#like their might have been some resistance at first
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“Kara?”
She doesn’t answer. Lena’s presence doesn’t surprise her; Kara Danvers always knows where Lena Luthor is, at least as long as there’s a way for the sound of her heart to find Kara’s ears, no matter how soft or faint it might be. In her ruminations Kara thinks on that before she speaks. Even when they were at their worst, when they were hurting each other in every way that mattered, Kara would stop and listen.
It was a secret and sacred thing, a transgression that she would never admit. She would confess to scoping Lena out with her x-ray vision first. She’d never actually done that, but she’d pretend-admit before confessing that, sometimes, she’d listen to Lena’s heart as she slept and drift off to its slow and steady beat.
They’re by the sea, at the Danvers family home. It’s been a year since Alex and Kelly married and a small, core group have gathered here in this house by the waves to celebrate the anniversary. It’s just Alex and Kelly of course and Esme, and Lena and Kara. And Eliza.
She lives here, after all.
Nia and Brainy are in town in an AirBnB, and they’ve been by the house but are mostly doing their own thing. They’ll marry soon, Kara thinks. They have that air about them, the way that Alex and Kelly did before the proposal.
There is a sense of finality to it all that has fallen over Kara like the shadow of a passing storefront, and she sits where she can watch the ocean waves roll in, chin propped on arms resting on knees, curled up and watching the waves reach the high water mark and roll back.
Lena stands beside her now, seemingly unconcerned that Kara hasn’t answered her. This happens a lot now. There are companionable silences. Lena spends half her days in Kara’s home, working from a laptop on Kara’s kitchen counter while Kara writes at the kitchen table.
A lot has happened. Cat Grant offered her the role of EIC at CatCo; Kara rejected it. She’d mad furtive plans to reveal her identity, then canceled them. She’d told Cat but asked that it end there and Cat had respected it, then gone on an esoteric retreat at an eel farm or… something. Kara still submitted articles to CatCo but on a freelance basis, and she was submitting more articles elsewhere lately.
Actually, very little had happened. Kara had more time to really write, now. She put on her suit and flew out the window less and less, being less needed.
Lena sits down next to her and assumes a similar pose. Kara can’t help but look at her; she has never been able to resist looking at Lena Luthor. That too has changed. She doesn’t steal a glance this time, she studies, lets her gaze linger. She looks at the way the light of the golden hour plays with Lena’s soft, easy beauty. Her sort-of-roommate skipped putting on makeup this morning and her hair is down in a mop of air-dried dark curls, some of them lazily riding the breeze around her head. Some of it falls across her face and Kara fights the urge to sweep it back with a soft brush of her fingers.
Lena is beautiful. The warm light makes her pale skin glow, brings out the sparkle in her blue-green eyes, as deep as the sea they watch. There is a soft playful hint of a smile on her lips, but her brows are furrowed.
Kara thinks back to the last time she spoke to J’onn. She told the man, the closest thing she had left to a father in the world, about how she was wearing the cape less and working more, about Lena, about how Alex and Kelly seemed to be moving on, both of them now retired from the insanity of her lives and Alex actually planning to practice medicine.
“That’s what happens,” J’onn told her. “Things pass. Stories end. The great deeds are done, the archenemies vanquished, the miracles all performed. After that is just life.”
Kara wasn’t sure what that meant. In her life -almost sixty years, that she’d experienced as less than thirty- she’d packed in the experiences of a hundred lifetimes. She’d watched her world die, found her family, lost them, made a new one. She’d loved and lost and she’d even died- twice. She’d spent two eternities in her own personal hell.
Kara lets out a slow sigh. She’s still looking at Lena.
They have to have this conversation. Kara just doesn’t know what to say or how to say it. The problem is obvious. Lena and Kara had arrived this morning a few hours after Kelly and Alex, and found that Eliza had, as to be expected, already planned out who was bunking where.
“Alex and Kelly have Alex’s old room,” Eliza had told them, after hugging Lena. “Esme has Kara’s old room, and you and Lena can take the guest bedroom.”
When the words left her foster mother’s mouth, Kara’s heart raced. If Lena thought anything of it, she gave no sign. Kara was on the verge of panic.
Eliza had given the two of them a room with one bed. A small room, a shared room that would give two people no privacy.
Does she think we’re…?
Kara had considered the possibility before. She wasn’t blind or oblivious to a fluttering heart beat or lip bites or long stares, but…
“I’m scared,” Kara says, and she looks away.
She can feel Lena looking at her, gaze unwavering.
“What about?”
Kara swallows hard. She doesn’t know if Lena realizes what Eliza has assumed yet, if she’s put it together. She must have, because she came out here looking for Kara. Kara hadn’t run away exactly, but she had fled. She needed to think.
“One thing I’ve learned,” Kara says, “is that once you say something, you can’t un-say it. You can’t change the truth once it’s been told.”
Lena nods softly. She knows. They learned the same lesson from the same cruel trick.
“Do you know why I held on to my secret for so long?”
“You always said it was to protect me, and I didn’t accept that. Then when…” Lena pauses heavily, “when we moved on, I never really asked again.”
Kara swallows. “I lied. I did it for me.”
Lena says nothing.
“I was scared. I was afraid that once I told you, it would be the same with you as it was with everyone else. Once people know Kara is Supergirl, then Kara stops being Kara. Kara is just Supergirl’s real name.”
Kara’s breath hitches. She glances at Lena, who watches intently.
“I was wrong. I should have known better. I should have trusted you.”
“Yes,” said Lena. “You should have. I should have tried to understand you. To understand why instead of projecting my own insecurities onto your choice. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I forgave you.”
Waves crash in the silence.
“I would forgive you anything.”
“Even beating the last potsticker?”
“I’m serious, Lena.”
Lena sighs. “Are we going to talk about it?”
“You saw the room.”
Lena nods.
“Your mom seems to be assuming that we share a bed,” Lena says.
Kara swallows hard.
“The last time I was with Nia, she asked when I’m selling the penthouse, because she assumed I’ve been planning to move into your loft.”
Kara groped her knees because her hands are shaking. She grips her knees to stop them but it makes her legs shake instead.
Lena shifts closer, scooting across the grass. She’s not touching Kara but it feels like she is. Her touch becomes and threatens. They share space, the sea breeze passing over them as one. Lena looks at her through a tangle of inky curls and her eyes are infinite, searching Kara for something.
“I have deemed a dream,” Kara whispers. “I fear if I dream it too deeply I’ll suddenly wake, and when I wake it’ll be gone the way dreams always are, and it will fade as fast as any dream. The thought of losing it hurts so bad it makes it feel like my chest is caving in.”
Kara looks at Lena now. She looks so young, she is young. Her power suits and makeup and air of command and defiance all make her seem almost matronly but here with Kara that mask is gone and beneath it is her true self, her secret self that not even their friends see, a young girl who’s never been young.
Just like Kara.
“What if you woke up and the dream came true?”
“Sometimes,” Kara admits, “I wonder if you’re real. I used to dream of things when I floated in my pod and they seemed so real…”
“It’s real, Kara,” Lena whispers, soft and breathy. “It’s real and I’m not going anywhere. Nothing has to change. It’s just going to evolve. I know what you want to say and I’ve been scared of it too. What you’re saying, I can feel it in my soul… when the Luthors took me in, I used to dream that my mom was alive. I’d wake up smelling breakfast and hearing her sing and when I realized it was just a dream it was like she died again every morning.”
“I love you.”
Lena stares at her. Kara hears Lena’s steady pulse flutter and begins to stammer.
“I know I’ve said it before. I mean I’m in love with-“
Lena presses a finger to her lips.
“I know. Stop telling me and show me.”
Kara freezes, not sure what she meant. Lena twisted languidly and leaned towards her. Kara freezes briefly and then just lets go, moving on instinct. Using a little strength she pulls Lena into her lap, gently touches her chin, and tilts her back a touch, to kiss her.
It is at once tentative and soft and absolutely explosive. Kara forces back tears, as Lena embraces her with all her strength, molding herself to Kara as if she means to climb inside her. For all her urgency, her kiss is just as delicate, just as tender and exploratory.
It is as it has always been. They compliment each other perfectly, moving together without a word needed, Kara breaks the kiss because Lena needs air and lowers her to the grass, fully on top of her now, brushing lose strands of hair back from her face to kiss her again and again and again, each kiss ah apology, each brushing of lips a lament for time lost.
They could have been doing this for years.
Lena arches under her, grinding hungrily, kissing her furiously. She moans softly as Kara’s hands find bare skin and Kara murmurs a Kryptonian prayer against her lips, and her thighs rise to bracket Kara’s hips.
Kara feels it all. The desire, the lust, the need, and above all the unbridled joy. This is no dream. It’s real. It’s happening. It’s…
“Eww,” Alex says.
Kara snaps up, acutely aware that her hand is halfway up Lena’s now-askew top, and that Lena has leg-locked them together. Lena lets her head fall back and peers up at Alex.
“Eliza sent me to find you two. Dinner is ready,” Alex sighs, then turns, muttering,
“Get a room. Sheesh.”
Lena cracks first, unleashing a gale of laughter.
“Let me go,” she protests.
Kara lets her…. briefly. Play-wrestling ensues, and Lena just know that Kara is letting her win as they roll in the grass, but it no longer matters. Lena is flushed and grass-stained and joy burns her in her eyes and-
“Come on!” Alex bellows.
Kara helps her up, and they head for the house.
#supercorp#supergirl fanfiction#supergirl#supercorp fanfic#lena luthor#kara danvers#kara x lena#karlena#supergirl fanfic#ficlet#love confessions#play wrestling#lena luthor x kara danvers#sad lena luthor#sad Kara danvers#let them kiss#hugging it out#soulmates#idiots in love
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swallow
…ft! sunday x gn! reader
…tags! fluff, spoiler-free, first kiss, a shy sunday practising selfishness
…wc! 823
…notes! i’m obsessed with this nerd and want to give my attempt and writing how i feel he goes about romance (VERY AWKWARDLY). have at thee.
Don’t move.
Do not do anything. Do not even respond.
It’s the one request Sunday made of you for the moment. He revealed the fear that he would like to kiss you, but fear of anything unexpected occurring during it throws him off. You understand; the idea of being vulnerable and under someone’s scrutiny can be extremely nerve wracking.
Thus, this was your solution. You weren’t to reciprocate, you weren’t to place your hands anywhere, you weren’t to move even a muscle. Sunday is still slowly coming to terms with being with you, never mind having you as his own. This is a slow process, and you’re willing to do things at his speed.
Sunday is on his knees, level with you sitting on a chair. His torso fits between your legs as he apprehensively glances up at you. You grant him a reassuring smile, and nod at him.
Your eyes flutter shut as the besotted Halovian swallows down his anxieties.
He’s come this far. It’d be a shame to miss out on you.
Sunday doesn’t dare touch or hold you, at least not yet. His face approaches yours at a slow speed, as if he himself was slowed down by time. His lip quivers when your breath fans against his own.
Cautious, Sunday allows himself the will to shut his eyes, lest he cowers and moves away once more. Xipe help me, he internally scrutinises himself. He can feel himself shaking. How pathetic. If he were more like a prince or some hero from a novel, someone truly worthy of you, he’d have already swept you off your feet.
Yet here he is, frozen stiff at the very idea of touching you.
He knows you’re resisting from encouraging him, reassuring him that it’s okay, he can take his time. He doesn’t need to hear you to know it. Your eyes flutter, tempted to open to spare him a glance, make sure he’s okay.
If he’s being quite honest, Sunday feels like he might faint.
Gloved fingers, trembling, push hair away from your face. Even without looking at you directly, Sunday can imagine where you are, where all your features lay, with such clarity. Has he memorised you so thoroughly? He stares more than he thought.
His palm rests on your cheek. For a moment, he wonders what it’d be like if it were skin-on-skin contact. His hands, he doesn’t think they’re worthy of holding you so honestly, so purely. This barrier of fabric is for both of your own sakes. Sunday isn’t sure if he could bear the thought of being so intimate.
In his mind, he can hear Robin’s laughter– asking in disbelief if he truly is that timid.
It’s as clear as a glass cage, Sunday is utterly hopeless in your presence.
He doesn’t wish harm unto you, and considering his position, that’s a very likely thing. You are the glass, reflecting back at him. Shining, gleaming with a light Sunday vies for so ardently.
Your warm breath is like the sun wishing him nothing but pleasure for the hours to come. He can imagine you withholding the temptation to smile, feeling the heat radiating off his cheeks against your own.
He’s weak.
He’s completely weak for you.
Lips brush against yours, at long last, and Sunday hesitates. He’s so close, and he still finds himself freezing up again. How long has it been? Seconds? Minutes? The desire to be so meticulous about a mere kiss… Losing that sense of control would mean disaster for dear Sunday.
It’s mind-boggling to him how perfectly his lips slot onto yours. With precision, (practised? Did he rehearse all this on a pillow or something? Perish the thought!) Sunday presses his mouth against your own.
As promised, you don’t move.
You do not do anything. You do not even respond.
