more than the pain was that the blood was now tracking material for your family to sniff you out — you couldn’t exactly wipe the rocks clean, so you carried on with a hammering heart, more afraid of father ruining your perfect moment than whatever ikran that would soon be going straight for your throat.

At least you were able to wash the blood off your hands in the waterfall.

Downside? You couldn’t see shit. With your bare back flushed straight to the wall of rock and your feet feeling out the thin edge, the shrill cry of ikrans and the roaring of water was about to overwhelm your senses too much to pay attention —

and you slipped.

The shriek that ripped out of you at the sensation of falling and the drop of your stomach alone almost made you pass out, and for a split second it was a good thing that you wouldn’t feel the moment you died, but your body, once again, was one step ahead of you, it twisted in the air the last second and your hands gripped the ledge.

The wet rock and your blood made all that your life was hanging on slippery as you dangled into the abyss, swaying with the strong winds at this height.

You didn’t know if it was the adrenaline or the nervousness, but something made you laugh out loud, and the bubbling laughter continued until you were able to pull yourself up safely at the ikran rookery, finally.

Looking around like a fish out of water, how you hadn’t cracked your skull open shooting down to the forest below was a total miracle.

You’d made it?

No one was there to witness what you just pulled off in total darkness. Your whole body was shaking, and you weren’t even chosen by an ikran yet. This was happening. Shit. This was totally happening!

Your excited and terrified, “Hell yeah!” went unheard apart from your aerial crowd.

But.

One among them answered your holler with its own that cut into the night like a battle horn. It was the closest one to you that was apparently watching you the whole time, starting to roar at you and twitching on its feet, shadow in the night informing you of its movements.

You’d seen from Neteyam and Lo’ak’s iknimayas that you only had a few seconds to pull your shit together until it attacked, this was meant to be dangerous, serious, you could end up as a late night snack to them if things went wrong, but you couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear that it had chosen you.

You were chosen.

It wanted you as its rider.

If only father could see you now. The sensation of being the one — being special was unmatched. Now you could somehow get the fraction of the high he must have felt as Toruk Makto.

The, “Let’s fucking go!” that left you kept echoing into the night as you lunged at it, dodging to the left when it snapped at your head, hooking one arm around the ikran’s slender neck and clamping your legs around it the moment it started thrashing around wildly.

You didn’t know why father had made a big deal out of it. You formed tsaheylu in no time, breaking Neteyam’s record — and you didn’t even have the rope to hoop around its neck and jaw.

Firstborn daughter excellence.

Confidence restored and triumphing wildly to the pulse of your heart, the flickering smile on your face in wonder turned into a full-fledged smirk. At that moment, nothing mattered. It was just you and your victory. Proving father wrong.

Feeling the ikran’s lifeforce through the bond, a shiver went down your back as his beady eye looked up at you, pupil shrinking and expanding rapidly while you both took a minute to catch your breaths after the fierce wrestling.

“Gotcha,” you panted. “You’re mine now.”

The adrenaline made everything sparkle and shine, your spirits soaring high and unbothered about literally anything else in the world, and for one glorious moment, lost in the memories of your brothers’ iknimayas boasting with cheers from the clan and sometimes encouraging, sometimes fearful screams of your parents, your spirit sought them out to be soaked in the same pride — forgetting that it was night and nobody was there to celebrate you.

You were all alone.

The smile dropped from your face and crashed down like paper thin porcelain upon the slightest movement.

Right.

You’d forgotten you were doing this out of spite. It snuffed every twinkle of magic away from the previously shimmering milestone of your life.

Your ikran felt the crushing disappointment through your connection and chirped at you, almost like an excited sibling pulling on your arm to show you something, weirdly comforting. Mom’s ikran was a spitfire, but also nurturing — this one felt different somehow, you felt him bouncing from wall to wall in your head, hyperactive and cheerful.

Flying! He wanted to fly!

The first flight sealed the bond, after all.

You weren’t alone even if none of your family members were here to share the joy — you had your new buddy. And the drop of gravity was thrilling this time, not the terrifying chaos that had your asshole shriveling up as it was when you’d missed your step.

The flights with mom were something you looked forward to, drying up in frequency as you aged, you’d missed the wind on your body and the greenery dancing below as you maneuvered in the air — but mom reserved nighttime rides for father only, and after the move to High Camp, the skimpering chance you could get your way if you begged cutely enough was gone too. You’d never flown at night.

The sight was out of this world. The stars leaving a glowing trail above you, the forest pulsing with faint purple, green and blue lights underneath, everything was elevated in beauty because darkness let them shine.

You made loops in the air with your ikran, got as high in the air as you could before your breath thinned, and scraped at the tips of trees before shooting up again, all the while laughter you’ve never screamed before bubbled out of you.

And you were all alone. There was no mom to gleefully taunt your ikran with hers to get both of you dancing in the air. There was no father to watch on with a small smile he was fighting. There was no Neteyam to stop you from dipping too close to the ground, and no Lo’ak to challenge you to get closer to race with him — no Kiri to complain how all of you were being so childish, how stupid this was all the while she was the worst of you all, instigating all the chaos.

No Tuk in your mom’s lap whining about you guys leaving her off the fun.

Instead, there was the scent of a bogey in the air, snapping you out of the haze of sorrow.

When had you ventured out further into unprotected territory?

Linked with your thought process, the ikran stopped advancing forward and started beating his wings downward to stay unmoving, you observed the surroundings to get a better feeling of where you were, and noticed this was around the old shack, artificial lights were gliding between the leaves and branches that obscured your view of just who was roaming the grounds at night, definitely not a natural part of the forest’s flora.

Father’s voice materialized in your head, drilled into you and your siblings’ heads over and over again. If you come across any threat at all, do not engage, fall back and inform me. Got it? You call for me first.

And that split second of being afraid was your death sentence — that father would be so angry at you for your ignorance, amateurism, carelessness and idiocy that he could throw you out of the family for almost leading the demons to base simply by being there that they could figure out what direction you’d come from. That moment of weakness was enough for someone to snipe you out, and get you falling down from your ikran straight into the forest below, the cries of your new friend falling silent on your ears as you did your best to hug giant leaves to cushion your fall to the best of your ability. .

Barely any time was left for you to shake the disorienting motion sickness off, you couldn’t even attempt to run into the accepting, protective hands of the forest before whoever just shot at you was onto you, harshly gripping your arms and raising you up.

Father’s gonna be so mad if he finds out. Shit, I gotta get out of this.

But… Avatars? In full camo, armored, even. You hadn’t heard of this from anybody in camp!

“Damn! Didn’t actually think you’d be able to land the shot from all of that tree, man! Up-top!”

Two of them high-fived, you were actually going to be sick.

Thumb between his belt and stomach, another Avatar strutted towards you. The saunter and confidence meant that he was their leader. “Now, now… What do we have here?”

“A native.” You were being pushed down on your knees, one hand being grabbed and shown like a trophy. Just how many were there? You couldn't calm yourself enough to focus! “Four fingers.”

The speaker this time was a woman. “How unusual. Those monkeys don’t leave their coven at night.”

“Where were you flying, little bird?” The leader, a sleazy smirk on his face, leaned down to take a good look at you. “Leading away from the nest, perhaps?”

“She don’t understand, Colonel, don’t bother. Ya think Sully could ever manage teaching one word of English to those?”

“Watch how she learns in three seconds.” He yanked on your queue so hard you saw white light in this hour of darkness — and when your vision came back, a screen with your father’s face was being shoved to your face. “Jake Sully. Toruc Mactoe. Where is he?”

You screamed when he pulled with increasing strength, keeping up with the act you didn’t understand. And the state of pain and terror massively helped, contributing to you looking frantic and lost, only knowing that you were being zapped to your core.

“Seems like I don’t need to ask you.” His fingers snapped your head back to get a good look at your earpiece, late to notice you had it on at all because of the dark. “Can directly ask the man himself.”

All you could form to think was, ‘Father’s gonna kill me for this. He’s actually gonna kill me this time.’

You weren't terrified of what the Avatars would do to you. You were afraid of him.

One empty shell from the reloaded machine gun flew away, tinkling hollow when it fell down, and rolled until it stopped in a small pool of water that had formed on the jagged ground of the cave systems. In the scarlet and orange glow of the campfire he’d haphazardly put together right outside of their home out of impatience after Neytiri had basically thrown him out, Jake almost mistook the liquid for blood.

An ominous cloud of dread settled on his shoulders, a paranoia every father tended to go through.

“Big Brother, this is Devil Dog. State your status, over.”

Neteyam didn’t miss a beat to answer, thankfully. “Devil Dog, this is Big Brother. I’m still en route to Foxcove, over.”

“How much longer?”

“Ten minutes at best, sir. Over.”

What he wanted to say was how come he hadn’t met you halfway, but it was empty talk. No need to stress the boy out. “Devil Dog signing out.”

This girl was half the reason for the wrinkles on his forehead, Jesus Christ. He was basically waiting you out like a father sitting in the dark to ambush his daughter who had snuck out at night, for that single glorious moment of yeah that’s right, you got caught, after the light would come on to ruin that moment of relief of successfully making it back in.

His mate had scolded him to be nice and understanding, a Marine was anything but, the closest he could compromise was not being as mean to you than he had to be. Sassing, “So how was your Iknimaya?” like he planned was out the window — Neytiri was spot-on to say the girl would simply give the same mean energy right back at him, and that could only mean another erupting volcano of a fight and a good night’s sleep ruined for him, overthinking where he went wrong and how else he could have salvaged the situation.

He’d just make you tend to the ikrans for a week for some patience practice, cleaning shit for hours on a daily basis would certainly throw the temporary whim of the rite of passage hyperfixation out of your system. The possibility of you shouting you hated him was unavoidable, but Jake had to get his point across, no matter how terribly it nauseated him to hear something like that from his child.

It was strange to remember he couldn’t care less for what people thought of him in the past. Some shithead he wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about hated Jake’s guts? Good. He was living in their head rent free, it was fun even — Neytiri too, Jake absolutely enjoyed her hating game at first.

Being legitimately resented by his very own child, though, was a heartbreak he didn’t expect to hurt him the way it did, knocking air off his lungs the first time he heard it. A burning stab right in his heart that wouldn’t go away until he had to hear it for himself you hadn’t meant any of what you said.

Because that said hate actually stemmed from hurt Jake must have inflicted. Because you could actually despise him, and never allow him to reconnect with you again if he could ever manage to garner the courage to reach out to you — a mightier challenge than hunting Toruk in the sense it actually scared him.

His teenage daughter. Scared him.

Jake didn’t know what to do about it, he couldn’t even show what exactly this made him feel, too ashamed and proud for it in the first place.

The growing distance between you and him was an uneasy, frightened bird he tried to shush and calm in his heart in favor of other pressing matters that drilled small holes in the depths of his stomach, and over time, those little holes had fused together to create one big pit with greater gravitational pull than the sun — until Jake didn’t know how to stitch them back together anymore.

He told himself he would talk to you later, for sure. The morning after every argument, every fight, every jab from you he snapped at he would try to make amends for, definitely.

And then he didn’t.

“What is this, are you palulukan ambushing prey? I told you to make up with her, not prepare for hunting.”

Jake shook his head, dropping the machine gun back inside the crate. The warmed metal was some sort of consolation to his nerves. Marine habit. Always felt safer with a gun near. (Or was it the American in him?) “Neytiri,” he acknowledged, bobbing his head. “I’m just passing time.”

“What do you think will happen when she comes back and sees you waiting for her like this?”

Ah, like the old times when Jake couldn’t do one thing right in her eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” he said playfully, but with no mirth behind it, closing the crate with a muffled thunk. With nothing to do with them, one elbow went to his knee and the other hand’s fingers started a rhythm on the lid he’d just shut.

His mate’s hand gingerly came down on his shoulder, kneading the nerves. “Just talk to her, Ma’Jake.”

“I don’t know how to,” he admitted, he covered her fingers on her shoulder with his, and she immediately held his hand back. “Don’t know what to even tell her.” He gave an exhale from the deeper, tired parts of his soul, gazing at the path leading away from their tent. “With Neteyam and Lo’ak, it’s easy. I tell ‘em what to do and they—”

Neytiri took a seat next to him, gathering their hands together. “Suffer just the same.” Jake was about to brush her off, but she didn’t relent. “What you’re doing is hurting them.”

This now was about all of their children rather than you, specifically. Neytiri was trying to get him to see the bigger picture first before moving to cover what he did wrong with each child of his, they had had this conversation countless times before.

Here we go again, Jake thought.

“Doesn’t matter if that’s what it takes to keep them safe.”

“Does it?” Neytiri leaned in, and calmness washed over him despite the disturbing nature of what she was saying. “Does it keep them safe? Or push them to act out more, get in worse situations?”

He grimaced. “I have to—”

“You feel like you have to.” His mate shook their clasped hands, rattling his bones. “I keep my children safe with trust and honesty. Transparence, Ma’Jake. So that they listen to me when I mean it because they See me. You shut them out.” Her lips bared to show her pearly teeth as she was practically beseeching him. “You don’t get your children’s trust by treating them like a squad.”

“They trust me plenty.”

“They trust Olo’eyktan. Toruk Makto. What about their father?”

“I make sure they’re safe.” Neytiri dropped his hands with an agitated snarl, she thought they were back at the beginning again, he couldn’t make her truly understand no matter what he did. He poured his heart out through their tsaheylu everytime, but her values and beliefs were wired so differently from his at the end of the day. “I make sure they stay where I want them to stay for their own good.” Jake shook his head, his voice soft, hushed. No force behind it when Neytiri was heated in return. “One day they’ll understand.”

“They won’t if you never tell them.”

“Tell them what?” Jake asked. “That I’m being harsh on them to prepare them for war? You think they’ll take it seriously after this?”

“Na’vi were in war long before you. There will be wars after you. No parent sullied his child’s happiness for the price of becoming a warrior. You still don’t get our ways even after all these years.”

“The sky people’s way,” Jake emphasized with his arms. “I have to teach them how they think, what they go through, so they know what they’ll be facing, okay? I can’t simply teach them by telling them.”

“You’re deluding yourself, Jake. Contradicting.” Neytiri was gentle in her cruelty, the flickering flames burned less than her amber eyes. “Tuk and Kiri are getting none of this. I know your heart isn’t allowing you. Why can’t you do the same for your other children?”

Because he had gone too far already with the older three.

Trial and error.

He couldn’t take back the things he did and say back — and quite honestly? Jake was being pulled from all sides to sit down and rethink his parenting. All he thought anymore was how to protect his family, frequent nightmares of losing his children in gruesome ways were haunting his every step.

A father protects his children, that’s what gives him meaning.

Jake had his own desperate ways to do so.

He opened his mouth to say something back, anything, but was interrupted by the communication line coming on. “Dad.”

Jake immediately knew something was wrong, body sitting ramrod straight. If the frantic breathing and barely controlled voice wasn’t any indication of it, his eldest’s behavior was. Neteyam didn’t slip up in the codenames like Lo’ak did, dropped all formalities only when he was borderline panicking.