Chaste, pure, controlled. Sunday has kissed you, as arduous and nail-biting the whole proceeding was. He pulls away after exactly three seconds, you count, and your eyes flutter open to see him, at the most vulnerable he’s willing to be right now.
You can’t help but smile, resisting the urge to giggle right in Sunday’s face.
“Aeons, you look so stressed!” You note. You rub your hand over his clothed arm, that hovers awkwardly in the air after you moved away from where he was holding you. “With that red face of yours, you nearly look like a swallow!”
Sunday avoids eye contact for now, merely humming a nervous laugh. “I just… hope it was to your standard. You deserve it.”
You had to hold back all urges you had just to throw your arms around your love and kiss him all over. Boundaries are there for a reason. You take his tense hand in yours and squeeze it, bringing it to your chest, just over your heart.
“It was perfect.”
Sunday smiles, golden irises finally daring to meet yours. “Yes. I concur.”
#✮ grimm's fics!#honkai star rail#hsr#honkai star rail imagines#hsr imagines#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#sunday#hsr sunday#hsr sunday x reader#sunday x reader#hsr sunday imagines#sunday imagines#i want him. GHGHHGHH
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I WANNA HEAR YOUR UNPOPULAR ANDOR OPINIONS
OH THIS IS SUCH A GOOD AND HARD ONE!!!
I have plenty of thoughts on Andor that I suspect are fairly widely held within the fandom and maybe not so much outside the fandom (like the belief that the "slowness" of the first three episodes is a feature and not a bug).
But I think maybe one take I have that might be more divisive is that - while I understand why some fans who read the novelization of Rogue One are disappointed in the changes to Cassian's backstory - I don't actually think that what Andor gives us negates the line in RO where Cassian says he's "been in this fight since he was six years old." In fact, I'm really drawn to a possible reading of that scene that Andor makes available, which is that what we see in that moment is a Rebellion-era Cassian re-narrating his life after the development of a revolutionary consciousness. While he doesn't yet understand his experiences as part of "the Rebellion's fight" at the start of Andor, after the events of season one (esp. Nemik's manifesto and the Narkina breakout and the Rix Road uprising) and what we'll see in season two, he eventually comes to see what happened on Kenari as his conscription into a fight against imperialism and fascism.
And in many ways I think that story (of someone who has to learn that they were engaged in political struggle before they recognized it) is a more suggestive model for thinking about what it takes to build resistance movements than the story of someone who could sign up to join an already-formed militant group.
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Top 5 underappreciated historical figures!
Thanks for the ask! This one was super fun, but also super difficult to answer. I've purposefully avoided mentioning the ladies of the French Revolution, since I have another question specifically about them lined up.
With that being said, in no particular order:
Fulvia
Anyone in the classics circle likely knows much more about her than I do, but I'm so glad I've discovered her through Tumblr! All of the things I've learned about her so far have been so interesting. It's incredible to see how much political (and military) power a Roman woman was able to yield despite living in a deeply patriarchal society.
(also, the part of me that loves drama really appreciates the story about her stabbing Cicero's tongue with hairpins after the proscriptions and Octavian's atrocious poem about her)
2. Émilie du Châtelet
Also hardly a surprise for anyone who's been following me for a while. Again, the fact that I've only relatively recently found out that there was a female mathematician and physicist in the fist half of the 18th century with such significant contributions to the field makes me almost feel as if I've been lied to.
She is special to me both because she was incredibly smart (she was able to understand Newton like few other people in her time and she spoke so many languages!) but there's also something about her writing that makes her feel deeply human and relatable. I've read some of her texts, and not only are they written in a beautiful prose but they're also incredibly moving. Her view on how to achieve happiness in life is one of the best I've ever came across, and her arguments for the education of women always make me feel so emotional...
...when she says that it was only after she realised that the circle of (male) French intellectuals accepted her among themselves and treated her as equal that she realised she too "might be a thinking creature"... I don't know, there's something about it that always gets to me.
Okay, time to introduce some male historical figures as well! This one is a residue from the time when I was really into the American Revolution.
3. Peter Stephen Du Ponceau
He was probably the only one in Baron von Steuben's original group that was able to speak decent English when they first arrived in the US to join the revolutionary war, which a) makes him quite important b) is kind of funny to think about.
But what I especially like about him is that he was a talented linguist who seemed to have genuine respect for other cultures, which let's face it, was quite rare in his times. While taking part in the American Revolutionary War, he recorded and studied the languages of Native American People. How cool is that?
(He was also potentially queer and I do have a soft spot for queer history)
Okay, guess should bring up someone interesting from Czech history as well. I fully confess that my own country's history is not necessarily my favourite area of study, but for her, I'll always make an exception:
4. Milena Jesenská
Probably most well known as Kafka's (kind of?) girlfriend/pen pal, but there is so much more to her story!
She was a writer and a journalist during the first half of the 20th century. She was really talented and soon made a reputation for herself, which let's face it, wasn't an easy thing to do for women in her time.
After Czechia became occupied by Nazi Germany, she joined the resistance movement and helped Jewish families to escape. She was later transported to a concentration camp, where she worked as a nurse and was said to have been "a moral support for other prisoners". She unfortunately died there when she was only 47. Still, what a life!
5. John Polidori
He's not necessarily my number one favourite person but I'd argue he is one of the most unappreciated figures. Vampires in fiction are massively popular but he rarely gets credited as one of its first authors. (Also the theory that Lord Ruthven, the charismatic, immoral aristocrat featured in The Vampyre is heavily based off on Lord Byron is not only entirely plausible but also quite funny).
Whenever I read something about the Geneva Squad, I always end up feeling kind of bad for him. As a foreigner, someone who was of a lower social status and - since he technically came along as Byron's personal physician - a paid employee, it just seems to me like he was never actually fully part of the group. Maybe I'm wrong, but to me, he felt kind of like a perpetual outsider. Lord Byron also got the credit for writing The Vampyre that should have gone to Polidori.
He was of course far from a perfect saint, with his drug and gambling addiction, but I still can't help but feel that he deserved better.
#thanks for the ask!#ask#send asks✨#sorry about taking so long I'll try to get to the other asks as soon as I'm able!#history#women's history#queer history#fulvia#roman republic#ancient rome#émilie du châtelet#age of enlightenment#1700s#18th century#milena jesenská#franz kafka#20th century#czech history#john polidori#geneva squad#lord byron#literature#romantic literature#1800s#du ponceau#american revolution#amrev
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so, im a hugeeee pokemon fan, and i couldn't resist giving some LI's full teams, i'm posting them for peer review (and also i have no idea what nicknames they would give their pokemon, so uhhh help ?)
I tried to take pokemon solely from the Galarian pokedex, cause it's the UK equivalent and I thought it'd be fun :
Kylar's team:
Chandelure was a Litwick he found in his house a few days after his parents had "the accident", and it brought him some much needed warmth. The things about Litwicks, is that they leech off of people's life force, but is also said to guide lost children to the spirit world, but Kylar was too stubborn to die, so the Litwick stayed and grew up into his Chandelure.
The Absol he found when he was in middle school, he was fleeing from bullies and ducked into an alleyway, where he found an injured Absol staring intently at him. Absols are seen as doombringers because of their ability to foresee imminent disasters, so this one had been chased off and thrown rocks at, meaning it was in bad shape. Kylar took it home and nursed it back to health, and it has since refused to leave his side.
Decidueye was the offspring of his parents' pokemon, and has been his since the egg hatched, so it's very attached to its master, willing to do everything for him, it was here for the accident and remains highly protective of its master. (also owl motif hehe)
The Alolan Ninetales I have less of a reason for, but it is said to act as a guide to people when they come to its mountain, and I had this idea of Kylar coming up the snowy mountain for some reason, and the Ninetales growing fond of this tiny shivering kid, and just following him and cuddling him until he caught it. (idk i just want good things for Kylar ig sue me)
The shiny Galvantula was for me a result of Kylar trying his hand at breeding Joltiks for fun, and this one being in the first few eggs he finds. He decides to keep it, at first for bragging rights, but he really does take good care of it, so another pokemon is added to his ever growing cuddle pile.
Finally, the Crobat was probably found in the rafters of the mansion as a small Zubat, around the time Kylar only had the Litwick and Rowlet. Kylar, having leftover pokemon food, decides to just feed the little fella, and a good friendship blooms. Crobats are said to be extremely stealthy, and can drain people of their blood, so Kylar has gained himself a convenient way of scaring off rivals.
Whitney's team:
Cinderace probably came up to Whitney when he was a child as a Scorbunny, seeing him play football with his friends and wanting to play too. A fast friendship, I'd say, I think Whitney would have been a super energetic kid, and a Scorbunny is perfect for him.
The shiny Togekiss was probably a Togepi gifted by his uncle, and technically a Togekiss, which usually avoid strife, should never stay in Rapeshire, this one likes Whitney too much to leave, it wants to bring him as much joy as possible.
I mean come on, Obstagoon is THE deliquent pokemon, of course Whitney has one. Maybe gifted to him by one of his gang's members ? I think that'd be cute.
Drednaws are seen as highly aggressive so I'm thinking one might have been rampaging through "Whitney's territory", and he wrestled it into "submission", gaining its respect, not before he gets bit through a little tho. He still has the scar from the incident, and the Drednaw sometimes licks at it in apology, now that its been caught.
Alright so I have the headcanon (or maybe it was canon and I forgot) that Whitney has had a garden since he was a kid, and maybe the Roserade came from there as a little Budew ? As in, it was interested and just started staying around, and Whitney couldn't get rid of it, so he just caught it.
Lastly, Sylveon. Sylveons evolve when they have high enough friendship with their trainer (and a fairy move), and obviously Whitney has been pampering it, but I'm thinking it probably doesn't come out of the ball in public much, it's kind of his secret ? But yeah, it's still very much loved.
Robin's team:
Dubwool was found as a Wooloo by the PC when they were going around the moors, it probably escaped from a farm and PC just brought it back for Robin to take care of as a gift. Its wool is said to be bouncy, but I think it can also be a way for Robin to ground themselves if they ever panic, as in they can bury their face in the wool and just shut the world out, I think that'd be sweet.
Goodra has been with Robin since it was a little Goomy, which are considered the weakest dragon type (the pokedex says it not me). Goomys are very good at detecting danger, and can hide very easily, so, sensing little Robin's good intentions, it probably helped hide him from Bailey. Apparently, Goodras give amazing good hugs, even if they do cover their trainer in slime, but I don't think Robin would mind.
Quagsire, similarly knew Robin as a Wooper. Woopers, when walking on land to find food, develop a toxic membrane on their bodies, but this one couldn't quite manage it, and was attacked by predators when Robin was passing through. Robin chased off the predators and gave the Wooper some fruits to help it recuperate, and its been attached to them ever since. Quagsires are very carefree pokemon, and they make great pillows. Basically I'm just giving Robin a perfect team for a cuddle nest.
Victini is the only legendary on this list, and I felt it was only right to give Robin the ever cheerful Victory Pokemon. Victini probably found Robin either after they were taken to the docks, or if that hasn't happened, after they confess to PC. Robin keeps Victini secret at all costs, as it would be hunted for its ability. Having Victini around probably helps Robin regain some self-esteem, and they make a great duo.
Boltund is a dog Robin found in the park one winter day as they were selling hot chocolate, a poor cold mutt with no identifiable traits proving it was owned. Robin secretly took it home and made the split second decision to keep it, now they've got a very excitable dog that's unflinchingly loyal. Boltund acts a sort of guard dog as well, reassuring Robin when they're walking past the docks.
Whimsicott had infiltrated the orphanage, and pulled a prank on Bailey, as Whimsicotts are wont to do, covering his office in its excess cotton. Bailey was furious and looking everywhere for the mischief maker, but the little ball of trouble had hidden itself in Robin's room, and the latter decided to keep it out of trouble and continue hiding it. Ever since then it's felt indebted and stays with Robin. It also quite likes to play pranks on Bailey, and that brings a smile to Robin, so why not continue to do it?
Sydney's team
Inteleon was actually gifted to Sydney as a Sobble by Sirris, reasoning his child should have a partner pokemon, so Sydney is the only one of this list with an actual starter pokemon (in the sense that he was supposed to go on a pokemon journey but ultimately stayed home). Inteleon loves its trainer very much, even if it has to force them to take breaks every now and then. A laid back pokemon and a hardworking trainer is a good duo, they influence each other a lot.
Audino was actually the temple's pokemon at first, acting as an aide to the temple's nurse, but it liked Sydney a lot and always fussed over them much more than any other initiate, so the temple relented and allowed Sydney to keep the Audino. Audino is actually the first one to pick up on Sydney's crushes, since it can use its feelers to sense its trainer's emotions. It subtly pushes Sydney to confess every time.
Dragapult was a lonely Dreepy haunting the temple's cemetery, having been left behind by its pack, it was letting out little mourning cries, which naturally attracted the curious little Sydney, who started leaving some food out for it, since it was too flighty to be approached at first. A few more weeks of getting it used to their presence, and it let itself be caught and taken care of.
Lilligant to me, was originally Sydney's other parent's pokemon, and acted as a sort of mother to them from the start. Lilligants release a soothing aroma, and I think in a time of mourning, or when Sydney lost Kylar, it would act as an aid and smother Sydney in the fragrance to help him feel better.
Okay so work with me for Volcarona here, because in multiple pokedexes, Volcarona is said to have been revered as a sun deity, and while that isn't the case today anymore, it still is a very significant part of Volcarona's history, so finding one in the woods while on a walk someday and being followed by it to the temple, all the while acolytes and initiates are falling to their knees around you is not the thing Sydney was expecting, but still, Volcarona has chosen them, so might as well roll with it.
Finally, Dedenne was a living in the school library before Sydney found it chewing through books and decided to give it a better home, and now it lives with them. It likes to take care of the books as well, and has become the library's unofficial mascot.
so uhh yeah those were my thoughts, tell me what you think ?
#pokemon dol#kylar the loner#dol kylar#sydney the faithful#sydney the fallen#dol sydney#whitney the bully#dol whitney#robin the orphan#dol robin#apple's writings#apple's writing
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𝒔𝒐𝒘 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒚
sequel to eyes of the ranger
pairing: boothill x gn!ex-undertaker!reader
genres: western!au, angst, domestic fluff, bits of hurt/comfort
word count: 8.6k
warnings: spoilers for boothill's backstory, death, heavy angst, explorations of grief, gun violence, blood, implied suicidal thoughts, unhealthy coping mechanisms
notes: I've only seen the bare minimum of his story leaks, and they've been spinning around my head ever since. Some details of the timeline might be tweaked, or imagined/added, but that's just for the au. Still, please enjoy this sequel, and what more I've added to this world! Here's some flowers again :) 💐
Read it on ao3!
~~~
Candles cast their glow brightly across wood panels as you hummed a lilting melody. Hands played with your hair, tugging on the strands to draw your attention away from the swirling pot of stew.
“Papa?"
"He'll be back soon, sweetie."
Your daughter shifted on your arm as you placed the spoon back in its resting spot. Her head fell against your shoulder, no doubt growing bored as crackles of fire echoed across the cabin.
You resumed the tune, bouncing slightly from side to side. She perked up once more as you took her hand over your first two fingers, thumb covering its small size. Her eyes began to crinkle as her first few teeth were revealed by a smile. She always loved dancing and music, likely because of her "silly papa".
When he left for town in the afternoon, he tripped over the porch's last step – on purpose, you suspected. She quickly laughed from where she sat with you in the rocking chair, calling him the nickname as he straightened up again. In just a couple strides he was back in front of you, fingertip meeting her nose before she swatted at him. He chuckled, leaving another kiss on both of your foreheads and embarking again.
As you gently spun, her gaze drifted to the window. She lit up, brighter than any heavenly body, and pointed to the door.
"Papa! Papa!"
The sound of approaching hooves met your ears softly, leading you to peer through the glass panes. Unfortunately, your vision was greeted by the furthest people from Boothill.
The National Hunter's Agency had grown to infamy everywhere you went. They had been given many pardons, and bought off plenty of sheriffs and their higher-ups to be able to operate as they pleased in numerous states. It seems now, after two years, they had caught wind of your bounty and wanted to cash in.
You carefully set her down on the floor, hands staying at her sides in case she lost balance. With some support, you walked her to your shared bedroom, guiding her to hide in your shaker wardrobe.
An anxious hand rotated the knob on the front door, leaving you face to face with a row of five men. Two in suits at the center, and three dressed more rugged at their side.
"Good evening." one greeted, smoke flowing from his mouth. "I assume you know why we're here."
The reverberations of your boots ceased before the steps as you stared at the lineup. "Naturally."
He hummed, throwing the remains of his cigarette to the dirt.
The agent at his right spoke up, "Why don't you walk down here, then."
“Isn’t it your job to capture me?”
“Continue resisting and you don’t have to be the only one we take.”
Your resolution faltered, and the hunters closed in. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Are you sure?”
Glass shattered behind you, followed by heavy thumping. Tendrils of dread inched in, their freeze creeping over your bones.
“Step down.”
Despite every instinct screaming for you to move, to follow their commands, denial and fear kept you in place.
“You’ve got about one minute before we force you to.”
A glaze fell over your surroundings, the situation tumbling to the wayside as your thoughts and blood rushed in unison. It was five against one, and each of them were armed – you were not. They had more information than they were letting on. Someone was searching the cabin for your daughter, likely their sixth. She would be weaponized if she was caught, stuck in the crossfire of your bounty.
Was there a way out of this? To prevent what seemed increasingly inevitable?
Well, yes. You could give yourself up.
But there was no guarantee of her safety afterward, or that you would remain alive.
Still, you and Boothill had made a promise when you first took her in, just one year ago. If danger ever presented itself, you would lay down your lives to protect her.
One of the hunters drew his pistol as your boot hit the first step.
Another dismounted, his dirtied white shirt twisting, then straightening once more as he approached you. A rough grip captured your arms, dragging them behind your back. Something hard hit the ground at your right, a rope thrown by one of his partners. It was wrapped and tied around your wrists, the friction beginning to cast a light burning sensation over the skin.
A foot met the back of your knees as he tightened the restraints, dust rising at the impact. One of the agents joined you, the scent of smoke lingering on his fingers as he brought your head up to meet his eyes. They returned to his side a moment later as his gaze turned to the cabin.
A hunter had your little girl in his grasp, her steps short, frightened, and struggling as she was led down the stairs. She looked at you, searching for answers or what to do.
The saddled agent’s voice sounded from behind, “The NHA seeks to rid these ranges of their impurities. When you wish to uproot an evil such as yourself, no trace must remain.”
He gestured toward the four hunters, and his fellow agent disappeared from your view.
Then the brutality they were known for reared its unforgettable head.
The low flat heel of a dress shoe met your back, staying there as you writhed on the ground, watching up at your daughter.
A metallic barrel crept to the rear of her head.
The tendrils of dread became horrible claws, sinking into every organ and twisting.
Warm ruby droplets cascaded over pale brown and flesh, as the shot’s echo dulled your senses and her body crumbled to the ground.
The claws dug open a void as a defeated cry exit your lips. You were released from under the agent’s foot, flipped over to stare at the cloud-stricken dusk. Voices yelled around you, the words fading into one persistent cacophony. A hand pressed itself down onto your shoulder, before a pain blossomed in the other. A rugged face peered down at you, contempt rising in their features. A new flower of sharp ache grew in your left thigh, tears finally stinging at your eyes.
A fresh splattering of blood flowed over your face, shocking you out of despair. Their body went limp over yours, and you quickly brushed them to the side. Now free from the hunter’s reach, you sunk your hands into the dirt beside you, slowly turning yourself back to your stomach. The hilt of a knife hit the ground as you did so, veins coming alight with panic from its twist in your wound.
Despite every injury, you only had one focus – to see your daughter one last time.
Sharp gravel digged uncomfortably underneath your legs as your restrained hands inched forward. Blood thrummed in your ears, yet the unmistakable sound of gunshots broke through. Within a matter of seconds someone rushed to your crawling form. They called for you, voice breaking at the scene as a hand brushed through your hair.
“Darlin’?”
Your head rose at every emotion kept within that one word, asked by a husky voice you could find in any darkness. Anguish cast itself over his face when he finally saw what you were headed toward. He sank to his knees next to you, a wrecked sob reaching into the evening only to be greeted by no comfort.
Reluctantly, you gazed at your daughter’s corpse, journeying silently past Boothill to finally touch her.
A sticky scarlet liquid mocked you, revealing your sorrow-stricken features coated in its kind within the pool. Your fingers rose to her, a warmth lingering below as she was turned. You summoned any last inkling of strength you had, smiling down to her and speaking softly.
“You were my pride and joy, sweetheart. I’ve had no greater honor than being your parent.”
You leaned down, a soft kiss landing on her forehead before you cried a chant of apologies. When any words you could conjure finally entered oblivion, your eyes looked back to Boothill. He hadn’t moved an inch, rendered paralyzed by the gravity of what he arrived home to. It seemed as though he had been ripped apart, every wire inside of him fraying.
This was your fault, and you were sure he knew that too.
Regret became a well in your heart, rising from the depths and overflowing onto its dying grass. Your head ached, thoughts swirling until each one sinked in grief’s whirlpool. In resignation, you lie beside her, holding her chilled hands between your fingers. If you closed your eyes, you could still see her smile as you danced making dinner.
It would feel best if you never opened them again, but you couldn’t leave Boothill to carry this weight alone. He didn’t deserve such a fate.
A hand swiped over your stained cheek, drawing you back to miserable reality. Tears descended from silver, embers kindling beneath their despair. You lifted your hands from hers, closing her lifeless eyes. Boothill’s hat rested at his chest, head downturned from where he knelt.
Together, you mourned.
—
PART I - Fatherhood And Other Dreams
"Papa! The moo-moos!"
"I see them!" Boothill chuckled, watching a finger point at their pasture.
Rena wriggled against his side, wanting to move closer to them. He complied, jogging to the wooden fence as she smiled.
Her small hands reached past the log fence, petting along one of the cow's heads as it grazed. She had such an affinity for the animals here, something you always joked she got from him.
Every morning like clockwork, she would point them out, longing to go and sit with them for a while. He would join her, occasionally teaching her things about their diets or hair as she would get close and stare into their big brown eyes.
Today she angled back against his leg and smiled at her altered reflection in them, before you tousled her growing hair. He hadn’t heard you approach, too absorbed in the scene to hear your boots kick up dust. His hand rose to rub against the back of your neck as you leaned into him, sipping on your mug of black coffee.
He had noticed your odd positioning on the pillow, no doubt leaving you with some pains when you woke. Quiet snores filled the room; something he would laugh with Rena about, her high-pitched giggles overtaking the silence of the night as her hands pat against your cheeks. Your light snoring would cease, and your face would scrunch up at the unexpected disturbance before you recognized the poking of your daughter. He watched as you tickled the side of her neck, placing a hand on her back when she fell on your chest and wiggled around in joy.
He’s never felt more love than in those little moments, witnessing his entire world as two shining stars amidst the murky midnight.
“In!”
“Brush first?”
“Yeah!”
He was brought back to you after a quick shake of his head, two gazes of the same color waiting for him. One enthusiastic, the other fond and patient as he bent down to pick up Rena. She played with his low braided hair, pulling a few small strands free. You ventured to the stables, likely fetching a brush that she had dropped on one of the chairs yesterday.
The grass was fresh with dew, shining under the morning rays. He opened the gate with ease, feeling a breeze run over his cheeks as he shut it behind him. The pasture was wide, yet filled with only ten cows. Each one would be brushed daily by Rena, starting with one patterned in brown and white. It was an activity she had adored since the first time you had brought her out to help just a couple months ago. Seeing how much she enjoyed it, he joined the two of you only a week later.
You came to his side, handing the brush over to her as you sipped on your coffee. He gestured at you with his chin as bristles met little hairs. With a smile, you turned the mug in his direction, a warm and bitter liquid flowing over his tongue.
A gentle laugh left your lips when the cow’s head moved, rising up into the brush and slightly twisting into it. Rena turned to you, beaming as she moved the brush to another spot. The cow reacted in turn, and you laughed again.
~
The wood ceiling of the barn came into view as Boothill’s head was tugged backward. A light chuckle echoed through the space, falling in time with the noon bird's chirp. His hat tumbled to the hay and dust riddled floor, yet it didn’t remain for long. Little hands left the ends of his hair, snatching the hat instead. He watched, bale in hand, as you scooped up Rena. In a swift motion, you placed his hat on her head, one arm wrapped around your neck and the other reaching for the large brim.
The bale crashed onto the floor, beginning a new stack by one of the stables. The sound brought Rena's attention to him, her head tilting backward to spot him from underneath the hat.
“Like papa!”
“You wanna be like him?"
"Yeah!"
"Then we're gonna have a lot to teach you."
He grinned, the brightness of the sun’s rays and his daughter’s admiration seeping into his smile. With her now distracted by one of the horses, he wrapped an arm around your waist, leaving a kiss on your lips before continuing his work.
~
The orange and golden rays of sunset beckoned your gaze to the large window overlooking the front porch. Rena slept peacefully on your chest, a combination of a full stomach and boredom likely the cause. You brought the book in your right hand to the other supporting her, flipping the page carefully.
The slow thumping of boots echoed through the door, prompting Rena to stir. She had always been a light sleeper, though she didn't always fully awaken. It seemed that this evening she would, leaning backward into your hand as the door opened. Boothill's figure emerged, lit by the bright horizon. She shuffled as her eyes opened to meet his, slowly laying further backward against your hand. Letting the leather-bound book fall from your lap, you wrapped both hands around her. She whined, leading one of your brows to raise.
Boothill inched closer, stopping at the edge of the rug in your little living area. You set Rena down, your hands staying at her sides. She watched the floor intently, gaze shifting between it and her papa. Quickly you picked up on her intentions, standing behind her and holding her hands just above her head.