“Dad. I’m sorry, dad, sir, I can’t find her, dad, I’ve looked everywhere around here, I thought maybe she was hiding underwater, behind rocks—but I can’t, I can’t—.”

“Slow down.” Jake could barely contain his own panic rising from the state his son was in. The boy wasn’t able to see it, but he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in as if Neteyam was right in front of him, and started gesturing with his hand. “Slow down, son.”

“Dad—”

Jake tsk-ed. “Neteyam, slow. Slow.”

Neytiri took his elbow. “What is it?”

He told her to wait with his gaze, and turned his attention back to Neteyam. This could only mean one thing, he was praying to be wrong — needed clarification. “Now tell me calmer. What’s going on?”

“She’s never been here. She never came here in the first place. There’s no sign of her. No trace. I’ve tracked.”

Jake’s instant response was fear. Domineering, ice-cold, cutting fear. Bodily and emotionally both. You were clockwork, similar to him in having unchanging routines and patterns. Angry? Went for a walk. Depressed? No talking to anyone until it passed. Happy? Wanted to go to the forest to spend time with your siblings and always craved sweet fruit. Didn’t want to be around anyone? Hid in the little bioluminescent cove with a pond two little mountains away, always. Always.

Neytiri sensed this, observing the change of demeanor in him.“Ma’Jake?”

“Okay, son.” He seized back control. One missing child was enough. “Stay right there and don’t move. I’ll contact you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jake,” Neytiri hissed finally, at the end of her ropes.

“She didn’t go to the cove,” he said, face icy neutral as always, but his eyes showed dizzying concern. Neytiri put a hand on her mouth as Jake wasted no time in changing channels. “Night Owl, this is Devil Dog. Come in.” He couldn’t even wait two seconds before trying again. “Night Owl, what is your status? Where are you?”

Silence.

The more fear dug deeper into his skin, the more his anger and annoyance soared up, his tail was whipping the air erratically, the finger on the earpiece could send the metal right into his brain with how hard he was pressing on it. “I know you can hear me. This is no time for playing games. You know what you did to your brother? Do you know how panicked he was, not being able to find you—”

Then Jake remembered what Neytiri advised, he didn’t change strategies because she was right next to him to dig his eyes out, but because his heart was picking up its pace by the second. “Tell me where you are, I’ll leave you alone, I promise, alright? If you’re somewhere open, get to safety, I’m only asking this from you. Or else—”

“Don’t.” Neytiri raised a warning finger at him, voice just above a whisper so they could hear their daughter if she decided to cut in. “Threaten her.”

He couldn’t stop her from snatching the communication device off of him. “Ma’ite, it’s mom. Can you talk to me at least?”

His ears twitched at picking up on you responding, not quite making out the words.

Jake’s eyes shut close for a long time as his whole eyebrow line migrated upwards, he physically had to get a few steps between him and the earpiece so the obliviating worry that’d almost blinded him wouldn’t cause him to say something he’d greatly regret later. He could feel himself deflating. A migraine could be coming anytime soon.

You wouldn’t even acknowledge his existence but the moment your mother interrupted, you did? Fine. Fine. He didn’t care. Jake could live with it. At least you were alive.

A rippling shudder shook him the moment that thought hit him, an image of you lying dead in a ditch, pale blue, flashing in his mind, he had to run a hand down his face.

When Jake looked back, irked by the silence, he found Neytiri standing completely stock-still. And all of a sudden, her petrifying glare was on him, ears pinned all the way back, hands gradually starting to tremble.

“Neytiri?”

She wordlessly handed him the device, and with a deep frown, Jake put it back in his ear.

“Hi there Corporal, you hear me? Yeah, I know you do. As much as I’m charmed by the fatherly love I could give you a big old sloppy wet kiss, we have unfinished business.”

And the ground disappeared right under Jake’s feet, plunging him into hell itself.

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis @alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul @eichenhouseproperty @kakimakiloh @dueiosy @liyahsocorro @dimplesxx @tigresslily

#dad!jake x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x daughter!reader #sully family x reader #mom!neytiri x reader #neteyam x sister!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader #irma: 📝#📖: light

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updownlately · 6 months

Text

if you’re gonna waste my time (let’s waste it right)

| leah williamson x reader | hurt/comfort | 3.3k | disclaimer: mentions of anxiety, self loathing, negative thoughts, and depression -this delves into some slightly heavy topics so please read at your own discretion! | a/n: got this ask a while back and an idea struck to me while driving! first fic in a while that i've written in one sitting so let's see how this goes! honestly started off really strong but then idk where we went. anyways, not proofread as usual, but happy reading! take care amigos! and just know that each of you are loved, cared for, and cherished by those around you, even if you don't know it! 🫶

~~~

Fight, flight, or freeze.

They say that every human has these three survival instincts built in.

Instincts meant to protect, to escape, but most importantly, to survive.

Responses meant to make sure that one would make it out of harm’s way, preferably unscathed.

Fight, the mechanism that evoked adrenaline. That helped you battle your way through the toughest of encounters.

That did its best to make sure you were well equipped to tackle any scuffle, minor or major, to the best of your ability.

Flight, the mechanism that helped you run- escape before you couldn’t anymore.

The one that ensured that you got out before you could be attacked- before you could be hurt.

And then of course, freeze.

Rooted to your spot, immobile as harm directed itself towards you, one only praying that you could be so still that harm skipped right past you, practically avoiding you as you let it pass.

Freeze, that left you with a pounding heart, blood rushing in your ears.

Freeze that meant you couldn’t move, body rigid, feet planted, mind stopped in time.

Freeze that kept you stuck. stuck in an endless loop of agony, of shaky breaths, of paralyzing fear.

Freeze, considered the weakest of the three.

So as you stood there, eyes wide, muscles tense, body frozen, you cursed your mind and body with all that you could, wondering why of the three instincts, freeze was what you had done in order to try and survive.

~~~

There’s something terrifying about the voices that ring in your head.

How they so scarily sound similar to the people in your life, past and present.

Voices reminding you how you aren’t good enough. How you’ve let them down. How maybe if you weren’t there, the world would be okay. That it would move on without a hitch, without a second thought, because when it came to it, at the end of the day, maybe, just maybe, you didn’t really matter anyways.

Voices that sounded like your mother, reminding you of dark nights of you hidden in your room, the harsh words ringing in the four walls of your bedroom, what was supposed to be your safe haven, now tainted with feelings of regret, of disappointment, of outright disgust.

It’d be better if you didn’t exist.

Voices that sounded like your father, angry yells late into the night, enough smashed dishes that left your hands littered with scars that’d never cease to remind you, enough nights spent under your covers silently wiping tears as you prayed that you were quiet enough.

What a waste of air.

Voices that sounded like past coaches and management that knocked you back with each word spoken, each push forward sending you feet yards back, support that felt like hindrance more than anything.

You’d be lucky if you got to play past the little leagues. It’d be a miracle that’s for sure.

Voices that sounded like fans- people that were meant to support you- but you couldn’t force them to. Hundreds if not thousands of comments left, each asking for you to be traded. Hell, they’d take a sack of potatoes if nothing else.

I can’t believe that we wasted our money on this. Can’t we just, I don’t know, get rid of her? She’s the reason we suck. Maybe if she was half a decent player we’d actually be somewhere in the league.

Comments that repeated your worth. Ingrained it into your mind. Over and over and over again.

You weren’t good enough.

Sentences that etched themselves into the forefront of your thoughts, always ready to haunt you at the slightest notice.

You weren’t good enough.

Not now, not ever.

Not for your own mother or father, never mind your siblings.

Not for your teammates, nor the fans.

It was a miracle you were even playing professionally in the first place.

God if they took one good look at you maybe they realized how poorly they fucked up by signing you.

You weren’t a good footballer, barely even a decent one. How you managed to play for this long was a miracle.

They’d notice soon enough though. They had to. They always did.

They’d notice soon enough that you weren’t good enough.

And then?

Then you’d be left with nothing, as you always were.

~~~

You didn’t know when you were led inside to the locker rooms- when that absolutely terrifying moment of being in front of the opposing team’s stands had gone from you taking a corner to being absolutely pelted by random junk.

From empty bottles (plastic thankfully), to empty food containers, balled-up programs, signs, merch, all being hurled your way, never mind the onslaught of assaults- the stands only repeating everything your mind ever told you, every, single, day.

You didn’t hear when the ref blew their whistle, nor when the rest of the girls dressed in red crowded you, some chastising the fans along with the away team, others wrapping around you protectively, quickly leading you towards the benches.

You weren’t there as you were subbed off, your mind still frozen, much like the rest of your body.

All you knew right now was that you could smell the familiar scent of your girlfriend’s perfume as the heel of your palms pressed harshly into your eyes in an attempt to cease the uproar in your head.

Breaths getting heavy, you tried your best to calm yourself down.

You weren’t a stranger to panic attacks, and even in your hazed state, you could very well recognize the oncoming situation.

Bringing your arms to wrap around your own stomach in a futile attempt to bring yourself some sort of comfort, you felt your breathing pick up as the sharp lights of the room seemed to get darker.

Room spinning, the voices in your head louder, you could only bring your knees up to your head, body now practically in fetal position as you rode out the attack.

Even with the hundreds you’d had by now, you hadn’t been able to come up with an effective method to deal with them.

So you sat there, huddled into a ball, body shaking, mind louder than ever as Leah stood above and watched helplessly.

The blonde had been there in the stands to watch you get abused, immediately making her way down to the pitch because ACL and league rules be damned, that was her girlfriend for fuck’s sake.

She stood by the sidelines, ready to receive you as the obvious substitution occurred, an arm coming to wrap around you as she led your ghost of a body to the locker rooms.

She watched as you mindlessly sat in front of your locker, not a single word uttered from you, not a single response to the quiet comforting words the blonde had whispered to you gently in an attempt to rouse you from your clearly distressed state.

She itched to reach out and touch you as she saw you slowly curl into a ball, you getting ever so smaller as she could only helplessly watch, you unknowingly flinching the second she touched your shoulders in an attempt to comfort you.

It was only when your heavy breathing died down every so slightly, nearly fifteen minutes later if the blonde’s perception was right, that she tried again, slowly coming to sit beside you as she gauged your reaction.

Seeing your shaking start to slow as well, she slowly wrapped an arm around your shoulder, her own body tense as she watched you stiffen up before you relaxed slightly, letting her pull you into her side as her other hand came to hold your left one.

And long after you had buried yourself into her side, body defeated with the rollercoaster of emotions you’d just experienced, too tired to think of any of the consequences of your actions, you let Leah led you- helping your pull on a hoodie and your jacket and change out of your cleats as she gathered the rest of your gear.

Helpless except able to nod in agreement as the blonde suggested you leave early from the game, you followed her quietly, not a word said from you, as she led you out of the ground and to her car, where you fell asleep within seconds.

It was only when the car pulled up to her house, a place you’d been to many times, your relationship long past new to the both of you, did you rouse, mind still not present and following the blonde.

Leah was good. You trusted Leah. Leah was safe.

The words repeating in your head, you believing they were true like all the other words that crossed your mind, you let yourself sleepily be led up the stairs and up to the ensuite.

Standing there awkwardly as you slowly came to the situation, the lights in the washroom waking you up, your shoulders sunk as the embarrassment from earlier set in.

God you were an embarrassment. First a panic attack in front of the English skipper, and now this- you stood helplessly in her bathroom like you were broken, waiting to be fixed.

You watched in dread as the blonde flitted around the joint closet, quickly gathering a change of clothes for you before she stacked them neatly on the countertop, handing you a towel and starting the shower, not meeting your eyes.

What you didn’t know was that she didn’t want to scare you off, intimidate you as her heart ached at the shameful look in your eyes.

“Take a warm shower, yeah? We’ll get you some food after, and then how about a nap?”

Unable to do anything but nod in response, your fear of upsetting the blonde, of anyone really, making itself known, you followed her instructions, locking the door as she left and starting to remove your sweat covered kit.

~~~

It’s nearly twenty minutes later when you emerge from the shower, your dirty clothes held precariously in your hands, your eyes wide as you see Leah sprawled across her bed, scrolling aimlessly on her phone.

A small smile unknowingly escapes you as you watch her nearly throw her phone, very much caught off-guard at your appearance.

Smile tightening quickly as you realized it rested on your face, your eyes met the ground, ears sharp as you noted the footsteps headed towards you.

Before you knew it, the mess of dirty clothes was swiftly taken from your hands, your gaze snapping up as you watched Leah take your dirty kit and toss it into her own hamper before turning to you.

“Alright. I’d rather you eat, but I’m not going to force you to, yeah? We can take a nap, maybe just reset, or if you wanna sit down and watch a movie or a show we can do that too…how’s that sound?”

Feeling your eyes water at the blonde’s gentle tone, feelings still overwhelming from earlier, your sights met the ground again as you meekly nodded.

Blood rushing in your ears, you felt the vibrations as Leah stepped towards you again, her hands gently taking yours.

“Nap?”

Taking her chances at guessing which you preferred, the tender tone in her voice had you easily nodding again, tears you’d been trying to hold back now escaping.

And as the blonde led you to her bed, you winced as the voices in your head picked up once again, mind baffled at why someone was treating you with this much kindness, this much care.

Choosing to ignore them for now, you smiled shyly at the sight in front of you, Leah having rounded the bed to go on ‘her’ side, the skipper tucked into the sheets, arms wide open as she shot you a soft grin, eyes sparkling with glee as she waited for you to join her.

Gingerly approaching the bed, you hesitantly pulled back the covers, eyes meeting Leah’s every few seconds to make sure you were okay, before entering, unsure of whether you were allowed to hug the blonde (even if a part of you so desperately wanted to do so).

Your question was answered for you, however, Leah was unable to see you lying down in such a stiff manner, taking matters into her own hands and hooking an arms around your waist and pulling you into her.

And as you slowly got comfortable, moving millimetres every minute until you finally found yourself resting with your head on her chest, arm wrapped around her midsection as her hand came to wrap around your waist, one running through your hair, you let yourself sink into her hold, brain quietening every so slightly as the familiar presence and scent had you relaxing.

It was only when you were on the verge of sleep, minutes later, did you hear Leah’s voice whisper into the air between you two, her lips pressing a tender kiss to your forehead as an apology as she realized her mistake of rousing you from your sleepy state.

“There’s a lot that goes on up there,” with a small nod towards the top of your head, she continued, “but it doesn’t have to stay there y’know?”

Holding her breath as she felt you shift slightly, you turning your body to listen better, she spoke again.

“I’d be more than happy to stay here and listen to you when you need it. Really, any of us would. All of the girls love you and care for you, and despite whatever people might say, you add to the team, yeah?”

Feeling you nod hesitantly at the words, Leah waited as she sensed your jaw move, anticipation killing her as you sounded out the words silently before they left your mouth- and even then, you winced slightly.

“I don’t want to be a burden…don’t wanna waste your time…”

There was something in the way the words quietly rolled off your tongue, no doubt said many times before, the sincerity behind them proving you meant them wholeheartedly- that you believed you were an inconvenience, that broke Leah’s heart.

You weren’t a burden. You weren’t.

She wondered if you’d ever seen yourself the way other’s saw you. If that coloured glass that you saw yourself through was tainted any other colour than black. Whether it was ever yellow so you’d see just how much of a ray of sunshine you were on the stormiest of days, often cheering up your shared teammates with just a single smile as you’d skip into the change rooms.

Or if you ever looked at yourself through the rose coloured glass, the same hue that would coat your cheeks as you’d interact with fans post-game, giving each and every one your undivided attention, making them feel special, and loved, and cared for.

Or whether you ever saw yourself through green, breathing life to even the dullest moments, standing tall, unwavering, as players would try to take you down on the pitch over and over again, you getting back up each time, a force to be reckoned with, one that not even the rainiest of days nor Mother nature could defy.

You weren’t a burden, and the blonde needed you to believe it, because it was the truth and nothing but the wholehearted, honest-to-god truth.

It’s why her honest admission just tumbles out, the words spilling before the defender could stop them.

“If I could hold you all night and all day, I would, without a single doubt or any hesitation.”

Her grip tightening on you as the words are spoken clearly and strongly, her placing a gentle kiss to your temple before continuing.

“If you think you’re gonna waste my time by talking to me when you aren’t doing well, then just know, that listening to you as I try and comfort you and get the chance to hold you in my arms? It’s the best waste of time I’ll ever have in my life. It’s one I’ll cherish till the end of time, because it’s never, and I mean never, a waste.”

Taking a deep breath in, the blonde felt you nod at her words, your own grip tightening around the blonde as you pulled yourself closer into her, closing your eyes in an attempt to believe her the best you could.

Leah could sense your struggle though, not ignorant to the way a small, trembling breath escaped you, frustration clear.

“You don’t have to believe me now, or any time soon really, but just know, it’s the wholehearted truth- and I’ll spend as long as you need reminding you, because you’re good enough. You’re more than good enough, and worthy of love, and a good life, and good things. You deserve love, even though your brain tries to tell you otherwise, yeah?”

When you didn’t say anything, it clear to the blonde that you were silently taking in her words, contemplating them, doing your best to believe them, she let you be, revelling in the silence as took in the feel of you being in her arms, one of her favourite feelings in the world.

The blonde could almost feel you turning her words over in your head, examining them from top to bottom as you inspected them for any indication of a lie, surprised when there wasn’t one.

Content with the way you hadn’t spoken out yet in disagreement, Leah decided to take her chances and bite the bullet.

Proposing her next idea, the blonde held her breath in anticipation, heartbeat slowing dramatically as she hoped you’d agree to her words.

“I’ll always be here to hold you, but I think it might just help if we see a professional, yeah? You and me, both of us, we’ll go, and just give it a crack?”

Feeling your hesitancy this time, the blonde pulled you closer to her gently, turning onto her side as her eyes met yours.

One hand now carefully resting on your cheek, she placed a loving kiss on your forehead, then your nose before continuing.

“Three sessions is all I ask. If you don’t want to go after that, then I won’t ask again, ever. But, just give me three sessions, and I’ll be there for each one if you want, and if nothing changes, then you’re off the hook, deal?”

There was an audible sigh of relief that escaped Leah’s lips as you hesitantly nodded in agreement.

Deciding that that was good enough for the time being, Leah smiled softly to herself, more than happy with any baby steps of progress being made.

“Just want you to love yourself the way the rest of us love you. The way I love you…”

The words were punctuated with another gentle kiss on your head, this time her lips lingering as you both basked in the touch, the blonde well aware that physical touch was your love language.

Nodding to yourself as your girlfriend’s arms wrapped around you at the end of her sentence, heart feeling just a tad bit lighter as her embrace sucked you in, you let out a sigh of relief at the quiet in your mind and warmth in your chest.

Snuggling further into Leah’s hold, you let out a shaky breath as the emotions of the day filtered out of you, you weren’t going to lie, you were terrified for the future- absolutely scared shitless for what it held. But, with Leah by your side, on your team, cheering you on, a spark of hope nestled quietly inside you, filling you with a refreshing breath, a new goal to work towards.

Not now, not soon, but slowly and surely, you’d work your way through this. You wanted to. for your sake and hers.

After all, with your girlfriend to remind you that you were human, someone that could live and not just survive, maybe you could finally teach yourself it too.

#not proofread as usual #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso community #woso #my writing #fic #fic req #hurt/comfort #iygwmt

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itsphoenix0724 · 8 months

Text

Promises Pt 2 (Rhysand x Reader)

Summary: You don't argue with your husband often, and never anything as serious as this. However, some things may be too hard to come back from. But, you can certainly try.

Part 1

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Hi loves! Thank you for all the love on Promises! I'm so so happy everyone liked it, and I got a lot of really positive feedback and interactions! Here is the awaited part 2! I hope you all enjoy where I've decided to take it and the ending! As always constructive criticism is welcome!

You found Mor when you arrived at Athelwood. You had reached out to her mind to mind and she came right away. You spent an hour crying collapsed in her arms cursing the world, the mother, the cauldron, and your husband.

You didn’t leave your bed for another two weeks.

Mor tried to convince you to eat, but you rejected the offer every time. All you did was stare grimly between the gap in the curtains.

Mate. One word, four letters. Who knew such a small word could rip your heart to shreds?

You couldn’t stop replaying your argument with Rhys over and over. “She is my mate and I don’t know what to do.” and “It's just more complicated” rattled against the walls of your brain like a twisted symphony. You could only shut your eyes and turn away from the dying sun to try to drown out the noise.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The Night Court was in absolute shambles. It had only been a few weeks, but Rhys quickly realized how greatly the absence of his queen was felt across the entire territory.

After his return from Amarantha’s rule, you had shouldered the majority of the workload to give him time to recover. Theoretically, it made sense. He was out of practice and you had been ruling the court for 49 years by yourself. However, he was just now realizing how out of practice he was.

Rhys had never been a particularly good diplomat.

He was a good leader and a fantastic battle strategist, but he needed more patience for paperwork and meetings.

You always did say he could win a war before he understood the workings of city planning.

Now, there was a pile of letters on his desk asking him when the services the Queen had usually provided were going to resume.

He didn’t realize how much you did daily. How much improvement you made over almost 50 years of ruling by yourself.

You had established a grief counseling service for the war, there was a refugee center you helped run for Illyrian women who needed shelter, and you and Cassian even made biweekly visits to almost all of the Illyrian Camps to ensure they were upholding the new laws about wing clipping. You were even fielding talks with Keir in the Court of Nightmares.

You always did hate the way Rhys chose to handle that.

It was the way his father had taught him and his grandfather had taught his father, and even though you hated Keir, you hated seeing the rest of the court punished.

You had established an exchange program of sorts. Apparently, you had allowed a select few merchants to come to Velaris almost monthly to sell their goods, and you had a group of 20 children that would come attend schools in the City of Starlight. The work kept piling up, he had so many letters marked urgent on his desk that he was starting to go cross-eyed.

The only thing that he could think of was that he failed you. He failed his court, and there was nothing but deep unsettling loneliness clawing its way through his ribcage and straight into his heart. The only thing he had been trying to do was reach you. He had been trying to talk to you through your mind but he was met with cool obsidian walls banning him from entry.

Then, there was the matter of the unanswered mating bond pulling in his chest.

He never wanted Feyre. At least not in the same way he wanted you.

He never intended to accept the bond, but he wanted to help her. She had brought him back to his family. To his Queen. He refused to let her waste away in Spring. He thought he could use the mating bond as an excuse to get her away from Tamlin, and once she was settled he could break it off and set her free.

He had made the stupid mistake of not being honest with you in the first place.

He didn’t want you to scent the mating bond and get the wrong idea, so he stayed away for the week until he could finalize his plan.

Instead, he made the mistake of not telling you and it seemed like he was having an affair.

It had been a fair assumption to make, given his piss-poor excuse for an explanation, but the thought of being with another person made him sick to his stomach. Running his fingers over the band of your ring he knew he had to fix this.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You distantly felt Mor sit down on the bed. A soft caring hand brushes through your hair as she calls your name softly. You turn, and blink up at her with weary eyes.

She sends you a sad tight-lipped smile before telling you why she disturbed your hibernation.

“We need your help.” She says it so softly you almost don’t hear her, “Please. The Court is running itself into the ground. Your people need you,” she pauses again like she doesn’t know if she should say what comes next. “Rhys needs you.” You bury your head back into the pillow and allow yourself to relish in the darkness a minute longer.

“Winnow us to the House, and then give me an hour.” Mor’s face lights up with a blazing victory as she reaches out to grab your hands, and then deposits you in the Oueen Suite at the house of wind.

You flinch at the bright light and want nothing more than to crawl back into bed and wallow in the crushing sadness.

But you are Queen of the Night Court, and you made an oath to your people before anything else.

You refuse to let them be punished for the mistakes of their stupid High Lord.

The House had run you a bath, and you sink into the boiling water trying to scrub away the remains of the previous two weeks. Once you’re done you sit down at the vanity in your room and go through the motions. You brush your hair, apply some makeup, and put on all the pieces of jewelry that mean the most to you like armor.

It feels like you’re suiting up for battle to go see your husband. The floor-length black slip you chose might as well have been made of steel.

You do your best to pointedly ignore your bare ring finger.

You stare at the crown you never quite thought you were worthy of. Of course, the cauldron would make Feyre Rhys’s Mate. She was the curse-breaker and Rhys was the most powerful High Lord in history.

What were you?

You push the negative thoughts away and rest the crown on your head. You need to focus on your people. They were the important factor here. You stand up and find Mor in the hall, She looks over you with immense approval before winnowing you down to Velaris.

You walk around the city before you face Rhys at the townhouse.

You visit your favorite bakery, you visit all of your charities, and you walk along the Sidra greeting the townspeople as you pass. It fills you with renewed vigor as they greet you with their warm smiles. It makes you feel like you deserve to be here.

This is your city, nothing can take you from it.

The door to the townhouse opens for you, and the first thing you smell is the stench of old wine. You wander through the house and find that Rhys hasn’t moved any of the things you made in the kitchen before you left. You found Rhys leaning over his desk. He must be out of it because he doesn’t hear your approach.

He looks tense, the muscles in his back are as taught as a bowstring. His hair looks run-through and ragged even from behind, and you bet if he turned around there would be dark purple half-moons under his eyes.

You clear your throat and Rhy’s head shoots around to look at you. You’re expecting anger, regret, and maybe even resentment to reflect in his eyes. The only thing you see looking back at you is palpable remorse. He pushes back from his desk so hard that his chair knocks over. He rushes over to you and looks like he’s going to wrap you in his arms, but he drops them at the last second. Rhy is staring at you like he doesn’t believe you’re real and his violet eyes have taken on a glassy tint.

“Hi,” you mumble carefully, not quite sure if you’ll spook him into triggering another argument. You not knowing how to act around your husband is an unpleasant foreign feeling. Rhys clears his throat and lets out a teary sort of laugh

“Hello my darling,” he tries to smile and fiddles with his hands in a way that is so uncharacteristically like Rhysand it makes your heart lurch for him in your chest. “I’m assuming there’s a lot you want to talk to me about.” You nod and Rhys casts his eyes downward before he nods at you in encouragement.

“Do you want a divorce?” It’s the first thing you blurt out, but you’re not sure if you want to know the answer. You have to know, you need to know before you can continue on further. If Rhysand was going to rip out your heart again you’d rather him just get it over with already. Instead, he looks up at you with the most alarmed look on his face you’ve ever seen, and he reaches out to grab your hands in his.

He opens his mouth and then closes it again before he drops to his knees before you.

“No love, I do not want a divorce. I never want to be separated from you ever again,” He presses kisses into your knuckles “Please, let me explain myself.” He looks up at you in permission and you give a subtle tip of your head. “I never wanted Feyre. Ever. I only needed the mating bond to help save her. I was always going to reject the bond after she was safe.” You hesitate, and he can see the trepidation in your eyes. “Please believe me,” Silver lined the bottom of his violet eyes

“But why,” your voice cracked, and the sobs you’ve held in through you’re entire time apart came rushing out of your chest like hot lava. “The cauldron gave you a mate that matches your power. I’m just me. I’m nothing.” Rhys rises from his knees and holds your face in his hands.

Claiming and steady so he can soothe your sobs.

“Damn the cauldron. I love you to the end of this earth, and the next earth beyond it. I made mistakes, and I handled this situation completely the wrong way. I am so sorry Darling. I am lost without you, when you’re not here I am missing half my heart. Please, come home.” Another sob bubbles up from your throat and your husband pulls you against him, rubbing soothing circles into your back and apologies into the crook of your neck. Once you both calmed down he pulls back from you and offers you your ring. The sight almost makes another sob bubble in your throat. “Well? Could you forgive me?”

You nod and Rhy’s whole body almost sags in relief at your words as he slips the sapphire back onto your finger. It’s like a void in your soul has been filled.

You and Rhys certainly still have a lot to talk about and a lot to work on, but you know you’ll do it together.

Just like you always have.

“So, I heard the Court is falling to pieces without me?” You look back at Rhys’s desk in question and he sends you a guilty look in return. He scoops you up in his arms, despite your shout of protest, and starts walking you toward your shared bedroom.

“Love you don’t even know how lost I am without you, but we can get to that after I’m done thoroughly apologizing to my Queen.” His voice sends a shiver of dark promise down your spine, and you have the settled feeling in your stomach that everything will turn out just fine.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf fanfiction #acotar imagine #rhysand x reader #rhysand imagine #rhys x reader #rhys acotar

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voidpetrova · 4 months

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you can pretend — rafe cameron x reader

☄. *. ⋆ content warning(s) & genre: swearing, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, substance abuse in general, self-sabotage — angst

˚♡ ｡˚ synopsis: he had nobody to blame but himself, he was his own enemy

✧.*

you can pretend you're getting better, like it's all going away. you can pretend, but the echoes of betrayal linger in the spaces between memories. the shattered fragments of trust lay scattered, a painful mosaic of what was once love. you can pretend you've found a way out, even though you're just going in circles. you can pretend you're not in love, even though it's all you have left.

rafe knew where it all started, he knew the problems he faced wouldn't have existed in the first place if it weren't for him. he was his own worst enemy. giving credit where its due, the road wasn't always rocky. much like any other relationship, the honeymoon phase was short-lived—it was meant to set the tone of your entire relationship. from the parties to the picnics, to meeting your parents, to meeting his friends. the joy was endless, but nothing lasts forever.

the first nine months flew by quickly, which is precisely why what followed hit you like a ton of bricks. it all started with petty arguments—typical stuff—“why aren't the dishes done?” and “you're using again, aren't you?”. these were daily topics, occurences that happened nearly every day—if you went a day without fighting, you'd truly be thanking god. those petty quarrels were kicked up a notch after a few weeks, jealousy issues and making scenes in public. the more rafe used, the harder it was on you, but finally, there was a reckoning.

three months later, and he had finally stopped using. it shocked him more than it had shocked you, but it was done, cold turkey. he spent the next two months sober, and things were finally taking a turn for the best. you were happy, you were both content, as if the honeymoon phase was ready to make a reappearance. all of that went to waste the minute you found out rafe had been cheating those two months.

it wasn't something you had expected, not even from someone like him. you had given him your all—you took care of him, drove him home when he was too wasted to do it himself, bathed him when he was too strung out, cooked for him, stayed loyal to him—things most men dream about. the day you found out, it killed something inside you. you were in physical pain, unable to breathe, you could barely get yourself together.

you left him the next day, quicker than anticipated. the day you confronted him, he had greened out thirty minutes prior. he hadn't registered a single thing you said, despite the screaming and sobbing, not a single word was processed. after that, you made sure you were unreachable. even when topper had filled in the blanks for him, it was too late. no matter the method, he had no way of accessing you. that's when his life truly began to fall apart.