Her foot moved forward slightly, and excitement blossomed on both your and Boothill's faces. He knelt down, holding his arms out for her. Feeling encouraged, she moved faster, taking her first few steps with your support. When she finally reached her papa, he lifted her up, cheering at her along with you. She beamed, her feet kicking back and forth in the air as she giggled.
~
The stars twinkled in the growing twilight, contrasting with the auburn and violet hues on the horizon. Cool grass stood between your fingers, the tranquility of the coming night bleeding into your spirit. The hill provided a lovely view of the valley below as crickets began to chirp. A thin herd of deer moved like whispers just a few feet before you.
One startled in your direction, the sound of Rena picking at strings increasing its paranoia. She was transfixed by the instrument, plucking as she sat in Boothill’s lap. His affectionate gaze watched down at her, adjusting the blanket over her legs.
There were many nights over the past few days you would wake to find Boothill absent from your bed. Rena would stir at your side, face scrunching further into the pillow as she murmured. After returning her stuffed bear from the other side of the bed, you would walk to find him at the kitchen table. The fire lit various scenes; some filled with brushes and varnish, others with whittling tools and etched knobs. Sometimes he would be passed out against the table, shavings coating his cheek. He wanted to complete the gift as soon as possible, his wish of sharing and passing on melodies and lyrics from his life fueling his craft.
Feeling fingers brush through his hair, Boothill would awaken to your soft gaze. Wordlessly you wiped his cheek, taking his hand in yours and bringing him to bed.
Gentle singing met your ears, skilled strumming of a guitar accompanying it. One large hand shifted up and down the strings, holding, shaking, and lifting to change the tune. The other encased one of Rena’s guiding her through the song.
The sun completed its descent underneath the horizon, and the herd of deer found their way back into the forest. Hints of light hung in the sky, now joined by colors of dandelions and the deep sea. The high-pitched babbling of your daughter chimed in during certain sections, forming a heart-warming duet. With your head on Boothill’s shoulder, you hummed along.
—
The town of Iris Creek was blissful, wilted blossoms gathering on the path's edges from the growing heat. The watery flow of its namesake echoed through the grand trees, calming your mind as you approached with Boothill at your side. After your most recent hunt, a week of rest was well-deserved.
Leaning down, you let the velvety liquid rush between your fingers. Its chill permeated your flesh, a content smile on your face as Boothill toyed with your hair.
“I enjoy seeing you this way.” he whispered, staring at you lovingly.
You turned, removing your hand from the water and laying back on the grass.
“At ease?” you questioned.
He nodded, resting down beside you, hat on his chest. You brushed aside his lengthening bangs, turning the strands together before running a thumb over his cheek.
He leaned into your touch as you asked, “Do you watch me sleep then?”
Embarrassed, his face angled toward the ground.
“Gettin’ shy on me, cowboy?”
He gave no response, simply meeting your eyes with a tender silver. Your lips met his cheek, feeling the bashful warmth gracing his features.
“I like it.” you spoke softly in his ear, leaving a little bite along the lobe.
One hand came up to your waist, holding tightly as your focus shifted to his neck. The other fell into your hair, gripping after a bold lick to the revealed skin.
“Can’t help but be at your mercy, sugar.”
“Such a charmer.”
“Around someone like you, it’s only natural.”
A nibble at the edge of his jaw led his fingers to rub underneath your shirt.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, look at you. One conversation and I was hooked.”
“All it took was one challenge for you to love me?” you chuckled.
“Sugar, all it took was one glance.”
A cry reverberated down the creek as you finally kissed Boothill’s lips. It was panicked and small, drawing you almost entirely from the moment.
Pushing off of his chest, you sat up to survey your surroundings. Boothill rubbed your thigh, looking at you curiously. Just a minute later the two of you stood, spotting a tarnished cloth amongst the bank’s brush.
“Do you see that?”
He followed your gaze, walking ahead of you only to kneel down and lift the sullied fabric. His eyes widened as he beckoned you over. The crying intensified, a tiny head turning from side to side.
A baby.
Boothill was the first to move, cradling them gently in his arms. You brought a finger to their grabbing hands, brushing another one over their forehead.
“What should we do?” you wondered aloud.
“Take them in?” he uttered.
“Are we ready for that, though? We’re wanted criminals, Boothill. That’s no life for a child.”
“Then we settle down.”
“There’s still no guarantee we won’t be hunted or ambushed.”
Your hands fell back to your side, unsure eyes watching the gears turn in his mind.
“We would be their parents, together we can take anybody. Lay down our lives if necessary. We could find somewhere more isolated, maybe even further out of this state. Teach them some of our methods as they get older.”
A heavy sigh left your lungs, the weight of dozens of questions slowly dissipating. There were many details to discuss and new plans to craft. Nonetheless, your head landed on Boothill’s shoulder, two adoring gazes on your child.
~
Butter-colored rays bore through the train car’s windows, wide mountains of tan rock and green bushes waiting outside. A bundle of blankets lay in your arms, encasing your daughter in comfort and warmth.
Boothill had left for them not long after you brought her back to the hotel, returning worriedly with them in hand. They were soft and luscious, leading you to wonder who he had stolen them from. “Only the best for our little girl” – it wasn’t just a statement but a promise.
Another was sworn that evening, your daughter finally clean and sleeping in your arms. Boothill rest behind you in the bed, shielding your small family from any danger while wrapping you in care.
“What should we name her?” he asked quietly, warm breath fanning over your neck.
You pondered silently, letting your head lay on his shoulder. “How about Rena?”
He hummed, a thick finger running over her forehead. “From that play of Effie's, right?”
“I think her story was admirable. Live freely, out on your own road, never waste your time with what you can’t change.”
“Now I like the ring of that.”
“See?” you smiled, a teasing slant to it. “When I wrote to her a few days ago she added in a thought or two about the characters. She said Rena also meant melody, at least according to what she could find in Thatcher's library.”
“Then it's settled.”
His chin landed in the crook of your neck as he simply watched her be, absorbed in thoughts of the future. It wasn’t until she stirred, eyes opening and hands seeking, that you witnessed him take on a gentleness formerly reserved for only you.
His eyes began to water as she held his finger close, staring up in his direction yet unable to pin him down. When she finally did, he sat like a spooked deer, only releasing a low, happy chuckle after your own.
A cough down the car broke you from idle reminiscence. Boothill read a crinkled paper, the letter sent from the ranch you were seeking out. He had come back one evening with the result after days of asking around. Down near Iron Springs, there was someone with plenty of land – could provide decent wages and a cabin to stay in. A suitable place to settle down, with much for Rena to learn and experience.
Taking his cheek between your empty fingers, you pinched and watched him grumble. Despite your lifestyle, you could only hope that this would be a lovely and safe life for her.
—
PART II - A Luminous Star, Ephemeral
Murky skies cried chilling droplets, harshly soaking your bloodstained shirt. The evening had to be setting in, but any hope of seeing the sun finally fade had long since dissipated with the storm’s onslaught. A frayed splinter dug into your palm, the weight of the shovel increasing as the hole in the ground deepened. The dirt was malleable, easy to unearth and pile up.
Many graves were dug by your hand, and you prayed this would be the last.
Boothill wept only a few feet away, Rena’s corpse in his arms underneath a sturdy tree. Ashamed, your gaze fell back to the emptying plot.
Heavy throbbing found its home along your left side, yet still, you had to dig. The pain was deserved – a punishment that fit your crime. Crusting edges tug and bent at the surrounding skin, the quickly cauterized wounds only growing more irritated by the rainwater.
Trickles of pink traversed down your cheeks, blood washing away slowly with your tears. Leaning on the shovel, your eyes rose from the ground. A strong and steady breeze cast the rain in sheets, carving figures in the mist. Discerning who they were was useless, you could remember them anywhere.
Your father, the Weston family, and your daughter.
The mud and soil coating your fingers shifted to a deep scarlet, beads falling from their tips and hitting your boots. Trees morphed into tombstones, and you found yourself paralyzed. Mr. Whitfield’s gravelly voice rang in your ears, drowning out any natural melodies.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn a pure soul, lost too soon. Rena Blackwell was an adored child, and she will continue to be so in our thoughts, and all the way to the depths of our hearts. Her smile could dispel any darkness, and her curiosity persisted to the ends of the earth. Her fascinations lie with animals and music, her greatest friends a pony and her papa’s guitar. May she find eternal peace amidst these mountains and plains, their windy song carrying her gently to the hereafter.”
Lightning crackled across the sky, an omen of your judgment day. Boothill’s shadowed figure stand illuminated by the last ounce of daylight breaking from the clouds. Rena lay delicately in the grave, eyes closed and hands folded, his hat just beneath their union. Wordlessly he took the shovel, leaving you to kneel at her side as dirt cascaded over her corpse.
Stars found their stages in the wisp-struck night sky, their beaming light mocking. If they were tangible to Earth, you would have left plenty of rounds in them. Mourning was an act displayed to you since childhood, but it never came easily. Perhaps that was part of the point. Loss would never be simple, and humanity is far too complex to handle it so. Death was an odd thing, and despite working so intimately with the inevitable specter, it had yet to reveal every one of its forms.
Every body you would prepare never revealed its secrets. No amount of soap and water could cleanse it's invasiveness. No number of incisions and blood drained could release the agony. The fluids injected could not provide life, and clothes would only emulate. Death was permanent, and excruciating to all.
You could shoot a man without hesitation, but being along the receiving end of that cruelty, you could only resign yourself to regret. You killed bad men, yet they still had lives. Friends and family they found or created.
The grating sound of a knife on wood reached your ears, breaking into your thoughts. Boothill sat opposite to you, a neat piece of bark in his hands. Raging thunder rolled, sending a chill down your spine. Paranoia created the shattering sense that you would be reunited with Rena by dawn. Either by your own hands or someone else’s; perhaps the heavens would shoot back, sanctioned by some higher force that heard your monologue.
You watched him work, one tainted hand of yours rubbing back and forth over the dirt housing your daughter. His actions soon faded to oblivion as the song of the storm played on.
When a new bolt of lightning crashed, you became privy to her tombstone.
Rena Blackwell
Beloved star
1892 - 1892
Boothill stood, utterly dejected and tear-stained, before extending a hand down to you. His head met your shoulder once you rose, and one of your hands reached his hair. Strength was needed of you, not misery. The only comfort you received was a fact – no harm would befall you in Boothill’s arms, unless he pointed the gun at you instead.
—
Cheers ascended from under the floorboards, filling your pitch-black room with taunting joy. Your eyes remained on the ceiling, hands at your sides as you lay still – attempting to sink into the hard mattress while the hurricane to your left continued. It was the sixth night ending like this. Boothill had yet to find slumber, his journey to it only filled with suffering. He never reached out, always keeping his back to you and his face toward the pillow.
Despite the stinging urge to run your fingers through his hair, not once could you ever. Conflicting instincts wanting nothing more than to soothe him, but craving an escape.
You rubbed your eyes, throwing the sheet off of your body. The night chill creeped in, the sensation a welcome dissipation for your tenseness. A sniff echoed before a heavy sigh, and not even a moment later the bed resumed its light shaking. Stomps came in unison from the bar below, startling you to jump. With a worn exhale you sat up, feet touching the rough floor. In just a couple quick movements, you were dressed well and ready to face the ruckus below.
A saddened silver gaze finally revealed itself in the sliver of light from the doorway, but yours focused only on the ground, afraid to face him.
Instead, you would find solace in a bartender’s hands, the liquor he poured leaving a delightful blaze in your throat – easing the pain one sip at a time. It was only now you could understand why Isaiah Weston made the choices he did. Too cowardly to navigate his emotions, much less his son’s. The vulnerability intimidating, and any words gone with the wind. A weight too heavy to hold, but various fears preventing you from ever sharing it.
Getting lost in the bottle was a romantic escape, then, even if you would come to regret it. That blossomed the vicious cycle, when your method of coping only added more guilt – defeating the purpose of this night to begin with.
A hand placed itself on your shoulder, bringing your gaze from empty shot glasses to a familiarly styled head of black hair. Tears rapidly welled in your eyes, spirit feeling despondent when their hand returned to the counter.
“Jasper?” you whispered, feeble hope fueling your delusion.
They shook their head at you, “I’m afraid that’s not my name.”
“My apologies.” you nodded, downing another round as they began talking to the bartender.
He was dead, the first to meet the end of your revolver. There was no place to find him besides six feet under, at the very cemetery you first met.
Perhaps a visit to Fort Talia was what you needed. It had been four or five years since you left that fateful night with Boothill, never to look back. Although now, after everything, maybe looking back is the right thing to do. Return to, and learn from the past in order to glance forward. Walk the deck of the funeral parlor, stop by your old house. Finally speak to your mother again.
It was decided. Talk to Boothill come morning and see if he would join you.
—
Bright noon rays lit up the dusty buildings of Fort Talia, its peaceful people walking past Boothill with nods and greetings. Under any other circumstance he would respond, however words failed him now. The brim of his new hat hung low, obscuring his features and providing a bit of comfort. The less others saw of him the better.
He was fractured, too many pieces scattered across the range for him to find. Conversation would not come easy when he could hardly even handle a talk with himself. Your hotel rooms had become suffocating as of late. Silence reigning and gazes only ever in opposing directions. It was cold – a sensation Boothill had become unfamiliar with after all these years. That only served to make your icy temperament feel like a burning hell. No words exit your lips, eyes focused out of windows, on the ceiling or the floor. It was unbearable, the shunning that leaked from your figure.
What had he done to make you feel so? Was he even to blame?
Silver watched the clouds drift over the sky, a horrible longing to join them occupying his mind. A nearly impossible fate for him, now feared more than ever.
“Papa!”
A small, light voice shouted excitedly, followed by the pattering of boots on the deck.
Boothill turned expectantly, arms shifting and ready to pick up his daughter.
Instead he was made a fool.
He quickly returned to a regular stance, leaving down the nearby alleyway to lean himself against the wood. That was somebody else’s child, not his. The title he came to love most would never be used again, abandoned amidst the Iron Springs forest. “Papa” was her first word, and possibly even her last.
He recalled the tears you shared when she spoke, listening to her babble about him. Her voice was that of angels, as if he was finally worthy of speaking to the heavens.
Now he lost that angel, the most vivid star in the sky.
~
Three moss-coated tombstones lay before you, names that you first came to know at fifteen.
Isaiah, Callie, and Jasper.
Ellis must rest in Warren, then. Forever separated from his family.
A couple desert marigolds grew along the path to the cemetery, and you left one at each of their graves. Six in total gathered in your hand – one for each person you were to visit, as well as two extras for whoever you saw fit.
Boots trudged through the dry ground, avoiding stones that shaped plots or decorated the base of a tombstone. Rocks of grey and tan sat below your father’s and the one now beside it.
Upon reading the inscription, the marigolds fell to the dust.
Your mother was buried at his right, her death only one year ago.
With your forehead to the fine wood of said tombstone, your resolve finally crumbled. Any strength you wished to hold forsaken for the misery you denied. Tears flowed and fell frenzied, patiently creating a mud where your fingertips dug into the ground.
All of this loss, but why?
Why cherish anything if it would only be ripped away?
Holding your precious little girl one moment, only for her blood to splash over your face the next. Befriend a lonely boy, one who you found a kinship with, just for him to be shot by your hand.
Your mother, who despite her own mourning, still silently reached out to you, giving you what support she could muster. Your father, who robbed and killed unbeknownst to you, still provided and taught you things he knew about the world that would never be shared at the old schoolhouse.
They all had one common thread – loving you.
Burden, plague, curse. All words that could describe what a detriment you were. If they never loved you, never met or created you, perhaps their fates would be different.
What of Boothill, then?
—
Droplet-stained windows displayed a wagon of bottles stopping outside of the saloon. One of the drivers lept from its front, unlocking the back panel and pulling out two jugs. He lifted them in each hand, a big smile on his face as he cheered through the doors.
The crude and familiar scent of cigarette smoke curled through the window as you cracked it open, the stale quietude of your hotel room grating your nerves. Boothill observed you idly from the bed as you inhaled deeply, palms on the framing. The smell was lovely now, soothing almost. His gaze bore into you, seemingly trying to decipher your inner world.
"What is it?" you spoke softly, head turning toward him.
He sighed, eyes shifting to the ceiling. "I… You've just been so… cold I guess. I try not to take it personally, but I can't help it sometimes."
"Our daughter died, Boothill."
He sat up, "You think I don't know that?"
With a heavy exhale, you faced him. "Of course you do, but I just…"
"Every day begins and ends with her. Not a second goes by where that scene ain't fillin' my head."
"You assume it isn't the same for me? I watched them shoot her – her blood was on my face for hours! Do you think I can forget that?"
"I'm not askin' you to!"
"It sure sounds like it!"
"I just want some answers and for you to recognize that you're not the only one hurtin' here. Shutting me out hasn't been doing any good."
"Shutting you out? I recall you doing that to me. Any time I reach out, you leave or move away from me, and I get no words, nothing! You've got no love or respect for me anymore!"
"Don't you go there." He stood, inching closer to you with every word. "How dare you say that I feel nothing for you. If anything, you've been giving that treatment to me. Do you know how it feels to lay there cryin', wishing that your partner would just run their fingers through your hair and share that pain with you? No. Instead they go out for the night doin' who the heaven knows what, and then return at dawn like nothing happened. Like they didn't just abandon you to return reeking of alcohol or bruised and bloodied. Do you know how powerless that makes somebody?"
"I'm handlin' my own pain my way. I'm tryin' to be strong for you!"
"I don't want you to be strong for me! I want to know that my partner is here, and never leavin'! You remember what I said? I take care of you and you take care of me. That was the promise!"
"Well how are you takin' care of me exactly?"
"How am I supposed to begin if you never let me in!"
"Rich comin' from the likes of you."
"Why're you talkin' down to me? Do you think that helps?"
He paused before you, staring down into your eyes with a mixture of fire and love – an undertone of concern and fear. His hands came to hold your shoulders, and you hesitantly accepted the touch. One drifted up to the side of your neck, his thumb tracing your jaw and the edge of your cheek. The way he'd always comfort you. A guilt began setting in, tearing and biting at your throat, preventing any words from leaving you – likely for the better after your childish retorts.
"I don't wanna fight with you, darlin'. Please, just talk to me."
Wordlessly, you placed your arms around his neck, hugging him cheek to cheek. His own came to encase you when you finally whispered everything in his ear.
"I miss you… so much it hurts. I'm so sorry for all of the turmoil I've given you. That was never my intention. I just… I felt like you hated me. Blamed me for her… death."
"I never could."
"And I know that now. I didn't mean to be so cold, and I understand how you need me. I must admit I'd like to be selfish and have you do the same."
"That's not selfish."
You sniffed, "My… my mama died a year ago."
"Darlin'..."
"I didn't know." Fresh tears welled in your eyes. "She had no way to write to me. I have no idea what could have happened to her. She was all alone, lost to the world in our little house."
His hands descended to your hips, carefully stepping backward as you clung to him reluctant to move. He turned, setting you down on the bed before walking to get a blanket off of one of the chairs. The soft wool came into your hands before a weight settled behind you.
“Lay down.”
You shifted up the bed, throwing the blanket over your legs and resting your head. Boothill shuffled up next to you, his cheek to your chest. He stared up at you, eyes closing when your fingers finally ran through his hair. A sigh filled the room, mingling with gentle neighing from the street below. Silver was revealed to you once more, a low and husky whisper reaching your ears.
"We had this huge tree, back on the farm down in Redhawk. Its branches were wide and overflowing with leaves, but on a windy night you could see the stars through them. My fathers, they were always dreaming -- planning for our future. We'd sit out there and they'd talk for a while, answer any of my questions and teach me some life lessons. Eventually, one would get to strummin' on the guitar and we'd sing and cheer along – it was the most fun when some of their friends would come to visit or we'd host some guests from the road.
One was more pragmatic than the other, though they both had sharp minds. He could talk to anybody, find out anything he wanted to know. More caring and gentle, but still very strong. My other was a great gunslinger, and charismatic to a fault. He was a little rough around the edges, but I loved him anyway. They were my idols; taught me nearly everything I knew before I started goin' on the round-ups. Wasn't until I went back to our farm just a couple years later that I found it tore apart, two letters on the dining table for me. They were gone -- one captured and killed by the NHA and the other off to get revenge. He left me one of his revolvers, the same one I still use today."
Your fingers ran over his exposed cheek, noting the brimming water in his eyes matching your own.
“They raised a brilliant son.”
Your voice cracked as you finished speaking, watching him cry into you as you released your own burdens. The euphoria of budding forgiveness and the grief previously set aside catching up to you. It seemed that nearly every pain of yours was one he shared at some point or another, and it only emphasized the resolution of your argument.
You needed each other now more than ever.
—
“Are my eyes playin’ tricks on me?”
“Well I don’t believe it either.”
A man shook hands strongly with Boothill, hitting his other down on his shoulder. He had a confident glint in his hazel gaze, a boisterous air around him.
“How’ve you been, you beautiful piece of scrap?” he chuckled.
“Times have certainly been better.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, friend.” was his somber reply.
You extended your hand, feeling a calloused one against your palm.
“I see you’re his partner in crime, undertaker.”
“You got one of your own yet?” you asked, trying to keep the atmosphere light.
“Of course! You’re more than welcome to come by tonight and meet her, our kids as well! We’ve got two of them raisin’ hell all over the place.”
“Thank you, but-”
“We’ll be there.” Boothill interrupted, a sharp smile contrasting with his sullen eyes.
“I’m happy to hear that!” Lee beamed, “Some supper'll be ready for you.”
His hand hit your elbow playfully before he focused on Boothill.
“What liquor do you like now, ‘Hill?”
~
Lee’s porch was well-lit, a small garden out front with bright flowers and a structure of twigs resting alongside the stairs. It was likely built by his children, or whoever got distracted while watering and left puddles on the steps. A light knock reverberated through the door, summoning a figure that stood as tall as the knob to open it.
“Hello!”
Quick steps came from behind them, before the door was tugged open further.
“Come in, please!”
You were the first to cross the threshold, a large fireplace and a set table coming into view. Chairs were gathered immediately to your left, some books and a half-built pyramid of empty cans decorating the scene. Blankets were gathered against the wall, dark brown eyes meeting yours as a shaggy dog rose from its bed.
Lee carried a pot to the table, a white cloth protecting his hands from the hot handles. He uttered warnings of the heat to his kids, the same ones who greeted you at the door. Another figure, just slightly taller than him, followed behind with a pitcher of water in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in the other.
While they continued preparing the food and adjusting the ambience, one child tugged on the ends of Boothill’s coat. The other peppered him with questions, looking excitedly at his gun and even more so at the chamber kept in his arm. A small smile grew on his face at their attention before they returned to Lee, wanting to know stories about his “heroic” friend. He followed them to the table, pouring two cups of water from the pitcher and handing it to them. Joyfully, they thanked him and resumed their conversation with Lee.
Seeing what he had raised mixed feelings. You were happy that he had found somebody of his own, that they seemed to love each other and work well together. That joy still couldn’t bury the tinge of envy sinking in, created from how it hurt to be reminded of what your family could have been had Rena simply been allowed to grow.
Scratching behind one of the dog’s ears, a tap landed on your shoulder and grey fingers came into view. They held a glass out to you, filled with clear liquid.
“For you, darlin’.”
The undertone of his words were not lost on you – avoid drinking tonight. Let me take care of you.
“Would you like some stew?”
The welcoming voice of Evelyn sounded from the dining table, a bowl and ladle in her hands. You accepted her offer, watching her gold wedding band glint in the light as you approached her. Their dog followed just behind, its nose occasionally bumping into the back of your leg.
The stew was warm in your hands, making a soft thud against the counter as you sat beside Boothill. A savory broth coated your tongue, the heat of a home-cooked meal comforting amidst the chilly desert night. Conversation flowed easily between all of you, as if you were playing back at the saloon years ago. It wasn’t until there were scraps in bowls and empty glasses covering the table that it took a more serious turn.
Evelyn dismissed their children, Emmett and Mable, from the table. Begrudgingly they went to the living area, playing with the dog and continuing to build their pyramid.
"What happened, 'Hill?" Lee questioned lowly.
You placed your hand along the back of Boothill's neck, meeting his somber gaze. “Let’s talk about it.”
He sighed, his eyes leaving yours and looking at the couple on the opposite side of the table. "Just eight or nine months ago we found a baby up in Iris Creek. We took her in as our own, raising her at that ranch I was tellin’ you about in Iron Springs.” He paused a moment, and you brushed your thumb against his nape, your focus remaining on the wood floor. “About… About three weeks ago the NHA came knockin'. They killed her right in front of them." His gaze turned to you momentarily. "I arrived shortly after."
"I'm so incredibly sorry to hear that." Evelyn spoke gently, placing her hands over one of yours and Boothill's. "I won't pretend to know that pain, but we're here if you need anything."
Lee reciprocated her action, a grit in his voice that was vastly different from hers. "Those cruel bastards will get their judgment day." He exhaled after a glance from his wife, solemnly looking at you, then at Boothill. "She's right, though. A room, food, company, whatever you need. There'll always be a warm fire ready here for you."
—
Bidding farewell to the McHale’s was difficult. They wanted nothing more than to continue catching up, but the night was passing and grogginess collectively set in. Emmett and Mable shouted their goodbyes from the porch, accompanied by the waves of Evelyn and Lee. You returned their gestures, slowly riding off from their home. Boothill’s gaze turned to the stars after saying his own goodbyes, watching the sky as he shifted back and forth. There was much to ponder after that visit, especially for him. The two of you hadn’t talked much in the past few hours, occupied by your own worlds and memories of the past.
Life had been fulfilling thus far, though one world-altering regret weighed heavily on that idea. A certain finality came with it, a need for eventual acceptance lest you meet that finality yourself. In time you would arrive there, but for now it was best to let the pain run its course – feel it and share in it. Boothill had no expectation of you than to simply be there for him as he is for you. Rena had two parents, and lived the best, most beautiful life you could provide for her.