“i feel disgusting,” were the words you had uttered to kiara and sarah. sitting in front of the mirror on your wall, you brushed your hair out, untying the knots and tight ends. despite being his sister, sarah was one of your biggest supporters. she felt for you, and did everything in her power to make you feel better. she exchanged a disappointed glance with kiara as they made her way up to you.

there was truly no way to describe your beauty, something that couldn't be put into words. it was one of the many reasons nobody believed rafe had it in him to cheat, it took a lot of convincing. “you have never been disgusting,” kiara assured, brushing loose strands of your hair down past your shoulder. “you can't let this ruin you, not this. not him.”

sarah couldn't help but nod in agreement, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “besides,” she rested her chin on your shoulder, offering a sweet smile. “now you've got the best excuse to come to the party tonight, don't you?” you returned the smile, you had to. they were your dear friends, and you knew all they wanted was the best for you. though hesitant, you nodded in agreement.

rafe had no interest in hosting any parties with his friends. in fact, rafe had no interest in anything anymore. he laid, spread out on his couch, another can of beer in one hand, a blunt in the other. topper and kelce had been concerned since the day the break-up took place. they had resorted to persuading both parties, in fact, with no positive results.

“you gotta stop that man, it's enough,” kelce commented, his tone genuine. rafe's eyes were bloodshot as he shot him a glance. he couldn't sleep, his mind wouldn't let him. the guilt would eat him alive, unless he had something in his system. the lack of your presence was replaced by each line he snorted, each pill he took, each whore he paid for a good time. but the feeling would always come back. he sneered at his friend, “i'll decide when it's enough.”

the kook party started off as a lavish affair held in their beachfront mansion. the atmosphere was opulent, with elegant decorations and dimmed lights creating a sophisticated ambiance. guests were dressed in upscale attire, sipping on exotic cocktails while a live band played smooth tunes. the air was filled with laughter and the occasional clinking of glasses as attendees enjoyed the extravagant setting overlooking the ocean. it exuded an air of exclusivity, with a mix of socialites and high-society figures mingling in an upscale celebration.

“party's a shitshow,” rafe snapped, teeth grinding as he held onto the bathroom's sink with both hands, knuckles whitening. he only glanced in the mirror for a split second, no longer. he had reached his breaking point, unable to stand the sight of himself in the mirror. one hand was lifted, giving him less leverage, but just enough for him to swipe his credit card from his pocket, arranging lines amongst the white powder on the sink's edge. the first line went by in a flash, his nostrils searing with an amazing pain. the second went by just as fast, along with the third.

he blew the excess powder off the sink, watching it blend in with the atmosphere. knowing he would need time for the effects to kick in—for his head to spin fast enough to rid him of his focus, all the problems he had been facing. his main one, the one he had been struggling with for as long as he could remember. he couldn't face you, he couldn't stand the sight of you. it made his stomach churn and his blood boil, knowing he was his own worst enemy.

as he left the bathroom, he could feel his heart pounding in his ears. he ignored the crowd that surrounded him, the hands reaching out to greet him, the voices calling out to him, asking if he was alright. he could feel his chest rising heavily, eyebrows furrowed as if trying to block the upcoming headache. he moved past everybody as fast as he could, desperate for fresh air. if he had known what awaited him outside, he would've asked god to take him right then and there.

you were wrapped in a mesmerizing blend of gold and baby pink, adorned with delicate lace that mimiced the intricate patterns of ocean waves. the short length accentuated your legs, and the subtle shimmer added a touch of ethereal beauty. you wore it with confidence, your radiance enhancing the dress's allure, creating a stunning ensemble that captured everyone's attention. you were radiant, pushing your hair down your shoulder as you chatted with jj and pope, allowing them to relax you as much as they could. they knew how nervous you were.

everybody did. rafe could see it, too. he stood there, yards away, frozen in his tracks. for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel anger. it was a feeling that couldn't be described—a painful melancholy that would drive him to tears instead of the nearest bottle of expensive liquor. he couldn't move, no matter how much he wanted to. he stayed there, eyes glued to you, watching every move you made.

you were all he had, all he would ever have. even when he knew he didn't have you.

#obx #outer banks #obx fanfiction #obx x reader #obx angst #outer banks angst #outer banks x reader #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x reader angst #rafe cameron x reader smut #rafe cameron smut

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ganondoodle · 5 months

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so guess what they released more interviews and i think given what a writing shitshow totk was and what they have been saying in all these interviews is actually painting a really bad picture; i dont have the time, nor the energy to go over every detail

but they were commenting on people wanting the more linear format back and aonuma himself basically said that he thinks people who feel like that do so only bc of nostalgia and "Why do you want to go back to a type of game where you're more limited or more restricted in the types of things or ways you can play?"

what .. the fuck, more freedom DOESNT automatically mean better??? like ... restriction can be a GOOD thing just as tooo much freedom can be BAD?? like in totk??? are you fukcing shitting me- what the hell are games even for then, has he had an awakening to the fact that he actually just loves sandbox games without realizing it???? im not playing fucking zelda for a sandbox, especially not when its advertised as a somethign else

its pretty clear that they want to keep this format going with everything they say there, ... maybe it really is over huh

also i hate how they kept talking around answering anything about story/lore; they go asked how ganondorf even connects to ganon since theres nothign about it in game, and all they got out was welllll we dont wanna say anything bc its up to the player; about every question you got the answer of "make somethign up yourself" which is just ... its really clear they dont actually care but dont want to say everything is meaningless actually, so they try to be vague about it and with doing that really just confirm they didnt think about it and they dont care- so no lore actually matters, nothing thats been said or established has any meaning bc they will get rid of it the second it crosses paths with their new -more freedom equals better- philosophy, they say its bc they want you to be "free" to think up anything but apparently dont realize that when there are no rules, no consistent lore or anything that it ROBS it, it stops having meaning, its fun to connect dots only when there are rules you need to work with and dots to connect in the first place, when you have an established world with its restrictions it drives you to think more creatively about things- but when there are no rules?? its fucking boring!! thats what it is!!

when you discard all rules i wont care to get invested into anything bc i know it will not be considered again, be done away with without any reason and wont have influence on coming or previous games ... bc there are no rules, anything is possible and everything can be changed any second, so nothing matters

(they also talked about the many viral videos of those very few dedicated people that make godzilla mechs in totk and how happy they are about that- i get that to some extent, but the way they kept talkign about it really just felt like it confirmed my suspicion that that whole mechanic was mainly implemented to let people do that since that gets shared around en masse making it seem like that is why people enjoy it while neither the game nor the narrative are build around it in any way ..)

it just makes all the time i spend thinking, feeling and theorizing about zelda like a true waste of time, bc nothing matters and there are no rules-

i am someone who greatly enjoys working with and around established lore/rules, its fun to me to recontextulize things by being smart or creative with it all without breaking anything or as little as possible of the established things!

if i wanted to do just do anything i want I COULD HAVE ALREADY DONE THAT bc theres nothing actually stopping anyone to just make up what they want! i DONT need canon to lose all rules for that??!!

maybe ill have to make myself believe the franchise ended with botw on a good note ... ono

#ganondoodles talks #zelda #totk #ganondoodles rants #sorry for sounding so agressive about this #but its making me so mad #also someone said to me that they literally admitted to not have an actual writer for totk???#(or someone that has no connection to anything zelda before this??)#which i couldnt find myself but #it would make so much sense if true #like ... yeah if there werent any people dedicated for the narrative and it was jsut cool looking moment tacked on cool looking moment #or someone that has no idea of anything of the past ... including botw ... yeah .. yeah it does feel like that #it makes me so sad #and also like i have to come to terms with this franchise being practically dead to me now #just when i was about to start working on chapter 2 #can they please stop doing interviews when all they do is fuck it up more #(* ￣︿￣)

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ataraxiaspainting · 5 months

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Numb to the Feeling.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: Counting down the minutes until the new year starts with your captor is as fun as you expected.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, and some not SFW implications.

Word Count: 550.

*~*~*~*

“You should learn to indulge yourself every once in a while, dearest.”

“Perhaps you should learn to not do so very often.”

The devil incarnate simply puts down your still-full glass of wine on the table where it was originally placed by him an hour prior. Every time he tries to convince you to take a sip, you attempt to scurry off, but every successful attempt comes to an end when Chrollo either pats the seat beside him on the couch, you ask him a question, or he asks you. Most of the time it is the first or third possibility, but a few times tonight it was you who sparked conversations.

But each time the smirk on his face appears like a demon summoned from a bloody ritual, you reconsider ever opening your mouth.

“You only live once.”

“Is your life really a concern of mine?” You mutter. “I don’t care where you go. Hell, heaven, the Underworld, the bottom of the ocean, or an empty pit, it does not matter.”

“That was not what I meant.” Chrollo chuckles, putting one of his legs over the other.

“I don’t care. As long as I tell the truth, I should be rewarded and not scolded.”

You do not speak with him for about a minute, a new record of Chrollo being quiet for once. You begin to calm down when his voice grates your ears once more.

“If that is what you think, then shouldn’t I be rewarded for providing sweet nothings to you every morning? Even though they are not necessarily what you want to hear, they are indeed the truth, [First].” The anticipation of a partially peaceful night spent somewhat eagerly awaiting the dawn of a new year, fades away as his hand delicately rests upon the silky surface of one of your thighs, prompting an ungraceful squeal to escape your lips. “It would be horrible if you choose to be a hypocrite and not give me due compensation for all the time I spend with you.”

“Shut up, will you–”

Once more, a small sound escapes you as he tightens his grip on your thigh, this time with greater intensity. His gaze shifts to the television, where the countdown clock displays a mere sixty seconds until the dawn of the new year. The screen depicts a bustling crowd surrounding a towering structure, eagerly anticipating the descent of a ball accompanied by cascading confetti. Amidst this scene, you wonder: are your loved ones among those faces, or do they persist in their search for you, even after the passage of countless moments?

Although his smile, with its undeniable charm, is directed at you again, it lacks any trace of benevolence. “I want a kiss when the countdown reaches zero as a celebratory gift.”

With a piercing gaze, you await his response, yet he wastes no time in reminding you of his menacing promise.

As he inches closer, you instinctively retreat, yet the couch's armrest halts your further retreat.

“After all, I was so kind as to give you your television privileges back… perhaps if you give me more than a kiss, you can win back some others.”

The relentless march toward zero in the countdown is reminiscent of the descent of a guillotine's blade.

#author aya #yandere #yandere x reader #hxh #phantom troupe #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #chrollo hunter x hunter #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucilfer x reader #chrollo x reader #hxh chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #hunter x hunter

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krisdreaming · 11 months

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Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x gn!reader

WC: 1k

Summary: Among other things, Kiyoomi loves that you always seem to know what he's thinking.

A/N: Hi it's me, writing for Sakusa again even tho I feel like I know next to nothing about his character outside of reading other fics :D

One of the things Kiyoomi loves about you the most is that you always know. He knows he isn't the most expressive guy, but somehow you still manage to read him like an open book.

Take the last party Bokuto threw for the Black Jackals as an example. With everyone's significant others in the mix, it had ended up being quite the crowd. Everyone was talking and laughing, and as the evening wore on he was starting to get sick of the commotion. Bokuto slung an arm around his neck as he laughed loudly at a joke Hinata had told, and Kiyoomi had gritted his teeth, hoping his teammate would move on to his next prey soon enough.

Across the room, he saw you in conversation with Meian and his girlfriend. You happened to glance in his direction, and with a few more words and a smile, you stepped away from them and started toward him.

"Hey, Kiyoomi." At your approach, Bokuto greeted you and finally slid away from him. Kiyoomi let out a sigh, and you laughed softly. "Are you ready to go? I'm starting to get tired." There had been a sparkle in your eyes that suggested that wasn't entirely the truth.

"Yeah, I'm ready," He said too quickly, "Let's go home." You'd said your goodbyes and were stepping out into the cool night air within a few minutes. Immediately, he'd felt the weight lifting from him.

"Thanks," He breathed out softly, glancing sideways at you on the way to the car.

"It was really warm in there, wasn't it?" You said in response, sliding your hand in the crook of his elbow and giving his arm a comforting squeeze. You flashed a smile at him, and that was that.

Then, a few weeks ago, he'd forgotten his lunch. It had irked him, because you'd prepared it for him just the way you knew he liked, and now your work would be going to waste. On top of that, there were few things he enjoyed less than buying a quick meal at a convenience store, especially when he had practice for the rest of the day. It was always as though he could feel it settling wrong in his stomach. The fact that he knew nothing about the methods of its preparation didn't help matters any.

Still, when you'd texted him offering to bring his lunch for him, he'd refused. He knew you had a busy day, and the last thing you needed was to waste part of your own lunch break to bring him the meal he'd forgotten. Just this once, he was sure he could select something that would do from the convenience store down the street.

That was why he was surprised to see you mere moments after practice broke for lunch. You lifted the bento box with a smile, showing off the matching one you must have prepared for yourself.

"I knew the rest of your day would just feel completely off without having your lunch," You'd said with a shrug, "And I just wanted you to be able to practice at your best!" You'd shared the lunch break with him, and after that hour with you and the meal you'd prepared for him, he threw himself gladly into the remainder of practice. He'd felt on top of the world.

Just two days ago, he'd come home from practice more than ready for the upcoming weekend. The week had felt like it dragged on forever, and he wanted nothing more than to take a long, hot shower and then crawl beneath the fresh, clean sheets with you tucked against him. He just wanted to forget that the rest of the world existed.

When he stepped through the door, he was immediately met with the comforting scents of the dinner you were preparing. "Welcome home!" You'd chirped, and he'd let his hands linger on your hips for just a few moments as he pressed a kiss to your lips. It felt so good to be home.

"So, I thought we could go grocery shopping this evening," You'd said as you turned back to the stove. "We're getting kind of low on some things, and I just planned out a few meals for next week."

He felt a pit forming in his stomach, but he bit back his sigh. "Okay, sure." He tried to keep his irritation out of his tone. He knew you hated doing the shopping on your own, especially in the evenings. You'd turned toward him and tilted your head, assessing him for a moment before you turned to the cupboard and reached for some plates to set the table. You didn't say anything.

You were halfway through the meal before you spoke up. "You know, I think we should just stay home tonight." You said suddenly. "It's already getting dark, and I bet the selection would be better tomorrow afternoon, anyway."