There was one thing you had learned about death -- all that it claimed were eternally benevolent, either in life or the hereafter. If your parents, or Boothill's fathers were here right now, made of flesh and blood, they would want the best for you. For you to live another day and find your place in this wide and bittersweet world. They strived the same as you, to give their child the life they deserved. Perhaps Jasper's notions in the face of death's door were correct. Family would reunite, free of burdens and earthly matters. Spirits would live on in bliss, their memory preserved by each generation.
When you picture all that you've lost, you see a beautiful ranch -- just like the one you worked in Iron Springs. There would be a grand tree, housing Boothill's fathers and little Rena giggling and tugging on one's hair just like she would with you. Your parents would exit a cabin with various drinks and a bowl of apples, stopping to share one with a horse on their way to the meeting spot. Maybe even the Weston's were there, Isaiah smiling from a rocking chair on the porch. Callie would be happy, free of sickly features and whistling a tune. Ellis, cleaning his guns right beside his father. And Jasper would walk from the door, giving each of them a hug before running over to your parents and helping them carry their goods.
If the day ever came, when you would face that reaper with your boots on, that was the life you craved to return to. One where you could drink, laugh, and settle things with your large family -- everyone you ever held dear gathered 'round to celebrate the day. You would wait for Boothill, the inevitable fact being that he would outlive you. It was an idea accepted long ago. Confronting reality was necessary for the life you lead.
Yet that was the other thing about death -- love surpasses it. No matter what kind that love was, it would dance across the edge into the realm of departure. While it may alter itself, those living would still hold its fondness.
If the day ever came that Boothill joined you, either as he is now or as Jesse Blackwell, you would greet him with arms wide open. That very same love remaining with the dead, living in their own peaceful way at your little ranch.
"What's on your mind, darlin'?" he whispered, gazing at you now, instead of the night sky.
"You, and our dreams." you replied with a small smile.
“How romantic of you.” he chuckled, a contrasting and heavy look in his eyes.
Silence rode along between you for a moment until you spoke up, “Where do we go from here?”
He exhaled, a defeated yet promising sound. “Let’s just start with our hotel room. Take it one day at a time from there.”
#coff writes for hsr 🍾#i've only seen like four of the things that have been shared and talked about the most from his leaks#mostly since i don't want to seek them out#since i think it'll be even more impactful when it's officially shared in the story#but still#i'm looking forward to it :)#and with the little bit i've seen so far#i wanted to continue his and the reader's story in this au#and the challenges that come with what they face#especially with the reader being a former undertaker#also the title is from seed of memory by terry reid if you're curious :)#and if you know where the title for part 1 is from here's some extra love 🫶 one of my favorite games of all time and an inspo for this au#anyway tag time!#honkai star rail#hsr#hsr boothill#hsr x reader#hsr boothill x reader#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail boothill#honkai star rail boothill x reader#hsr fanfic#hsr au
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Thinking about how 90% of the problems that happen in the Quarry could've been avoided if Travis Hackett just talked to and recruited Max and Laura to the werewolf hunt. Instead of, y'know, locking them up for two months and then vaguely explaining whats going on and being super antagonistic the entire time
#how hard woild that have been#'your boyfriend has been bit just like my family we have all the resources you need to kill the head one'#like their might have been some resistance at first#but if they had just TOLD her that there was a head werewolf that would cure EVERYONE#than none of this would have happened#Also then they could have locked up max#whoch they apparently didn't due to with Kaylee and Caleb?? or if they did it was weak as shot#the most baffling plotline to me#the quarry#the quarry spoilers
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If your eye causes you to [fear], pluck it out (P1 | P2 | P3 | B) (Patreon)
#Doodles#SCII#NEJ#Captain Sterling#Blood#Body horror#(I'll put the spoilers further down in the tags so if you'd rather wait to read all the way through first just ignore these for now)#Hey it's not spooky season yet! What the heck!#NEJ got me bad I super didn't expect it but thinking about his scopophobia exploded my brain#I don't know why! It's not like I forgot! Details just fuzzy enough to feel like novelty again I guess lol ♪ I'll take it#It was a fun concept to play in :D I guess I've never really thought about it but I do actually enjoy eye horror? :0#I have for a while when I look back at it I just never put the name to it haha#Poor Sterling haha he's only had a few sets to himself and then I do this to time - well he seems fine! Lol#Well maybe not Completely fine there's something weird about him hmm ♪#[Spoilers starting] I know Sterling hasn't had a lot of screentime so far but I can tell you this isn't how he'd normally talk#He /is/ still a human Captain so take from that what you will - he has some of his own mannerisms - at least enough to be recognizable#But there's something Not Quite Right about him besides the obvious lol#No he hasn't been possessed but he is Something of a puppet at the moment :3 How we appear to others through their own lense and all that#This is NEJ's interpretation of Sterling through his VUX frame hehe - probably not difficult to guess but NEJ isn't having a fun time of it#How might his fears manifest inside his mind? /And/ the opportunity for horror and blood? How could I resist?#[/Spoilers]#I really am quite pleased with how it turned out :D I initially intended for it to be a Scratch comic but then it kept turning out pretty!#I especially like the panel of Sterling leaning towards him and NEJ leaning away with his head tendrils up ah <3#His expression is intentionally hidden but you can still tell what he's feeling! Large and fearful! ♥#I also rather like Sterling's first panel of his eyes missing I think the toning came out particularly nice there :)#The guilt of putting my lads through Things is always outweighed by how fun it is to do so haha
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Honestly as far as season soundtracks go, I think season nine might be the best
#the way they bring the dragon theme from earlier seasons back and pull so many variations on it#iron baron's theme... there's one version of it that's genuinely Terrifying like the first time i heard it i checked out on everything else#slightly fewer thoughts on the ninjago side of things but the resistance theme is really good#OH!!! harumi's theme this season is fantastic too#not actually sure if its a variation on the theme that she has from s8 or not just cuz her theme doesn't stick in my head very well for some#reason but there IS one that plays a lot when she's on screen this season and its so tragic... makes me upset i love it#feel like there was some really smart use of silence too but that might have been season 8. cant remember.#ANYWAYS. good soundtrack
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what WAS the normal child response to learning abt climate change actually. bc I’m pretty sure ‘depressed for at least 6 months and becoming deeply fascinated by apocalypses for ~3 years’ was prooooobably not it but who am I to say
#did NOT realise how much this has shaped me actually#also am not exaggerating when I say depressed I. cannot remmeber a lot of it but my parents were Worried about me#anyway I joke abt how I’m a biologist now bc of pokemon and that is very true but this is probably a pretty big chunk too#it’s just wild like that happened when I was 11 and I was DEEEEEP in the apocalypse trenches until I was at least 14#I think I wrote my first longish story when I was? 13? about waking up after some massive chunk of time to a world with no people left#that concept rlly held onto me for some reason. just all the people suddenly disappearing#I’m saying all this like I’m not still rlly into apocalypse stories but it is a mere shadow of its former self#anyway I’m so grateful for the conservation module I took this year bc learning abt the state of everything + the way out of it#scientifically instead of piecemeal from the news and the shit I could read abt. has been rlly good for my everything honestly#didn’t properly sink in until two months ago I don’t think that year this is kiiinda what I would like to do with my life#bc I’d always been resistant to the idea of doing conservation or climate science or anything bc historically thinking abt it for too long#has been BAD for me and I didn’t think I could do that forever while keeping most of me#but now I’m at a point where like. okay very likely I’m gonna be an actual scientist. and while pure science is cool and worthwhile#and I still have feelings abt how there’s no funding or anything for studies without immediate practical applications#(THEY NORMALLY COME LATER AND EVEN IF THEY DONT ITS WORTH KNOWING EVERYTHING WE CAN KNOW SHUT UUUUPPP)#i do wanna do smth that’s gonna make a difference bc like I’m kinda in a position where that’s possible here#anyway my masters is gonna be ecology and hopefully with a microclimate focus which is cool as hell and will hopefully keep stuff open a bit#and I’m gonna try do as much as I can next year. there’s some very cool stuff happening I might be able to join#anyway wow this took a turn#climate crisis! woo!!#luke.txt
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Ancient redwoods recover from fire by sprouting 1000-year-old buds
Article | Paywall free
When lightning ignited fires around California’s Big Basin Redwoods State Park north of Santa Cruz in August 2020, the blaze spread quickly. Redwoods naturally resist burning, but this time flames shot through the canopies of 100-meter-tall trees, incinerating the needles. “It was shocking,” says Drew Peltier, a tree ecophysiologist at Northern Arizona University. “It really seemed like most of the trees were going to die.”
Yet many of them lived. In a paper published yesterday in Nature Plants, Peltier and his colleagues help explain why: The charred survivors, despite being defoliated [aka losing all their needles], mobilized long-held energy reserves—sugars that had been made from sunlight decades earlier—and poured them into buds that had been lying dormant under the bark for centuries.
“This is one of those papers that challenges our previous knowledge on tree growth,” says Adrian Rocha, an ecosystem ecologist at the University of Notre Dame. “It is amazing to learn that carbon taken up decades ago can be used to sustain its growth into the future.” The findings suggest redwoods have the tools to cope with catastrophic fires driven by climate change, Rocha says. Still, it’s unclear whether the trees could withstand the regular infernos that might occur under a warmer climate regime.
Mild fires strike coastal redwood forests about every decade. The giant trees resist burning thanks to the bark, up to about 30 centimeters thick at the base, which contains tannic acids that retard flames. Their branches and needles are normally beyond the reach of flames that consume vegetation on the ground. But the fire in 2020 was so intense that even the uppermost branches of many trees burned and their ability to photosynthesize went up in smoke along with their pine needles.
Trees photosynthesize to create sugars and other carbohydrates, which provide the energy they need to grow and repair tissue. Trees do store some of this energy, which they can call on during a drought or after a fire. Still, scientists weren’t sure these reserves would prove enough for the burned trees of Big Basin.
Visiting the forest a few months after the fire, Peltier and his colleagues found fresh growth emerging from blackened trunks. They knew that shorter lived trees can store sugars for several years. Because redwoods can live for more than 2000 years, the researchers wondered whether the trees were drawing on much older energy reserves to grow the sprouts.
Average age is only part of the story. The mix of carbohydrates also contained some carbon that was much older. The way trees store their sugar is like refueling a car, Peltier says. Most of the gasoline was added recently, but the tank never runs completely dry and so a few molecules from the very first fill-up remain. Based on the age and mass of the trees and their normal rate of photosynthesis, Peltier calculated that the redwoods were calling on carbohydrates photosynthesized nearly 6 decades ago—several hundred kilograms’ worth—to help the sprouts grow. “They allow these trees to be really fire-resilient because they have this big pool of old reserves to draw on,” Peltier says.
It's not just the energy reserves that are old. The sprouts were emerging from buds that began forming centuries ago. Redwoods and other tree species create budlike tissue that remains under the bark. Scientists can trace the paths of these buds, like a worm burrowing outward. In samples taken from a large redwood that had fallen after the fire, Peltier and colleagues found that many of the buds, some of which had sprouted, extended back as much as 1000 years. “That was really surprising for me,” Peltier says. “As far as I know, these are the oldest ones that have been documented.”
... “The fact that the reserves used are so old indicates that they took a long time to build up,” says Susan Trumbore, a radiocarbon expert at the Max Planck Institute for Biogeochemistry. “Redwoods are majestic organisms. One cannot help rooting for those resprouts to keep them alive in decades to come.”
-via Science, December 1, 2023
#redwoods#california#wildfire#climate change#extreme heat#natural disasters#botany#plant biology#photosynthesis#santa cruz#hopepunk#sustainability#climate hope#united states#good news#hope
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how i met your mother — gojo satoru
contents. fluff, meet ugly, established relationship, highschool!gojo in flashback, gojo just loves his wife and everyone is sick of it
notes. this is apart of my indulge me series but everything can be read as a standalone!
“you forgot to give me a kiss this morning,” your husband pouts from your lap before puckering his lips out, “i’ll need a thousand more to compensate!”
just a couple meters away from you, paper crinkles harshly as nanami, your fellow colleague, flips the page on the newspaper he’s reading. you hear a heavy sigh leave his lips. “i missed it when you both hated each other,” he readjusts his glasses with one hand tiredly. he’s disappointed, but not surprised with satoru’s behavior.
this comment causes itadori, who happened to be hanging out in the teacher’s lounge to perk up.
“gojo-sensei and gojo-san hated each other?” he sits up straight on the couch. the pink haired boy looks between you and satoru, who is purring happily as you play with his hair. “i can’t imagine that..” he mumbles quietly. he was, unfortunately, a first hand witness of gojo’s love for you.
the white haired male that was comfortably nestled in your lap looks up at you, “ah! she tried so hard to resist my charms, but this handsome face won in the end!” his loud boast leads you to cover his mouth with the palm of your hand.
“that couldn’t be farther from the truth,” you press your palm harder against his mouth, determined to silence his protests.
nanami easily ignores his senior’s muffled whines while itadori looks at his sensei in pity. marriage must be tough, he thinks.
you only lift your hand off of his mouth with a shriek when satoru decides to lick your palm. he smirks proudly at himself causing the other two males in the room to grimace at the strange display of affection.
“darling, you hated me?” his eyes blink up at you innocently, blue eyes on full display. you purse your lips together, resisting whatever game he was playing at. from the moment you stepped into the lounge with him, he insisted on taking his blindfold off. he argues that he has to see you with his own eyes or he’ll die. you argue that he’s dramatic. nonetheless, satoru was cute so you’ll let him get away with it.
“hate is a strong word– i just didn’t like you very much. we got off on the wrong foot, might i remind you.”
2005 — year one at tokyo jujutsu tech
meet at 1 chome-1-1 dogenzaka, shibuya city, tokyo
that was written in the letter addressed to you from yaga. the bustling streets of tokyo, filled with the cacophony of hundreds of conversations and the rush of oncoming traffic, were a stark contrast to the serene country life you had enjoyed.
the sheer mass of people in the street made it nearly impossible for you to spot your teacher and future classmates, but the heavens above must be on your side because you spot a dark uniform in the corner of your eye, similar to the one you’re wearing.
a jujutsu tech uniform! without wasting a second, you weave your way through the crowd to the tall figure. upon closer inspection, you find that it was a boy with snow hair, a juxtaposition to the dark fabric of his uniform.
“excuse me, but are you by any chance from–” you tap on the abnormally tall frame from behind.
“not interested.” he doesn’t spare you a glance before walking away. it takes you a minute to process what had just happened. did he just–? that must have been a figment of your imagination. you feel as though you were shell shocked.
another voice joins the conversation, “oh, gojo, you found her.” it was another guy with a uniform just like the white haired boy and yours. he has notable bangs, you think.
“did i? she must be a real weakling. i couldn’t even sense her cursed energy,” gojo now turns back to look at you.
a surge of irritation courses through you, your grip on your skirt tightening. this guy must be some spoiled brat that came from a special lineage. you shoot him a sharp glare from the corner of your eyes, only to find out that he too had a sharp gaze on you.
a low whistle comes out of his mouth.
“oh,” there is a noticeable change in the tone of his voice. from your peripheral vision, you notice him take off his round sunglasses. “hey.” you want to laugh.
out of pure pettiness, you recycle his previous comment, “not interested.”
thankfully, another student arrived, this time it was a girl with short brown hair. she waved at you politely, to which you happily smiled. it was nice to know that there were some people left in this world with manners.
soon after her arrival, yaga comes.
“hello, i’m [last name] [first name] from kyoto. please take care of me!” you bow before everyone but gojo or whatever his name is. you come to find out that mr. bangs is actually geto and the pretty girl is ieiri.
“you didn’t tell me she was hot,” gojo not-so-quietly whispers to geto. the hand over his mouth is in vain because you can still hear him clearly. both ieiri and geto make a distasteful face.
you look around confused. it’s not everyday you receive such a brash compliment, “...thank you?”
there’s a slightly horrified look on gojo’s face when he realizes that you had heard him, but he recovers quickly, replacing it with a cheshire grin.
“say, have you been to shinjuku? i’m sure a country bumpkin like you wouldn’t know, so allow me to–”
there’s only so much patience in your body. with a deep breath and your best passive aggressive smile, you utter, “no thanks.”
he blinks. once. twice. you assume he is not used to rejection with the way he has yet to process it.
a soft chuckle leaves his mouth, “playing hard to get, i see. i like a challenge.”
“that’s not really the case.”
“one date,” he announces with a playful smirk, raising a single finger in emphasis.
you’re on the verge of shaking your head in rejection, but before you can, yaga intervenes, swiftly and unceremoniously slapping the back of gojo’s head.
“kids these days,” he mutters under his breath while gojo rubs the wound painfully. you snicker.
gojo straightens up when the sound of your laughs reaches his ears. his eyes track the sound waves back to your face, only to be disappointed when he sees that your attention is on geto.
unlike gojo, geto was trying to salvage what was left of a good first impression. the black haired male smiles awkwardly, leading you away from his strange friend, “so you’re from kyoto? why didn’t you attend the jujutsu tech there?”
from behind you, there’s an incredulous, “eh? and lose a beauty like that to the kyoto guys?”
you’re nearly certain that a blood vessel is about to pop. but you swallow your frustration, choosing to answer the only sensible boy you’ve met today.
“i’m trying to avoid clan matters, so kyoto is the last place i want to be,” you explain to geto who nods understandingly.
what you don’t see is the sneaky wink he sends back at a fuming satoru.
2018 — present day
your recollection must not have been accurate, because your husband is sulking by the end of your story.
“hmph. that’s not how i remember it.” he crosses his arm with a huff.
“how do you remember it? do tell.” you look down at him. there’s a cheeky glint in his eyes, like you’ve just walked into his trap.
there’s a cheeky glint in his eyes, like you’ve just walked into his trap. “i remembered cherry blossoms falling and more hearts floating around,”
you smack his shoulder.
“be serious!”
he waves his hand in the air to stop your playful attacks, “fine, fine!”
you know that he’s secretly enjoying the attention.
“well, i’m quite the looker so it was common for girls to constantly gush over me y’know?” he grins. you did not find that amusing, retracting your hands from his hair. he immediately grabs your hand and places it back on his head.
“let me finish!”
you resume your handiwork on his head reluctantly. “go on.”
there’s a content smile on his face, “i thought you were just trying to hit on me! it was only after i took a good look at you, i realized that you were totally hot.”
“i can’t believe i married you.” you roll your eyes, but there is no malice behind the action.
“hah–” his mouth is wide open. “i’m a total catch, ya’ know?!”
“mhm, yeah. you are a catch toru,” you coo while pinching his cheek and he blushed furiously.
the two of you are too engrossed with each other to notice the horrified look that has settled on nanami’s face. one peaceful afternoon, he thinks. one peaceful afternoon is all he asks for.
extra notes-
yuji respects gojo as his teacher, but he still can’t believe that gojo was able to pull you.
there have been multiple occasions where you had forgotten to give satoru a goodmorning kiss, each time he finds you and forces you to actually give him a dozen to compensate. it doesn’t matter if he was on a mission or teaching (he’s annoying like that).
gojo’s the pride of the gojo clan so he was spoiled rotten, hence the reason why he was so sure you were into him.
this is only the start, as your high school years go by, he only falls harder.
#kt.writes.·:*¨༺#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x you#gojou satoru x reader#gojou satoru x you#gojo fluff#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen fluff#gojou x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x you#jjk x reader#remember spring days!au
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Don't feed him he'll come back (2)
simon riley x neighbour! reader
summary: The ghost that lives in your apartment is a solitary man, people tend to stay out of his way, giving him a wide berth. You can't help but think he seems a little bit lonely, cue pestering him with bad jokes and food.
word count: 1.3k
A/N: Simon's POV of events. Find part 1 here. Part 3 here 18+ nsfw themes
Simon’s not entirely sure what to make of his pretty neighbour who fattens him up with their cooking and has a penchant for bad jokes that might outshine even him. From the moment he’d caught you staring with wide eyes he’d expected wariness, or outright fear, those were the typical responses. He hadn’t expected you to force a tray of pasta bake into his hands and then promptly disappear before he could get a word in.
It’s a bit ridiculous, but the random act of kindness set his teeth on edge, enough that he’d even suspected foul play briefly. Hunger and logic eventually won out over his paranoia and Simon devoured the tray embarrassingly fast. He’s not quite sure how to face you so he simply leaves the tray outside your door and assumes that will be that.
Except it’s not. For some reason you’ve taken it upon yourself to feed him, leaving an array of dishes from dinners to snacks. Apart from an initial note inquiring into allergies you adapt his diet on experience, taking note of what he does and doesn’t seem to enjoy.
He doesn’t know how to get you to stop, nor does he really want you to. Not when he’s become entirely too reliant on you feeding him, eagerly awaiting each new dish with the excitement of a hyperactive toddler.
Price says he’s got a crush, which is just absurd, the only thing he knows about you is your name. And that your left cheek has a dimple when you smile, and that you love your cat more than anything and that-
He doesn’t have a crush.
Then the elevator breaks. It breaks with only you and him inside and instead of panicking like he expected, you only seemed mildly annoyed for a few seconds before you turned to him with a conspiratorial grin. “A bear walks into a bar and says give me a whiskey and… cola. Why the big pause? Asks the bartender. The bear shrugged. I’m not sure, I was born with them.”
Simon’s a little floored and it’s probably only his shock that prevents him from laughing because dammit, that was better than some of his. What shocks him even more is that you aren’t deterred from his silence. If anything, you seem to take it as a personal challenge and your eyes glint in determination.
It’s both a mixture of the jokes and you’re adorable determination that finally pulls a chuckle from his lips and Simon will forever remember the way your face absolutely lit up at the noise.
It’s not until he provides a joke of his own before ducking into the safety of his apartment that he briefly thinks Price may have been onto something. He staunchly pushes that thought away but then you start leaving jokes with the food and he has to admit he’s in a little bit of trouble.
You wrangle his number from him (not that he resisted very hard) and then you wrangle him into your apartment and you make him watch as you flit around your kitchen in order to feed him.
His next deployment comes at exactly the right time and Simon is prepared to spend the months away getting over you. Except this doesn’t happen because you send him a joke every day without fail, not even deterred when he rarely responds.
You send a selfie of you and your cat and Simon stares far longer than is appropriate. He’s dreamt of you before, both innocently and not so. For some reason, the distance makes this worse and Simon wakes hard and aching for you more often than not.
(Johnny walks in on him with his hand in his pants staring at a picture of you once and neither of them can look at each other for days. He thinks this is preferable to the shit-eating grins Johnny throws his way now.)
For the first time in his life, Simon’s desperate to get back from deployment to the empty apartment he barely considers his home. The empty white walls and space not seeming as depressing when he knows you’re waiting for him just across the hall. Waiting to fill the dark void in his chest that grows when he loses access to your smile.
For the first time in his life, Simon doesn’t want to leave his apartment. Each time Price calls him away from your presence starts to weigh on his soul more and more. It’s getting harder and harder to stop being Simon, to put on the mask and be the Ghost when all he can think about is you.
It all comes to a head nearly nine months after he'd initially met you. As much as he tries to ignore the way his heart sings in your presence and aches in your absence Simon can’t really deny how he feels about you anymore.
You pull him from his dangerous train of thoughts when you plop down next to him on the couch. Not exactly a new move in of itself but even then he can’t help the way he shivers at the feel of your arm against his skin.
If asked Simon wouldn’t be able to tell you a single plot point of the movie you’d put on, not when his mind was running a mile a minute and he was trying not to smell your hair like a creep.
He tenses a little when you tip against him but doesn’t push you away. Instead, he can’t help but smile softly down at you as he watches you fall deeper and deeper into the clutches of sleep. Awe and adoration in his eyes as one of his hands lightly stroked your cheek, his other arm wrapping around you to pull you closer to his chest.
You’d wormed your way into his heart months ago with all your stupid jokes and your insistence on looking after him. Not once had you ever asked for anything in return, you even seemed offended at the implication.
He wasn’t stupid enough to let you in on his feelings, not when every time he left you could end up being his last. Simon had once accidentally caught you crying over your brother, a soldier like him, though not as lucky. Your brother was dead and buried and Simon saw the toll it took on you years later even when you tried to hide it.
You were the sun. You were light and everything that was good in this world, saw the good in him, and Simon refused to be the potential reason that light was snuffed out.
He wouldn’t do that to you. But Simon wasn’t completely selfless, so he held you in his arms as he slept, letting himself imagine a life where you could be together. A life where he got to come home to you and your stupid fat cat, his apartment no longer in use and he’d hold you just like this as you slept.
This wasn’t that life, but Simon still let himself pretend it was, just for a little bit. Because Simon couldn’t deny it any longer, he loved you, was in love with you. And for that, he had to leave before he ruined you.
Tags: @cooliofango @innercollectivecomputer
#x reader#cod mw x reader#simon riley x reader#kat’s writing#ghost x reader#cod simon riley#simon riley#cod ghost
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Look at Him.
✩࿐ summary: your attempts at reentering the dating scene is foiled by your ex-husband.
warning(s): past relationship, clingy!gojo, ex-husband!gojo, co-parenting situation, crack fic. wc; 1.6k
pairing(s): gojo satoru x fem!reader
a/n: this is purely just a goof fic because i've put nothing but angst out there so far sooo have a laugh. hope yall enjoy :3
“So, what do you do for a living?”
"A teacher."
"Oh, wow! What grade, subject?"
"Uh, highschoolers and the subject kinda varies on the day."
"Like a substitute teacher?"
"Um....sure, yeah! Substitute teacher."
"That's awesome. Mad respect, kids can be demons."
You were quickly discovering that the dating field had changed in the five years that you had been married. An endless back and forth about what someone did, what's their favorite color, what's their hobbies. Boring questions that you would ask your students on the first day was used in over the table date conversation. Until, until, they got to that question they so desperately wanted to ask.