His lips parted in silence for a few moments. "Are you sure?" He finally asked.

You grinned. "Yup. Let's just relax tonight, okay?"

"Okay by me," He said gratefully. You'd insisted he get in the shower while you cleaned up the dishes, and by the time he was out of the bathroom, the dishes were drying and the counters were wiped down. He found you in your pajamas, and you beckoned him to join you in bed.

He didn't need any convincing, and the moment he was under the covers, you'd maneuvered his head onto your chest, your fingers scratching soothingly through his curls.

"You had a tough week, huh?" You murmured. He only hummed in response, the 'tough week' already fading into memory under your gentle ministrations.

"Sorry you didn't get to go shopping," He'd finally whispered, and he felt the press of your lips on the crown of his head.

"I think this is a better use of our time," you had said softly.

There have been countless moments just like these. Moments when you show him again and again that you love him, that you see him. Every single time, it becomes more and more apparent to him. There's one more thing he wants to make sure you to know.

This is one thing he needs to tell you, in case you never do quite work it out on your own. When he sinks down on one knee, he's never been more certain of anything. "I love you so much, and there's no one I'd rather spend my life with than you. Every single day is yours, if you'll marry me."

#haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader

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joelalorian · 4 months

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Lost Cause

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel thinks you shouldn’t waste your time on him. You disagree.

Warnings: Explicit MDNI; Jackson-era Joel; canon-ish but also not; drinking; mentions of cigarettes, drugs, dark thoughts, and death; unprotected p in v; oral (m and f receiving); interesting use of red wine; unspecified age gap; despair and hope.

Inspired by the song Save Me by Jelly Roll. Some of the lyrics have been woven into the story.

Word count: 2,594 oneshot

The hits just kept coming. Time after time, year after year, life just beat Joel Miller down. It started when he was young, always taken down a peg by someone who was supposed to love him unconditionally, no matter how hard he tried to build himself up. There was a brief respite when he had Sarah – those fourteen years were the happiest of his life, despite the sudden and unexpected nature of becoming a father so young, until it was all ripped away in the blink of an eye on that one horrific day.

Since then, he’d given up hoping for more. Life had completely shattered his hopes and dreams. He couldn’t even put himself out of his own misery, for fuck’s sake. Life hated him that much it wouldn’t even release its grasp on him. He was so damaged beyond repair, and he could do fuck all about it.

His latest hit was a sucker punch to the gut, though.

Just when he finally opened up his heart again, when he allowed himself to feel something other than misery again, that’s precisely when the hit came.

Ellie – sweet, feral child that she was – wanted nothing to do with him after finding out the truth of what happened to the Fireflies in Salt Lake City.

The fracture in his relationship with Ellie sent him spiraling out of control, resorting to old behaviors and vices – drinking too much at the Tipsy Bison, smoking pilfered cigarettes out back behind the bar, taking pills on the rare occasions he could get his hands on them. The nightmares returned no matter how blasted he got to chase them away and he was often moody from lack of sleep.

Joel still contributed to society in Jackson, but he did it in ways that he could keep to himself. Fixing things around town, building stuff in his workshop, taking the odd patrol shift with his brother. He avoided everyone but Tommy and Maria, and Ellie, if she didn’t flee from the very sight of him.

“Jesus Christ, Joel. What the fuck? Were you trying to get yourself killed? Because it almost worked!” Tommy was worked up, laying into Joel at the tail end of their patrol shift. He didn’t know if his older brother had a death wish or was just too hungover to pay proper attention, but Joel was nearly taken out by a clicker while they cleared their route. A clicker that he normally would have dispatched without much effort or thought. Joel cut it way too close this time.

Joel gazed at his brother with baleful eyes. He had nothing to say for himself. He did have a death wish, but how could he tell Tommy that?

Tommy knew Joel was struggling – his behavior was similar to what it had been after Sarah died, when he became a fraction of the man he had been. “Come on, let’s grab a drink at the Bison,” Tommy sighed. At a loss on how else to help him, Tommy often accompanied Joel to the bar despite already thinking his brother drank too much. At least he could keep an eye on him that way.

They made small talk on the way, Joel’s responses little more that grumbles and grunts. Something needed to give, but what? Tommy didn’t know, but he sent up silent prayers for a miracle to save his brother.

Once they were seated at one end of the bar, Tommy ordered a round. “Joel, brother, what is going on, really? Is it just the thing with Ellie or something more?”

Two sets of deep brown eyes stared at each other for long moments, each waiting for the other to flinch or look away. Joel gave in first, clearing his throat, unable to meet his brother’s eyes as he spoke. “It’s… everythin’, Tommy. It feels like somethin’ inside me is broken, somethin’ that was just starting to repair itself until this thing with Ellie shattered it again.”

Tommy’s heart clenched. Life had done Joel dirty, even before the outbreak, and it seemed like it finally broke him beyond repair. “I know it ain’t been easy, not with… well, everything. Do you… would you ever consider talking to someone about it all? Like a professional, I mean. I know we got someone here who used to be a counselor.”

Brows pinched together, Joel’s stormy eyes glared at the bar top, avoiding Tommy’s searching gaze. “Fuck, no! I don’t want a stranger diggin’ into my psyche or whatever the hell they do, just so they can tell me I have daddy issues or some such shit. And talkin’ ‘bout it don’t help none, either. I’m talking to you and it ain’t doing shit but pissin’ me the hell off!”

“Damn, alright! Don’t gotta get all caveman on me.” Tommy held his hands up with a blatant roll of his eyes. His brother never did like the touchy feely shit and he should have known better than to bring it up. “Maybe you just need a sweet lil’ thing to take your mind off shit.”

That got Joel to laugh for the first time in a long while. “Oh yeah? You think getting my dick wet will solve everythin’?”

Tommy smirked. “Well, not everything. You’ll still be you afterwards. I’d pity whatever poor girl got stuck with you, honestly. But it couldn’t hurt none, right?” It was good to see his brother grin, nose and corners of eyes crinkling with the broadness of it, and they fell into a comfortable silence while people watching. Sudden movement at the entrance caught Tommy’s attention and Joel followed his eyeline.

You walked in with Maria, the pair of you had your heads tilted toward each other giggling madly about something. While Tommy only had eyes for Maria, Joel drank in the sight of you. New to Jackson, you arrived with a small group a few weeks ago and, while you were still settling in, you were eager to meet people and get involved in helping around town. Maria took an instant liking to you, and you spent a lot of time with her, quickly becoming part of the Miller group.

Catching a glimpse of his brother staring at you, Tommy slapped Joel’s back. “Speaking of a sweet lil’ thing. Maybe this is your chance, brother.” Joel scoffed in return. Girls like you don’t go for guys like him, at least not the guy he was now. It was the law of nature or some shit.

“Hey boys,” Maria greeted, taking a seat next to Tommy. With a knowing glint in her eye and an exaggerated wink, she gestured for you to sit next to Joel. You never should have mentioned to her how handsome you found Joel. She was becoming a menace with her not-so-subtle methods of teasing and pushing the two of you closer at every opportunity.

“Hi Joel.” You slipped onto the stool next to him, one hand placed on his shoulder for balance as you did so.

“Hey darlin’. Whatcha drinking?” he grunted, fighting to ignore the burning heat of your touch. When was the last time a woman touched him? It must have been Tess and that was… a long time ago.

“I’ll take a red wine. Cabernet or pinot noir, whichever kind is available, please.”

After relaying your request to the bartender, and with his brother’s attention focused solely on Maria, Joel turned his attention back to you. He was a miserable sod, but you were a beautiful woman – he’d be a fool to ignore the attention you paid him. “How are you settlin’ in?”

“Pretty good. This is some community.” You launched into a few stories about mishaps and people you’ve met so far, drawing a few chuckles from Joel with your interpretation of some of the townsfolk. You had a way about you that drew him out of shell of melancholy.

One drink quickly became two, then three, and before either of you knew it, Maria and Tommy left and the two of you were alone at the bar. The wine buzz left you feeling bold and brave, making a move you would not have normally.

“Do you want to go back to my place for a nightcap?”

“Darlin’,” Joel sighed, brows pinched, at once drifting back under the dark cloud of hopelessness and unable to meet your heated gaze. “You don’t want to waste your time on me. I’m a lost cause.”

“Why don’t you let me decide what and who I waste my time on,” you challenged.

Joel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at your tenacity. You were a beautiful young woman and for some unfathomable reason you were interested in him. He had absolutely nothing to offer someone like you, except for a one-night stand, at best. He was good at those – they didn’t require deep connections or feelings, two things he was avoiding like the plague. Maybe Tommy was on to something though – sex would take his mind off his miserable existence for a bit.

“Okay then. Let’s get outta here,” he replied, downing the last of the amber liquid in his glass, and leading you out of the bar with a large, warm hand at your lower back.

The journey to your house was cold and quiet and you began to wonder if you’d made a huge error in judgement. You weren’t a one-night stand kind of girl, preferring the comfort and security of relationships instead, but something told you that this would be the only way you’d get to have Joel. There was a darkness about him, a deep residing mass of regret and remorse, and you felt a burning need to fix him, to be his sunshine, even if only for a little bit.

Your hands fumbled with the latch when you finally reached your house. The warmth of Joel’s large hands suddenly overwhelmed your senses as he helped you, and you were flinging yourself at him before the door even closed behind you.

His kisses were anything but tender, all harsh presses of his lips, teeth, and tongue, like he was a man starved. There would be marks left on your tender skin come morning, but you didn’t mind, giving him the same treatment as you sucked at his neck, soothing your tongue over the spots you just sunk your teeth into.

“I have a bottle of wine. Do you want some?” you breathed against his lips, taking a moment to slow the momentum before the pair of you spontaneously combusted.

A smirk crossed Joel’s lips as an idea struck him. “Sure, why not.” He watched you open the bottle and pour two glasses before returning to him. Accepting one of the stemless glasses, he clinked it against yours before taking a sip. The momentum picked right back up after that first taste of the dark liquid.

Fingers frantically working to undo the buttons on Joel’s flannel with one hand, you walked backwards up the stairs to your bedroom, pulling him along with you without a spare thought about the wine spilled on the wood flooring as you went. Patience wearing thin, he tore your clothes from your body with his free hand, leaving you naked and yearning as you continued working on his shirt. Placing his glass of wine on the nightstand, his hands were everywhere, he could not get enough of your smooth, soft skin.

You were the antithesis of him, bright and bubbly where he was dark and brooding, soft where he was hard, adaptable and happy where he was rigid and sad. You were ripe like fresh fruit ready for plucking. You were everything he wish he could still be. Perhaps he could get just a brief taste of happiness being with you, inside you.

Once his jeans and boots were shed, Joel tossed you onto the bed, watching with hungry eyes as your tits bounced with the movement. He was on you in a flash, hands and mouth exploring every inch of your body. Sharp teeth scraped against your puckered nipples, making them impossibly harder, and the sensation shot a bolt of pleasure right down to your core, where the weight of his hardened cock rested, twitching for attention.

Nails scraped down his chest and belly until you reached his cock, slipping your slender hand around the heft of him. He was huge – both long and thick, a combination you’d not experienced before, and your mouth watered with the desire to taste him. If you only had one night together, you wanted to make it a memorable experience.

It took great effort to get Joel to detach his lips from your breasts, the whine that emanated from him as you did so had you downright aching for him.

“What are you doin’, darlin’?” his deep voice rumbled, dark eyes rolling back in his head when you moved down his body and slipped your plush lips around the head of his cock. “Oh, fuck!”

After spending so long living in hell, your mouth felt like heaven as you licked and sucked on his length.

“Wait, doll, I wanna try somethin’.”

Sitting up against the aged headboard, Joel grasped the wine glass and brought it down to rest on his belly. Two thick fingers dipped into the dark red liquid and swirled, coating every bit of surface area from fingertip to second knuckle before he brought his drenched fingers down towards you. His hand hovered over his cock and you both watched as droplets of translucent ruby red liquid dripped onto his hardened flesh.

Your mouth watered as you watched him repeat the process, eager to taste the heady mix of the bitter tang of wine and his salty pre-cum. Ravenous, you slurped at the liquid trails running down the length of his cock before lapping at the bulbous head, leaving no hint of wine behind as you wrapped your lips around him.

Joel was a panting mess when you took him as far as you could, his weeping head hitting the back of your throat. The glass of wine was forgotten, slipping from his hand to stain the hardwood floor next to the bed. That was a tomorrow problem as you focused on devouring his beautiful cock. He was close to the edge within minutes, the sensations too much, and he pushed you off him none too gently, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing.

“My turn, darlin’,” Joel murmured, nestling his face between your legs. He’d been told that his current lifestyle was bad for his health, that all the drinking and smoking was hopeless. They weren’t wrong, but it felt like that was all he needed, the only thing that set him free from his sorrows. Now that he’d tasted you, he knew that was utter bullshit. You could so easily set him free if he got to have you, taste you every day. You were enough to change a man like him.

“Joel,” you mewled his name between long moans as his tongue teased at your clit, thick fingers exploring your folds before dipping inside you. He drew an orgasm from you effortlessly and you clawed at his back as the blinding flash of pleasure washed over you. “I need you inside me. Now. Please.”

He could refuse you nothing, shifting to hover over you. “Save me from myself,” he murmured against your lips as he sheathed himself inside your tight warmth. “You’re the only one who can.”

“Always,” you replied breathlessly, rocking your hips against his. Your mouths met in a kiss full of promise.

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel x reader #fanfic #pedro pascal #tlou #fanfiction #pedrostories

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mindtrcks · 1 year

Note

for tyler - maybe something about reader helping rescue him from thornhill & being the hyde’s master instead of her? love your writing style!

this is hungry work

Pairing: Tyler Galpin/Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: vague mentions of grooming/violence, smut, quite a bit of plot oops, unrealistically happy ending

Summary: You may not have a master plan or a decades long vendetta, but you do have Nathaniel Faulkner's diary, and a recurring penchant for taking wild leaps of faith.

Nathaniel Faulkner says that the Hyde is a beast lying dormant in an innocent man. Something waiting to be awakened. A creature loyally dependent on its master, subservient to its core.

Wednesday says that it’s Tyler.

She says he’s a monster, that he killed enough people to get a taste for it, and now he’s killed his master, too. That he’s out of control and it’s only a matter of time before he does something big, before more people get hurt. She says anything he’s done before now has been a lie; he doesn’t care about you, and he never did. You were a pawn in he and Kinbott’s game, and he would've tossed you away the second you’d served your purpose. She says that he isn't the boy you thought, and he isn't to be trusted.

But he's sitting right in front of you, with the same puppy dog frown and furrowed brows as always. He's looking up at you with something like desperation in his eyes, and for the first time since you’ve met her, you doubt Wednesday. How could this boy—quiet and sweet and scared—be the monster she claims? How could Tyler from the coffee shop—Tyler who’s soft spoken and friends with outcasts and isn’t even screaming at Wednesday for kidnapping him—be anything but good?

You don’t doubt he’s the Hyde. If Wednesday had a vision, you’re not going to question that. But you do question whether or not she knows the whole story.

—

You’re at Nevermore when Wednesday finally pieces it all together. She’s been expelled, taking the fall for you and anybody else who’d been in that shed with her. Weems had taken it upon herself to personally escort Wednesday to the station, but evidently, even expulsion can’t stop somebody as stubborn as her.

She texts you from Eugene’s phone, the message just a single word. Thornhill.

It’s all you need to bolt up in bed, to shove your shoes on and search blindly for your jacket. You’re not sure whether it’s wishful thinking or just plain hubris, but some part of you—the outcast that wants nothing more than to fit in, to be a part of something—thinks that if you can stop Thornhill, you can stop it all. You can keep anybody else from being killed and thwart whatever Thornhill’s plan is, and best of all, you can help Tyler in the process.

It’s either that, or die trying.

—

Breaking into Thornhill’s classroom is easier than expected. She doesn't leave Ophelia Hall after eight anymore; the lockdown has grown too serious, the dark too dangerous. It allieves your fear, as you creep through Nevermore’s halls, to know that her classroom will be empty when you arrive. To not be afraid of Thornhill would be stupid; if Wednesday’s right, and Thornhill’s responsible for everything, you don’t doubt she’d be willing to kill you for snooping.

The door is locked when you reach your destination, but you waste no time in picking it. You aren’t sure how urgent this is, aren’t sure where Wednesday is or where Thornhill is or where Tyler is, and you aren’t sure what she could possibly be making him do.

You choose not to think about it as your eyes scan the room. You head to her desk first, frantically flipping through sheets of paper, turning over folders and ransacking drawers. You move to the bookshelf when the desk proves fruitless, scanning the dust on the spines of books. Nothing sticks out; the last thing you deem to try is the filing cabinet, looming in the corner of the room. There’s only one drawer that’s open, the metal dented and bent like it’d been slammed in a rush. Your feet take you to it before your brain even has time to consciously make a decision; your hands pulling it open before you know what you’re doing.

It’s empty, save for one thing: a leatherbound journal with the name Nathaniel Faulkner engraved on the spine.

—

Nathaniel Faulkner says that the Hyde is a beast lying dormant in an innocent man, a creature loyally dependent on its master.

He also says that this loyalty does not run as thick as one might think.

—

The thing is, you don’t know Tyler as well as you wish you did. You don’t get to talk as much as you’d like, or to hang out without the murders hanging over your heads. But it’s not like you’re a stranger, certainly not like Thornhill was. No, you’d go as far as to say you’re his friend, maybe among his only ones. He trusts you, and despite yourself—despite everything that he’s done—you trust him.

A Hyde’s relationship to its master is built on trust, says Faulkner.

And maybe you don’t have a master plan, or a decades long vendetta, but you do have Nathaniel Faulkner’s diary, and a recurring penchant for taking wild leaps of faith.

—

He’s in the woods outside of Nevermore when you find him, looking antsy and wrong.

You don’t want to think about what he’s doing there, about why his fingers are curled up into fists at his side. What he’s done doesn’t matter to you; all you care about is what he will do, what choice he’ll make. You approach him carefully, not wanting to set him off, or scare him away. You can’t imagine what kind of headspace he’s in, or the things going through his mind.

It’s only been hours since you’ve last seen him, but he already looks changed. Whatever act he’d been keeping up in Xavier’s shed, in the police station, he’s dropped now. His eyes are dark and his shoulders tense, mouth curled into something cruel. You hear Wednesday’s words echo in your head—he isn’t the boy you thought, he’s a monster, he’s using you—but you try to drown them out. You know Tyler. You know the good he’s capable of. So what if he’s capable of bad, too?

“Tyler,” you say, keeping your voice steady as you step forward. He doesn’t back up, but he does narrow his eyes, leveling you with a gaze that has you on edge, shifting on your feet, your body screaming at you to back down, turn away.

He smiles at you; not the small, shy thing you’ve seen from across the Weathervane so many times, but something sharp around the edges, showing a few too many teeth. Have his canines always been that big? Sharp enough to pierce skin? You feel something run up your spine; a shiver or a thrill, you aren’t sure, and you don’t care enough to try and discern it. Tyler’s walking towards you, and it’s hard to care about much of anything besides him in front of you and the diary weighing heavy in your bag. “You're the one they sent to fight the big, bad wolf?” he asks, looming over you. He expects you to be scared, to run away.

But scared isn’t exactly the word you would use. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

You can see his face flicker for a moment, quick enough that it would've gone unnoticed if you hadn't been looking for it. “And why is that?” he asks, nostrils flaring as he steps impossibly closer.

You refuse to let the proximity affect you, no matter how much it's trying to. “Because it’s pointless,” you say, chin lifting up in defiance. “You know Wednesday. She won’t let you win.”

“So I should surrender, then?” he scoffs, because he thinks those are his only two options. He thinks this is kill or be killed; keep fighting or get arrested, sent away for life. But you have another option.

“Not necessarily,” you say, as your hand snakes down to your satchel and pulls out the diary. Tyler’s eyes zero in on it instantly, lighting up with recognition, with want. “How would you like to put this whole mess behind you, Thornhill included?”

He blinks a few times before glancing back up at you, narrowing his eyes. “I can’t,” he says, baring his teeth around the words, like it physically pains him to say them.

You raise an eyebrow in challenge. “Why?”

He looks mad, now. Not the simmering anger that’s been in the air the whole time, but a lighter kind of rage that’s more akin to simple frustration. More akin to something you’ve seen on Tyler before. You never thought you’d be relieved for somebody to be mad at you. “That's not how it works.

“Because she’s taught you so much about how it works.”

“More than you possibly could,” he spits out, and it’s supposed to be an insult, but instead it’s just plain wrong. Because you have the exact same diary that she did, the exact same knowledge at your fingertips. Only, you’re willing to share your toys.

He watches as you lift up the diary, flipping to your bookmarked page. It’s power in your palms; power over Thornhill, over Tyler. It makes you sick, a little, knowing his fate is literally in your hands. How did Thornhill ever take it? “‘I have heard of Hyde’s gaining new masters only through means of battle spoils or dark magic, but I imagine there must be one other way,’” you recite, reading off of page three of Faulkner’s section on masters, the chapter you had found the most helpful in your frantic skim-through. Tyler stares down at you with something in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. You’ll unpack it later. “‘Seeing as the decision is always ultimately the Hyde’s—whether consciously or not—if a prospective master was ready and willing, a Hyde might simply choose them.’”

“You want…” he starts, incredulous, but doesn’t finish. He just looks at you, conflicted, confused, and maybe a little bit of something else. You understand that what you’re offering is bigger than anything you’ve done with him before now. Going from sitting across from each other at the Weathervane or being present in the same car—Wednesday or Enid or even Fester always a buffer—to offering yourself up as his master is quite the leap. Still, for whatever reason, you’re hopeful.

“Yes,” you answer, even if he technically never finished asking his question. Yes, you want to do this, yes, you’re willing to take the leap, yes to everything.

Tyler shifts on his feet, suddenly seeming wildly uncomfortable as his eyes skirt around the treeline. He’s looking for her, you realize. He’s scared she’s there, scared she’s watching. Scared he’s in trouble.

A gnawing pit forms in your stomach. “Tyler,” you say, and your voice draws his eyes away from the woods. “I’m offering. All you have to do is make the choice, and all this goes away.”

It sounds simpler than it is. There will be things to do, after. Strings to tie, messes to clean. But right now, all you need is to get Tyler away from Thornhill. Permanently.

Tyler stays silent for a moment, regarding you with something on his face that you don't recognize. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, unreadable. But you refuse to falter.

“Because you don't deserve…her,” you say. “The things she did to you. It doesn't have to be like that.”

He seems to consider this, for a moment, eyeing you up and down. He has no reason to refuse, not really. Not unless he actually does enjoy it, like Wednesday claims. If he likes killing, gets off on the taste of blood in his mouth. You know he doesn't, though. That's Thornhill. Right?

“So what do I do?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders up. “Since you're the expert here. What do I do?”

You close the diary, dropping it down to your side. There aren't step by step instructions, no ancient ritual for you to follow in the dead of night. All Nathaniel Faulkner had to say on the matter is that the choice is always the Hyde’s.

You roll with it.

“The choice is yours, Tyler. Make it.”

He furrows his brows, looks like he wants to protest, but doesn't. He keeps his mouth tightly shut, ducking his head down and focusing hard on the ground. You don't know what it's like, on his side. Aren’t sure how hard it could possibly be to make a decision, but won’t comment on it. You’ll give him however long he needs.

After what feels like an eternity but must’ve only been a few moments, he looks back up at you, and you know instinctively that it’s done.

“Did it work?” you ask, peering up at him. He seems unchanged. The same Tyler you’ve been talking to this whole time. The same Tyler that killed all those people and put Eugene in the hospital.

He shrugs. “Tell me to do something.”

You consider it; there's a million things you could tell him to do, endless ways this could go. In the end, you land on something simple. Something with no strings. “Come here,” you request, plainly.

And he does.

—

So you’re Tyler’s master, now.

It’s weird to think about. Weird to think that you’re the one who figured it out, that this victory belongs to you. You expected it might go to Wednesday, that she’d be the one to help Tyler. Either that, or kill him. You thought his fate would end up in her hands, for better or for worse.

Evidently, it did not.

—

There are many things you come to realize about Tyler in the following months that you never thought you’d get to know.

You know he doesn’t really drink coffee, despite his choice in occupation. He wears socks for as many hours of the day as possible, and he sleeps with three blankets instead of a comforter. You know he keeps a secret stash of twizzlers in the cabinet above the microwave, because if his dad sees them they’ll be gone before the day is over. You know what shampoo he uses, how he prefers Spotify over Apple Music, and which drawer is the sock drawer. You know his favorite TV show is Friends, and that he’s embarrassed to tell people about it.

You’re watching it right now, curled up on his couch in pajamas, empty bowl of popcorn abandoned at your side. Moments like this feel equal parts right and bizarre. Tyler’s a killer, and yet you’re spending your Friday night watching Friends together in his living room. It’s strange, but everything about your life is strange. You barely even notice it anymore.

Tyler shifts beside you; you’re so close on the couch that it seems less like two bodies and more like a wild conglomeration of limbs; a leg here, an arm twisting there, the brush of fingers on the back of your neck. His hipbone is digging into your thigh, but you don’t mind. You wouldn’t move if every one of your extremities had fallen asleep. If the couch had set fire.

“You should…maybe move your leg,” Tyler says, breaking you out of your haze. You don’t have to do anything but tilt your head to look at him; when you do, he’s staring back up at you with furrowed brows and flushed cheeks, working his lips together.

It takes you a moment to realize what he means, to feel that familiar weight pressing into the skin of your thigh. When you do, it’s with a start. Yes, you’ve done this a few times. But not enough for it to be a common occurrence. It may be rare, but it’s certainly not the first time. Once you get your bearings, you find that you’re confident enough to smile down at him, to raise an eyebrow and ask, “Should I?”

He makes a little sound in the back of his throat, and you can feel his hips arch up, ever so slightly. “I mean,” he starts, breathy and quiet. “Or you could keep it there. If you want.”

“What do you want?” you ask, sneaking a hand down to the sliver of skin exposed between Tyler’s shirt and his flannel pants. He shivers, but doesn’t answer. “Tyler,” you urge, trailing your fingers over his stomach.

“Touch me?” he asks, squeezing his eyes shut, tilting his head away.

And you’re not really in the business of denying him. It takes some adjusting—you do have to move your leg—in order to find the right angle, but Tyler waits patiently as you shimmy your way down the couch, until you can look at him and touch him all at once. You aren’t sure how long he’s been hard, but when you trail your hand down and underneath the waistband of his pants, he gasps too loud for it to have been a short while.

He’s hot and heavy in your hand, already a little wet, too. As you grasp him, he shoves his face into your shoulder, exhaling long and slow into your skin. “This what you mean?” you ask, maybe a little mean.

He nods. You won’t make him say it—you’re not that mean—but you could. If you asked, he’d answer. You’ve found that’s true in a lot of aspects of your life. It’s a power you’re still scared to wield, no matter how many times Tyler reassures you. You prefer subtlety, to guide him in this way, rather than by giving outright orders. You think he likes it better like this, too, if the way he’s squirming under your touch is anything to go by.

Friends is still playing in the background, but you’re too distracted to find the remote and mute it. Instead, you tilt your head to press a kiss to Tyler’s hairline, as you start to stroke him in earnest. You try to set a slow pace, but Tyler’s hips chase the contact until it’s fast and hard, just like always. One of these days, you’ll make him sit still, but today is not that day. You let him set the pace, pumping his cock for all it’s worth as he thrusts up into your first. He’s embarrassed, you know, but he barely shows it, apart from the way he hides his face. He’s as enthusiastic as you think he can be, not shy in showing you how much he’s enjoying himself, through little punched-out moans that have the tips of your ears turning red.

You’re not sure how much time passes like that. All you know is that your wrist is cramping and your bicep is aching, but you still feel like you could do this forever. The sight of Tyler underneath you, panting and sighing and practically shaking, is enough fuel for you for as long as he needs. Him falling apart for you has got to be one of your favorites sights; the sounds pouring out of him are music to your ears. At a particularly loud moan, you glance up, take in his state.

His shoulders are tense, his hands clenched into his fists and his hips staying shock-still. You let yourself smirk; one of the many things you know about Tyler is that he’s not always the best at lasting. “It’s okay, Ty,” you say, whispered into his jaw as you pick up the pace, moving impossibly faster.

He exhales in a gust of air, deflating almost instantaneously; now that he knows he doesn’t have to wait, he lets himself relax, sink into the couch. It’s not long after that that his hips jerk, and he jams his face into your shoulder once more, and you know.

You guide him gently back by the curls on the nape of his neck. There are many things you’ve gotten to know about Tyler, but the face he makes when he comes has got to be one of your favorites.

#wednesday #wednesday addams #tyler galpin #tyler galpin x reader #reader insert #this is also for all the anons who requested more tyler smut #i got u #sorry it took me a week

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

Text

Return to sender - Kaz Brekker x Reader

[graphic descriptions of violence/injury]

SUMMARY: Someone from your past keeps sending you unambiguously romantic letters. While you think of them as nothing beyond an inconvenience, Kaz has a different opinion.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.9k

A/N: I'm going through the first editorial correction for my novel and as it turns out, I can't speak my own mother tongue lmao

Kaz has an eye for details. Whether it’s a pattern or an overlooked design, he always notices. That set of skills, either he learned them or was born with them, made it painfully obvious to him that your foul mood coincided with correspondence he never saw you actually read. The letter usually ends up in the nearest fireplace, its secrets never uncovered and you maunder around the club looking for a fight or a strong drink. A much bigger problem, however, was the fact that if you were in a sour mood, Kaz would become exceptionally chippy without an apparent cause. ‘Care for my investment’ he calls it, which makes a rather amusing euphemism.

In any event, he knows that the letter should arrive today. Exactly seven weeks had passed since the last time some mysterious correspondence pissed you off and the sender, as far as Kaz has noticed, is like clockwork. Strangely enough, he can’t recall a day when the letter should arrive that you’d come to the club already annoyed as though he has become privy to a rather obvious pattern that you remain oblivious to. If so, he has even more advantage - he can solve this inconvenience behind your back, in case you’d try to dismiss him. He wouldn’t listen anyway, of course. Not when it comes to you.

Knowing very well that you have a habit of arriving shortly after Inej, he’s quick to find the thief before you even get a chance of catching wind of his scheme. She’s fixing her clothes when she spots him hastily limping towards her with his face turned nearly into a snarl. A hand brushes through his hair. He’s agitated. But Inej knows better than to make the first move against the unmovable mountain. Kaz sought her out, after all, and if he means business, he won’t waste time.

And he does just as she thought. Speaking in a low tone, Kaz makes her part of his conspiracy: “Inej, I need you to do something but no one else can know. Someone will deliver a letter today. Follow them and find out as much as you can,” his voice is stern, not accepting refusal. The matter appears urgent, of utter importance.

Her keen gaze studies his face for a moment, looking for any way even the slightest tick of muscles could reveal a further piece of the mystery she isn’t yet privy to. “Is this about the new job we’re doing?” She elegantly manoeuvres around the subject.

Kaz knows what she’s trying to do. He clenches his jaw and gives her a blank, although somewhat impatient, look before slowly answering: “It’s rather loosely related.”

This is enough to put her curiosity on hold - for now, at least. The unmovable mountain remains, well, unmovable. Inej nods. “I’m on it.”

The moment she ends her sentence, the door to the club opens with a creek echoing through the otherwise empty venue, immediately earning the undivided attention of Kaz and Inej. The sound of heels against the wooden floor is unmistakable as is the fitting, rather short, coat. Inej smiles, stifling laughter as she notices Kaz immediately straightening his back when he sees you.

There’s a certain spring to your step, one that Kaz has learned to associate with complacency. Although this joyous aura is making his mind turn into quicksand swallowing anything coherent, he’s got enough grip on his thoughts to render his theory proved - you really do not have any idea that the letters come regularly.

With a triumphant grin, you wave a scroll in his face. “I had a hunch and did some browsing at the city archives. You’re going to love it.”

Inej is gone and the only thing Kaz can do at the moment is wait along with trying his best not to think about this mail fiasco. But considering you’ll spend the entire day a mere inch or two away from him, he’s hardly going to do much thinking anyway.

“Let’s see it then,” Kaz interposes before turning around and walking back to his office.

Making his way to Brekker’s office, Jesper examined the expensive stationery from every side and angle. No matter the perspective, the cursive letters on the front still spell out your name. Truthfully, he does that every time you receive mail, mainly because of how little you talk about the possible sender. There’s always a huff, an eye-roll and the envelope ends up turned into ashes, without any further explanation. You become short-tempered for the rest of the day and go ballistic on anyone trying to inquire about the mysterious correspondence. As much entertainment as it usually brings Jesper, he’s smart enough to know when to stop poking the bear.

Jesper knocks on the door but opens them right after - announcing his arrival rather than asking for permission to enter.

“...smuggling through the sewers.” He hears you finishing your sentence.

Both you and Kaz simultaneously tear away your gaze from the maps scattered on the table and bore your eyes into Jesper with anticipation. He lifts the letter, wriggling his wrist slightly, and immediately your expression falls. You clench your fist. A contemptuous grimace creeps onto your face.

“Letter for you,” he announces.

“By the Saints, not this again,” you whisper and roll your eyes.

“What do you mean again?” Jesper asks casually, half expecting you to break his hand and half hoping for an answer. Today, as it turns out, is his lucky day.

“A friend once convinced me to go to some socialite high tea with her. I met someone there, we wrote to each other a few times and then he started to be obnoxious, the whole ‘woe is me’ lark.” The memory must still be vivid to you as you let out an annoyed sigh. “He claimed he can’t live without me while never spelling my name correctly. But since I value myself a little too much to waste my time on pity parties, I simply stopped replying. The last letter I sent him, I don’t know, three years ago? And he just keeps coming back.” You clench your jaw, clearly stopping yourself from a string of profanities considered obscene even in this company.

Jesper puts on a playful grin. “You know, you never struck me as someone who’d have a secret admirer.”

Your irritated gaze makes him equally amused and nervous. “He’s not exactly secret, is he? More of a returning cockroach infestation. Worry not, boys, I’ll just burn this one like the rest and we can all forget about this little perplexity.”

“Come on, you’re not even a little bit curious about what’s inside?” Jesper coaxes as he hands you the letter.

“Believe me when I tell you that I don’t give a rat’s bald ass about this man and his pathetic wax poetic.” You snatch the envelope, all the while looking at your friend with squinted, piercing eyes. Considering who you are, a complete lack of curiosity whatsoever might as well be a symptom of a lethal disease.

In that short moment, when the stationery goes from Jesper’s hand into yours, Kaz watches the letter as closely as he can. Smooth paper, probably expensive. Careful lettering, written with patience and thoughtfulness. An aroma of mint and tobacco lingers on the parchment. The stamp has the current date on it and the postal code is only a few numbers away from the club’s - whoever sent it is in Ketterdam and quite close by.

Kaz makes those little observations just in time because you throw the letter into the fireplace behind him, without even glancing at the paper. The flames grow for a few seconds, devouring the dry stationery. Soon, there’s no evidence that any mail has been delivered to you on this day.

“Now, where were we?” You clap your hands. “Ah, sewers.” Jesper takes the change of subject as his cue to leave but you stop him right when he pushes down the door handle. “Oh, and Jesper? If you tell Inej, I’m ripping your arm off and beating you to death with it.”

He looks at you over his shoulder, a newfound sense of anxiety turning his vivid amusement into somewhat tame courtesy, leaving his smile unfaltering but tearing away the genuine joy behind it. “I will keep this enlightening piece of advice in mind, thank you.”

The door clicks as Jesper closes it behind himself. Returning to your previous engagement, you stumble upon Brekker’s stern gaze of disapproval.

“Do not maim my investments.” Although it’s supposed to be a scolding or a threat, it comes out with a certain note of disinterest.

“Don’t try playing all nice, Kaz. You and I both know you’d watch for like ten minutes before stepping in.”

His gloved finger taps the map. “Sewers.”

You mumble something along the lines of ‘yes, sir’ and pick up the single-handed divider again. Kaz examines your face out of the corner of his eye. Judging by your casual demeanour, the palm’s length between your heads is of no bother to you. Maybe you’re just too busy counting the segments with the divider. When you’re done, you reach for the other side of the desk, for a moment leaving broody Kaz to the, surprisingly cold, lukewarm air filling the room.

This day just can’t seem to end for Burr Lowther. First, he had to take his regular trip into the filth of the Barrel, he shudders at the memory, only to then spend another ten hours at the sewing workshop. Being a foreman pays exceptionally well and perhaps this is the only reason he’s still putting up with those lazy needlewomen.

Putting his well-kept coat on the hanger by the front door, Burr lets out a sigh of relief - compared to the factory, his house is a quiet oasis. He remembers to take out a pouch and a box of expensive cigars from his coat. Without much thinking, he opens the small bag and puts another leaf of mint between his teeth. What started first as an addition to his personal hygiene, has quickly become a habit impossible to kill. Now used to the strong, chilly sensation on his tongue, he’s grown to like it.

The house is drowning in darkness. Dim, yellow light from the streetlamps crawling in through the windows is barely enough to let him make his way around the furniture. Foreman Lowther is yet to start the fire in his living room but he needs to be quick - if he stalls too long his joints will begin to hurt. Even with laudanum, the ache is bound to keep him up for hours and that’s something he can’t afford. But first, he needs some light to be able to get the necessary things.

Chewing on the herb, Burr walks to the table across the room from the fireplace. He puts the new box of cigars down and begins looking for something to light the oil lamp. Once he blindly finds a box of matches, his muscle memory does most of the job - he’s lit up the lamp far too many times to think about the actions. In swift, mechanical motions, Burr takes off the chimney, lights the wick and puts the glass part back on. The fire brightens the rest of the table, reminding the foreman that he forgot to put away the made-to-order McKinnon & Co. stationery. He pushes the paper farther away from the lamp, just in case.

Burr’s knees make a cracking noise when he crouches in front of the fireplace. Carefully, he lights a match and puts it between logs and old newspapers. The fire smoulders for a moment, balancing between starting and being put out, before a bigger flame begins gnawing at the dry wood and paper.

Foreman Lowther is about to stand up when something hits the side of his head, making his face clash with the seat of a nearby armchair. Scurrying and turning around, he sees an outline of a man, looking more like a feverish mare of the night than a real human. He’s thin and tall, dressed rather elegantly. The model crow on his cane glistens in the newly started fire.

“Who are you?” Burr’s voice cracks, giving away his panic.

“A scorned businessman, Burr Lowther,” Kaz explains slowly.

The foreman climbs backwards into the armchair. It’s difficult to look imposing while sitting beside a fireplace but his fear is far too severe to let the man stand on his own two feet.

“I’ve no business with you!” he yells. A few droplets of spit fly out of his mouth. “Get out!” Burr’s shaky hand points vaguely in the direction of the front door but Kaz, as it seems, is not going anywhere just yet.

In slow steps, Kaz gets closer to Burr, the difference in height painting him even more menacing. Lowther’s hand falls limp on a small table meant for trays with food.

“Perhaps you don’t. But I have plenty with you.”

Before foreman Lowther can ask another question, Brekker drives a sharp blade through the man’s palm, pinning it to the wooden counter. A howl of pain cuts through the night, scaring away the birds sitting outside the windows. Thick, crimson blood spills from the wound, falling to the floor in long drops. The fireplace’s flame glistens in the growing puddle, the reflection dances in morbid anticipation.

Kaz walks over to the table with the oil lamp. The first thing that catches his eye is the ivory paper. Somehow, he stifles the visceral reaction it elicits from him. Grabbing the wad of stationery, he folds it a few times and puts it in the inner pocket of his coat. Then his gaze trails towards the wooden box of cigars. The name of the company, Starling, is burned in cursive lettering on the front. In a swift movement, Kaz slides the package open, knowing exactly what he’s going to find inside - a cigar cutter. For people who can afford Starling tobacco products, it definitely doesn’t befit to chew off the end.

Firelight cascades off the metal cutter when Kaz turns back towards Burr. The man’s eyes widen in panic, recognizing the sharp device put against him.

“No, sir,” Burr begs with a frantic shake of his head. “Oh, Saints, please, no! Don’t! I’m begging you, sir! Please, please! No, please!”

Brekker’s face doesn’t change its indifferent expression. The pleading is not putting him off, never faltering his already-made decision. Perhaps, if it isn’t too morbid to consider, he’s enjoying having someone at his mercy. The cigar cutter clicks quietly as Kaz closes it a few times to check the state of the mechanism.

Kaz makes his way back to the foreman. Casually, he puts his cane against the table but away from the nailed palm, careful not to get it dirty. Then, he snatches Burr’s other hand, the swiftness diminishing all doubts that he’s inexperienced in bringing suffering.

“You have laid your hands on something that isn’t yours, Lowther,” Brekker explains as he forces one of the man’s fingers through the cutter’s opening. “Now you must pay for it.”

A muscle in his face ticks as he presses the cigar cutter. Burr howls in agony, tears streaming down his face. The finger falls to the floor with a wet slap as blood begins to pour. The white tip of the bone sticks out from the pulsating flesh, glistening in the warm, dim light of the burning fireplace.

In a feverish delirium, Lowther mumbles something under his nose, the string of incomprehensible words sometimes interrupted by sobs. Kaz can understand only two things from the ramblings of a madman: ‘wench’ and ‘reply’. Scarce information but he hardly needs more.

“Wench?” he repeats in a low voice.

With a snap of his wrist, Kaz twists the knife still residing in the man’s hand. A bone cracks. But there’s no scream this time - not an ounce of strength left in the victim. Lonely tears stream down his grey face, mixing with cold sweat as he blankly stares ahead. A gloved hand yanks his head back by the hair, forcing delirious Burr to look into Brekker’s eyes. They look darker than they should, clouded with something far too horrible to be considered human.

“Not only did you lay your filthy hands on something of mine,” Kaz’s voice is low enough to resemble a growl as though something carnal inside him has finally woken from its slumber, “but you also dare insult her.”

Burr makes a strange guttural noise, something between a gag reflex and a murmur, as another one of his fingers is cut off. Considering his vacant expression, it’s hard to say whether his consciousness even registered the loss.

Kaz tosses away the cigar cutter. It clutters and clicks falling in the largely unknown corner of the room. Reaching inside his coat, he pulls out the folded stationery. Pressing tightly on Burr’s cheeks, he forces the man’s mouth open.

“I don’t think you will be needing this anymore.”

Even if foreman Lowther was in his right mind at the moment, there wouldn’t be much he could do to prevent Kaz from shoving the dry paper down his throat. A match, a spark, a smoulder - the ivory stationery is burning inside Burr’s mouth.

Leaving Burr Lowther to his own devices, Kaz Brekker leaves the house, joining the otherwise grey and indifferent citizens of Ketterdam. The sunrise is just a few hours away. He’s making his way back to the club, uninterrupted and unbothered, to enjoy another day of your hardly divided attention.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker fanfiction #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker imagine #six of crows #shadow and bone #six of crows x reader #six of crows x you #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone x you #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone imagine #six of crows fanfiction #six of crows fanfic #six of crows imagine

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kkurami · 4 months

Text

( SHES JUST A LOOKALIKE ) 🪞 ² ˚ ༘ fluff + angst

୨୧ ‧ gojo couldn’t help but find traces of you sprinkled throughout the universe. nothing compares to the real you.

the moment your eyes laid upon her figure, you knew that she was just a lookalike.

beneath the canopy of time's silent gaze, the school courtyard laid waste to the test of time, a sacred script of whispered tales and fleeting moments. in this hallowed realm of echoes, you stood.

all her distinguishable characteristics were almost eerily a replica of your very own— from the way her physical features resembled yours to the way her mannerisms were very similar. the way she would hit her knee when she laughed, the way her eyes wandered whenever he was talking, even the way she zoned out and picked at her fingernails.

you felt as though you were gazing upon your own reflection in a one way mirror.

as destiny poised its quill, you, the unwilling muse to gojo’s romantic fantasies, saw the narrative taking shape, your heart attuned to the delicate rhythms of anticipation. the stage was set for the echoes of resemblance would pose a pattern for one white haired male.

the thought made you lightheartedly giggle. of course, it hurt to see the man you loved with a lookalike of you. seemingly a mirror of his past, it was almost as if he had attempted to replace you.

despite the cockiness that rang, the resemblance was ever so uncanny. every aspect that gojo claimed was ‘unique’ about you was represented in her own appearance.

geto had said it himself. gojo was trying to find traces of you in someone else.

and none of this was her fault. if anything, you felt bad for his current girlfriend. gojo was charismatic and charming, and you didn’t blame her for falling for him. gojo was the only one to take blame for the unfortunate circumstances.

you never wanted to end things in the first place. but gojo did because you two weren’t ‘working out’… perhaps it was something that you did wrong, or perhaps he had just fallen out of love. the idea went past you, whatever it was. as much as you attempted to wrap your head around his motivations, you could never quite pinpoint just what you did wrong.

you shook off your thoughts and let your gaze wander back to the couple, when you noticed gojo looking at you as well. it was the first time in months that the two of you had made proper eye contact, and you felt your heart drop.

he had this almost woeful look in his eyes as you two had a staredown across your college campus. a seldom glance he sent across the courtyard conveyed every emotion you needed to know. his girlfriend, who was previously talking, noticed that gojo wasn’t quite paying attention to her. she turned her head to see where he was looking which was when she spotted you.

of course, she knew all about you. gojo couldn’t stop himself from talking about you after all.

you were gojo’s first love. at family gatherings, you were the one his family would bring up before he had to remind them that you were gone.

how deeply upsetting it was for her to see the disappointment written across their faces once they realized who he had picked after you.

she knew that she was just your lookalike, and it was a matter of time before gojo would come to his senses and attempt to get you back.

you made eye contact with her and gave her a soft smile. almost as if to say ‘i’m sorry.’

she knew you had nothing to apologize for. it wasn’t your fault that gojo didn’t know how to cope with his own feelings. it was his own fault for that, but it was her fault for dating gojo while knowing that he didn’t truly love her. she was willing to go through that pain just for him.

but seeing how y/n and gojo looked at each other and the love that filled their eyes, she knew that she couldn’t compare.

she was on the outside of your story.

amidst the rustling leaves, her voice reached gojo, a fragile melody woven with a tinge of melancholy. "some stories," she mused, "unfold in the shadows of familiarity, don't they, satoru?"

eyes staring blankly, a silent and unspoken confession made its way to gojo’s ears. he didn’t need to ask what she had meant by that.

everyone knew that she was just your lookalike, even gojo.

“don’t lose her a second time.”

that was all she said, before standing up to walk away. no more words had to be said. gojo knew why she was walking away— because she was breaking up with him.

“for what it’s worth, i’m sorry.” gojo let out before his (now ex) girlfriend could leave.

“if you were sorry you wouldn’t have dated me with someone else in mind.” the girl stopped in her tracks, and turned around. a ghost of a smile graced her lips. her carefree shattered like fragile glass. “i’ve felt it all along—this charade we're living. it’s your past you're holding onto, not me.”

that was it. that was the end of their relationship. no tears, no yelling, just silence.

but she was right. gojo should’ve just faced his own feelings and not dragged someone else into his mess. all he could think about at that moment was the way you stood there under the light looking so ethereal, and he had made up his mind about one thing.

“hey y/n,”

your eyes trailed upwards to meet the face of the man who had consumed all of your mental space in the past year, the man who made you feel like a lovesick teenager. the same man who seemed as though he could never get rid of you.

a smile quirked its way to your features.

“so… i guess my best attempt at getting a replacement fell short, nothing compares to the real deal. how about we skip the charades and grab coffee sometime?”

a silent song rang across the courtyard, singing lyrics of a love that was always meant to be.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo fluff #jjk gojo #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #gojou x reader #gojou satoru x you #gojou x y/n #gojou satoru x y/n

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actual-changeling · 6 months

Text

Uh. Hi! I'm Alex and I love writing pain.

I've seen the angst war going on and I am incredibly tempted to contribute; I'm not quite sure of the rules (if there are any) so feel free to bring me up to speed. Updates will be at whatever pace is fun/doable for me, interactions, asks etc. always very much appreciated 💚

@goodomensafterdark @daneecastle @gleafer @gahellhimself-blog @vavoom-sorted-art @kotias

I will put appropriate content tags on every chapter and make a masterpost once I have a handful of posts. Please keep in mind that this series is going to deal with a heavy dose of unreality, self-injurious behaviour, substance abuse, erratic behaviour/mood swings, and more. There will be a happy ending.

Now, without further ado, the first instalment of what is going to be us following Crowley down the path of (hopefully temporary) insanity.

rest your head \\ chapter 1

(~800 w, no additional warnings)

Sleep deprivation, while usually not fatal, is not the least bit pleasant. Human brains require sleep to function—and not just their minds, either. The entire body breaks down oh so slowly as every system designed to keep it alive deteriorates without the comforting embrace of unconsciousness.

However, the actual cause of death is yet to be identified, and luckily Crowley's corporation functions on the principle of 'what it doesn't know won't kill it'.

Over the centuries, earthly indulgences have become more and more common, pleasures easily sought and found no matter where he went, although nothing ever beat a good night's (or decade's) rest. Sleep calms his mind and allows him to drift through time without a care, surrounded by ever-shifting dream clouds and the occasional vivid interference. In short, it takes away the pain, and Someone knows there is a lot to carry when he returns home for the first time in four years.

No dust had dared to settle on the furniture, and the familiar smell of damp earth welcomes him. Locking the door behind him, Crowley blindly finds his way through the corridors, kicking off his shoes as he goes and throwing his glasses onto the nearest surface. When he pushes into his bedroom, which is just as pristine as he had left it, the anger churning in his gut cools.

Home. Has he ever had a home? Once upon a time, maybe, before time had been born, surrounded by breathing nebulae and void, and then—

Eden. Him. Right, that's done.

A snap of his fingers and his clothes change into a set of silk pyjamas, the fabric brushing over his skin like liquid silver, and the black-out curtains snap shut. Darkvision is one of the advantages of being a demon, but he finds the dark has nothing to offer him today, so he closes his eyes and pulls back the sheets to curl around a pillow.

Images flicker in the pulsating emptiness left behind, piercing blue eyes and fluttering hands, a press of lips against his, words digging into his skull like tadpoles making a home within his brain matter. Electricity crawls over his slowly numbing body, urging him to disappear, to sink into nothingness and waste away until he is a dried stain on the mattress.

No one will come looking for him, after all.

Maybe the world will be brighter once he wakes, the pain duller, the loneliness less aching and all-consuming. Within his chest bleeds a hollow, jagged wound, dripping black blood and drowning the radiant remnants of Aziraphale's presence; his essence is familiar, it's- home.

Crowley does not need to sleep, yet somewhere between Rome and the present, he had forgotten about it, his corporation shifting and changing, craving rest and punishing him for its absence. It will not kill him, it does not even occur to him that it might, but there are countless fates worth than death and he is already living one of them. What's another added to the mess his life has become?

His nails dig into the pillow case, his consciousness choking on the scorched battlefield of the day, but no matter how hard he tries, how desperately he commands his body to bend to his wills, sleep refuses to come. A new, different kind of pain rises, worse than fatigue and infinitely more addictive. Its sting is battery acid on his tongue, infusing him with a restlessness that is scratching on his bones, and when blue irises keep mocking him behind closed lids, he forces his eyes open, turns onto his back, and stares at the ceiling, waiting.

Light wanders and shifts, barely visible through the heavy fabric adorning his windows, and it dips behind the horizon before reappearing on the other side. Crowley stares at white paint and counts the moving dots gradually clouding his vision, absently pressing his knuckles against his sternum over and over—whether to calm himself or to chase away mental pain with physical is beyond his awareness.

Both, neither, maybe.

His too-human body protests and whines, and once he begins to see blue shadows in his periphery, Crowley bites his tongue and gets up. Coffee will help, then a hot shower, and yelling his plants back into order is going to occupy most of his afternoon anyway, so what's a night without sleep?

The next one will bring him the rest he needs, and Aziraphale's eyes will stop striking him down whenever he blinks. He is alone now (alone in London, alone on earth, his chest constricts and twists at the thought, stealing his breath) and he will have to get used to it; it'll be fine eventually, right?

—

Three days later Crowley is staring at his bedroom ceiling, impatient, restless, exhausted, and attempting to chase away the bone-white teeth hovering underneath lightning-blue eyes.

"Fine, have it your way," he snaps eventually, his voice too loud in an empty room, and feels the smile breathing down his neck all the way to the kitchen.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable angst war #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #im sure there is at least one person who saw this coming #if you thought i was giving you pain before we are about to enter an entirely new abyss

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lumiaxz · 5 months

Note

okokok imagine if baizhu and pantalone tag teamed. They literally look the same just a different mindset 😋

Double Trouble (Slight TW)

✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮ ✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮ ✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮

Pairings: Baizhu x Pantalone x Reader

Warnings:, rough sex, Tag-teaming, double penetration, face fucking, Dacryphila, Soft dom baizhu, Mean Dom pantalone, crying, brat taming, Choking, pet names, degrading, (almost) blacking out , hate-fuck. Lmk if I missed anyyyy

A/N: This is kinda…sad? I would definitely read with caution idkk 🧐

✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮ ✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮ ✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮

Pantalone is beyond tired of your bullshit, You don’t give 2 flying fucks about anything or anyone but yourself. It doesn’t matter what he does, you don’t care and continue doing it. Fucking you till you can’t speak or walk, does nothing. Choking till you pass out multiple times, does almost as worse of a job. Although Baizhu on the other-hand doesn’t mind it too much, he just ignores you which usually ends things. (usually) The other harbingers suggest just not allow you to come into the quarters nor near him but something about you tells him to not bypass that rule, or anything similar.

After a horribly long and stressful day, Pantalone rants to Baizhu about you, per-usual.

“That girl acts like she’s untouchable, it’s outrageous! How do you manage to just simply ignore her?!”

“It’s quite simple, just pretend you don’t hear her?”

After a few hours of his ranting, You skip into the pharmacy sounding bubbly and ready to cause trouble for both of them.

“Good afternoon, Pantalone and Baizhu!!”

“Not so fast, princess.“

He gets up and harshly grabs you by the hair and drags you into a eerie room. You struggle to get out of his tight grasp. Looking around, you spot things like blindfolds, random toys and seemingly handcuffs bolted to his desk, weird right?

Pantalone throws you onto his desk, but your scrambling allows you to constantly free yourself. Just as you think you’re avoiding these punishments too, Baizhu moves the curtain and enters the room. Baizhu grabs both of your wrists lightly and holds them in place for Pantalone to cuff them on the desk, to completely restrain you.

You assume they’ll try to fuck you to shut you up, which is correct but not in the way you think.

“I’m fed up with you, bitch.” Pantalone curses out

You’re bent over Pantalone’s desk, restrained to is aswell. Pantalone behind you, Baizhu infront of you. Strangely enough, nothing has happened, yet.

Your thoughts were cut short when you felt a harsh blow to your ass, it burned a lot, yet also felt…good? Except your body didn’t react how you felt. Tears streaming down your face.

Baizhu cups your wet face, lifting it up to meet his eyes.

“Aww, don’t cry love. This’ll be over before you know it.”

Enough time had already been wasted, Pantalone was far past patient with you. Your clothes were ripped into shreds within seconds.

Your precious skirt that you valued more than anything, into nothing but scraps of fabric on the floor.

“Come on, Why rip her skirt? It doesn’t take much to just slide it off.”

The wind in the room was enough to make your bare body shiver, not only in fear but cold.

“Stop fucking crying, slut.” Pantalone grunted

You attempt to keep your pride and ignore his order, even if you’re bent over the 9th Harbinger’s desk. Pantalone’s hand makes its way around your neck, tightly. Even with this painful gesture from him, you still don’t cave in.

He slams himself into you. All this time you been laying here, you hadn’t noticed him undoing his pants. He does this as a form of “punishment” all the time, yet this felt different, slightly more painfully than normal.

This sensation has your stomach in a queasy feeling, why?

“Notice anything different, Love?” Asked Baizhu

“No..”

“Your face says otherwise.” He says with a sweet smile

Pantalone swiftly speeds up his pace to cut your conversation with Baizhu, in jealousy?

The grip on your neck tightened, to the point where breathing wasn’t even a option. Baizhu notices that and releases you from the cuffs, how sweet, right? No, he did that only to flip you on your back and clips them back.

“You done putting on a show for her?” Annoyingly askes Pantalone

The mint haired one chuckles before stuffing your mouth with his cock aswell, Easily catching up to Pantalone’s pace.

“Isn’t quite nice to let your frustrations out on the one who caused it?” Asked Pantalone

“Somewhat, It’s hard to enjoy myself if I feel bad for her.” Baizhu says with a sigh

Suddenly, Their paces change and no longer match. 2 Different cocks moving in and out of you at different paces isn’t fun at all, for you at least.

A fuzzy feeling in your stomach adds to the queasy one, this time it burns, alot. Incoherent babbles and “sorry” spew from the corners of your mouth along with a bit of saliva, makeup that you spent hours on, streaming down your face.

Just as you feel yourself building your climax, it just disappears. Almost like it was just ripped from you, They both had pulled out. Baizhu pulling out was more of a relief, Pantalone on the other hand was more of a disappointment.

“Pantalone please I’m sorry..!” You whined

Weird, you were actually begging for him back inside you, almost as if you weren’t crying for him to pull out minutes ago.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” Pantalone says with a grin

Quite ominous of him.

He unlocks the cuffs with a small key that was actually right next to your body. You were stunned, they made the impression that you were trapped but you just had to ask them to unlock it. That thought spun around your mind for awhile as you simple just sat there in utter silence.

Thoughts once again cut short, by Baizhu’s cold hands gently lifting you up from the desk, causing you to shiver. He was holding you like a baby, your legs wrapped around his waist, his hands on your ass supporting you.

Pantalone walked around his desk to meet you both on the other side.

“Just relax, alright?” Cooed Baizhu

The black haired male grabbed your ass and also helped support you. Somehow, you were managing your tears to not cry just by the touch of him. You were sandwiched between both of these tall long-haired men, Your tits pressed against Baizhu’s chest.

On the verge of tears, you managed to cough up a attempt to persuade them to atleast go slower than before.

“Pantalone.. I’mm s-sorry, please..” you voice, hiccuping in the process.

“Should’ve said that earlier, too late little one.” Pantalone says in a threatening tone

They both enter a hole of yours at the same time, the stretch is enough to force out a moan from pleasure and pain. The tears you had been holding back spewed out as they thrust in and out of you at different speeds. Incoherent “please” and “sorry” flooded the room, breaking the somewhat silence.

From your constant crying and stress on your body, you feel you mind go fuzzy and your vision start to blur more.

“Don’t you fucking black out on me, I want you and your mind right here the entire time.” Pantalone spits out in anger

You try to lay your head on Baizhu’s shoulder but all this time Pantalone was throwing you around, you forgot you also piss off Baizhu regularly.

“Not here either princess, no blacking out.” Sarcastically coos Baizhu

After a few more harsh thrusts they both come inside of you, filling you to your brim. Pantalone pulls out and cleans only himself up. But Baizhu keeps himself in you for a few more minutes before pulling out aswell.

“You alright, love? I apologize on Pantalone’s behalf. I Hope this reminds you to not bother us, ever again” Baizhu coos but with a hint of humor

You feel Baizhu kiss your forehead as he cleans you up.

Safe to say you never bothered them again.

✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮ ✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮ ✮₊⊹₊⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆₊ ⊹✮

#pantalone #genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin pantalone #genshin baizhu #fatui harbringers #bubu pharmacy #baizhu #baizhu x reader #pantalone x reader #genshin au

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