Would you want to take this back to my—
There was a vibration against your thigh as your date started to go onto a monologue about how much he disliked kids. In all honesty, you couldn't really remember his name. The introductions had been awkward and a little nerve wracking— you were almost sure he had no idea who you were either.
You tugged your phone out of your pocket and resisted the audible sigh that threatened to leave you when you saw the notification.
Satoru
please tell me why my beautiful, radiant, amazing, intelligent daughter just said her mommy is on a date.
feeling sick to my stomach, don't tell me this is true.
You rolled your eyes. Your ex-husband had always been so overdramatic. His main focus was always on the bit that could come from a situation. However, this was a quality you do used to admire about him. His ability to make any situation seem like it was a funny happenstance that you'd never encounter again.
Now, it was nothing more than a nuisance.
Satoru
oh my god, you left me on read. it's true. it's true.
i hope you know i just threw up. i threw up everywhere. i might die.
at least, tell me he's ugly. please god let him to be ugly.
A sigh, you typed out the quickest message you could without your date asking what's wrong.
You
I hope you're not ignoring said daughter to ask me about some date. I'll be home later, please refrain from texting me.
You were about to set your phone down when another text came through. This one appeared to more distraught than the last.
Satoru
o h your tone. it's over. it's really over.
i might just kill myself this is the worst night of my life.
y/n, i'm genuinely feeling sick.
please, is he ugly?
he must be boring because you're texting back.
You were almost inclined to remind Satoru you both had been divorced for a year already. That this was bound to happen and you two had, in fact, spoken about it months into the divorce. You had played with some 'what if's and there was a mutual agreement that the other wouldn't get jealous and be dramatic about the other getting in a relationship whenever the time comes. It was a surprisingly adult conversation.
You should've known better when Satoru proudly proclaimed he didn't care who you got involved with.
You
Satoru, we talked about this. We're adults and we're divorced. Please bother someone else, like Suguru.
Satoru
i don't wanna talk to suguru. i wanna talk to youuu (;﹏;)
i can't believe you've done this.
ten years. ten years of loyalty. im sick to my stomach.
You
You asked for the divorce.
"Is everything okay?"
You eyes snapped up from your phone and towards your date. He had the good grace to be wearing a relatively concerned expression, eyeing you wearily.
You quickly tucked your phone back into your pocket, ignoring the insistent vibrations it gave to smile apologetically. "I'm sorry, my daughter had an accident and I had to, you know, send a quick text to her babysitter." It was easier to explain away a daughter than it was a clingy ex-husband who was well in his dissent into insanity. Really, you were doing this guy a favor keeping him in the dark.
However, his face still paled and he straightened. "You have a kidI'm so, so sorry. I just went on a two minute rant about how much kids are equivalent to demons." He seemed to spiral as he pressed his hands against his face, uttering curses to himself. "I get so nervous with these dates. I truly meant nothing by it."
You smiled in amusement, "It's no problem, really. I'm not exactly disagreeing." He peeked from between his fingers and blinked at you dumbly. "Just because I'm a parent doesn't mean I don't agree. I mean, my kid can be a bit much sometimes. I love her, but she's a lot like her dad in that way."
It always made your chest blossom. The way Saori was a carbon copy of Satoru. From the rambunctious personality, to the piercing blue eyes, and white hair. Your genes hadn't won in the battle, but you were almost grateful. Satoru tried to tell you that she had your smile and your wit, but you weren't entirely convinced. She was Satoru and Satoru was her.
You were extremely lucky that he was a good dad.
"Oh? Do you mind me asking if her dad's still around?" His tone was indication enough: a daughter and an ex of some kind was pushing it for him.
You tensed up, feeling deep regret already. "Uh, yeah." His eyes shifted away and you reached forward, taking his hand. "But, he's not, like, crazy or anything! He's just a good dad."
Your date chuckled nervously. "I-I just don't want to get involved in some, um, some family dynamic."
You thought it was a little presumptuous of him to think this would go that far, or he'd get in the way. But you were too focused on defusing the situation.
"Oh, no, it's not like that! We've got a healthy balance, y'know? He does his piece, I do mine— that's it!"
He scrunched his face. "So... an open relationship?"
"No!" You press your hands against your face with a huff. "No, we're not together anymore. We just co-parent."
He opened his mouth to further question you when your phone vibrated very audibly. His eyebrows raising. "Your daughter?"
You sighed. "Please give me one moment."
With jerky movements, you pull your phone from your pocket. The assortment of messages that came where spread over the ten minutes you decided to ignore him.
Satoru
okay, you've got me there.
but my big heart is breaking.
i hope he's ugly and he smells.
okay, i spoke with suguru and he said i'm an idiot who should apologize.
in my defense, i'm a little itty bitty drunk. and no, saori is not awake. papa put her to bed before bringing out the whiskey.
im so sorry my beautiful deity. that not ugly, not smelly man is so lucky to be in your presence and i hope you have a good date.
also i hope he gets hit my a car.
(＾▽＾)
You
I'm going to kill you with my bare hands. Genuinely, count your days, Gojo Satoru.
Satoru
hot, hot, hot!!! (●´□`)♡
did he actually get hit by a car?
You
Is there something you want?
Satoru
him dead.
and you home :((((
You
You don't want me home. I swear to god, if you're on my couch, drinking when I get home, I will ruin your life.
Satoru
promise??? ╰(✿´⌣`✿)╯♡
but, actually, i wanted to ask your opinion on something
You
For real?
Satoru
for realsies.
[Image Attachment]
Completely blinded by your irritation, you don't even hesitate to open the picture as it loads. Although you regret it the moment it does.
It's a picture of Satoru. He's at what seems to be the beach (must've been the fun activity him and Saori were going to join Suguru for), his sunglasses were on the top of his head, and he was grinning at the picture. One hand was resting against his pectoral and the veins in his hand was prominent. An obvious attempt at being charming and flirtatious. It was working too.
If it weren't for the fact that you knew him and were his ex, you might've just swooned.
"Oh, my god, is that him?" Your date was staring at your phone with wide eyes. His face even more pale than before. He started to shake his head as he stood, snatching his jacket from the back of his chair. "No way. I am not getting involved! I'm sorry, you're a nice woman, but I know when I'm not winning. And I'm definitely not winning against that."
Your eyes widened considerably, "What? No! Please don't leave. He's an idiot, I swear there's nothing—"
"He is... a hunk. I am not. In no shape or form am I at all comparable to that. Look—" He reached forward, grabbing your phone and holding the picture up to be beside his face. "Look at the difference! Model who has won Japan's hottest man at least eight times before he's 30 to me— Look at him!"
"It's not even like that!" You snatched your phone back and stared at him in frustration. "He's my ex, I do not want him!"
He waved his hands in front of your face. "I know how this will go. You think you like me and then your super hot and super sexy ex-whatever makes you realize the familiarity is good. Then I get dumped." He straightened, latching his hands onto the lapels of his jacket. "I just realized I am a side character. In my own life. Goddammit."
He barely glanced at you as he paid for the dinner, then left as quickly as he could. Still, you didn't even know his name.
Satoru
oooo taking you awhile to respondddd
still in love with me? (人◕ω◕)
#♡ oneshot#✩࿐ t writes#gojo satoru#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jjk fic
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Cat and Mouse
❝ Wonwoo doesn’t understand why you’re so adamant in avoiding him after the amazing night you two spent together, but he’s not going to let you get away from him so easily. ❞
PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x female reader
GENRE: bad boy au, smut
WORD COUNT: 5.6k
WARNINGS: bad boy!wonwoo, allusions of illicit activities, descriptions of minor injuries, wonwoo is down HORRENDOUS, reader is in denial about her feelings, our bad boi is soft for one (1) person, mutual pining, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, riding, multiple creampies, overstimulation, mating press, aftercare
ㅤ→ continuation of this timestamp
A/N: here’s a little something to celebrate one year with this blog. very grateful to all my followers and mutuals who’ve made this past year amazing! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!
Wonwoo glares at his phone, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek in annoyance.
It’s been a week. An entire fucking week without hearing from you. He knew he should’ve ignored Jihoon’s calls and stayed in bed with you that night, but when he sent a message saying the entire crew needed to be there, he couldn’t ignore it. Now, he really wishes he would have.
The night he spent with you was the most incredible of his life, and now he might never relive it because he left in a haste, only leaving you with a brief kiss and a promise to come back.
“You still torn up over that sweet lil’ thing from that flower shop?” Seungcheol's voice has never sounded more irritating than it does now.
“That’s Shua’s girl, dumbass.”
Being on the receiving end of that mean tone and angry glare doesn’t faze Seungcheol in the slightest. In fact, it only causes his infamous smirk to get wider. To see the stoic Jeon Wonwoo acting up over a girl is not only a rarity, but it’s also really fucking funny. That’s why he can’t resist pushing Wonwoo’s buttons further.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Seungcheol cackles. “Guess you better hurry up and help us finish this shit. Her shift ends soon.”
Wonwoo can feel his irritation near that boiling point he could usually avoid. Of course Seungcheol knows about your schedule. That asshole has the annoying habit of knowing everything about anyone who is even the tiniest bit associated with the crew. Sure, it’s for precautionary reasons, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. Nonetheless, Wonwoo focuses on the task at hand so he can catch you before you leave work.
Jeon Wonwoo is the bane of your existence.
From the moment he first came around with that stupidly attractive smirk of his, your life was never the same. And now that you fucked him, it never will be again.
Giving into your carnal desires isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but getting mixed up with the likes of Jeon Wonwoo definitely is. Despite not knowing all of the grimy details, you know he’s bad news. You can see all the red flags clearly—the people he hangs around, all the fights he gets in, and the tattoos littering his body. And yet, none of those warning signs mattered now or when Wonwoo was ravishing you in a way that still made your toes curl just by thinking about it.
Maybe the worst part of it all is that you can’t get the resident bad boy out of your head, or the way he held you after you two had sex. It’s like you can still feel how he nuzzled into your neck, strong arms tightening around you like he never wanted to let you go. Part of you hopes that he wouldn’t have if he hadn’t had some urgent business to take care of. It’s a dangerous thought, but even so you can’t help but crave that uncharacteristically sweet side of him that he presumably only showed you.
A displeased sigh comes out of you as you gather your things to go home. It’s bad enough that you can’t stop thinking about Wonwoo, but to think that you’re actually pining over him even though he literally disappeared after your night together is—
“Y/N left already.”
It’s Mingyu’s voice you hear at first, and it makes you stop in your tracks. You wonder who could be asking for you until you hear someone answer him. It feels like your heart is going to jump out of your chest when you hear a familiar deep voice that has your stupid pussy clenching in anticipation.
“Alright. Thanks.”
You peek out from the back when you hear the door chime. It’s annoying that your chest tightens when you see a set of wide shoulders draped in a leather jacket walking toward the large motorcycle parked outside. The way your mind goes blank yet is also clogged with nothing but thought of Wonwoo is infuriating. You don’t realize you’re pouting at the exit until Mingyu jumps back in shock at seeing your sulking figure.
“Y/N what– I thought you left!” He says, vaguely gesturing behind him. “You just missed your boyfriend! I think he wanted to take you home—”
“Boyfriend?” You interrupt him, not entirely angry or disgusted that your coworker had referred to Wonwoo as such.
Mingyu furrows his eyebrows. “Yeah? The scary dude with the leather jacket that comes in here all the time just to see you. He’s your boyfriend, right?”
It’s almost mortifying that your sweet but oblivious coworker can tell that there was something going on between you and the resident bad boy. And yet, there’s also a part of you that likes the fact that Wonwoo is so obvious about his feelings. You don’t know what to make of these conflicting emotions that you can’t seem to shake, and seeing Wonwoo (even just the back of him) didn’t help you find the clarity you so desperately need.
“Well, even if he’s not, he definitely wants to fuck you.” Mingyu says with a wink as he brushes past you to check on the pastries he had put in the oven ten minutes ago.
You wonder how he would react if you told him that Wonwoo already has.
Wonwoo thinks you’re the cutest person ever. And the part of you he finds the most cute? The fact that you actually think he’s going to let you avoid him forever. You’re good at it, he’ll give you that (even if he can see right through your every method).
It’s funny that you actually change your off days and regular working hours just to avoid seeing him and throw him off, which it does—at first. He knows you haven’t quit because Josh mentioned seeing you at the bakery when he went to buy the love of his life a cake for her birthday. This is confirmed when he goes to see for himself the next day.
Maybe you don’t realize Wonwoo can see you run to the back through the large glass windows when you hear his motorcycle, but either way he thinks it’s funny. Actually, it’s hilarious because soon enough you were going to give into him like before.
Meanwhile, you feel like a mouse being preyed on by a sly cat—one that’s toying with you before he finally catches you. Avoiding Wonwoo had been easy at first, but now you’re starting to wonder if he had let it seem easy.
“Babydoll.”
You almost drop a tray of croissants when you hear a familiar deep voice calling for you. The way you whip around with a gaping mouth must be hilarious because Wonwoo just smirks at you in that infuriating way that drives you crazy. Your hands tighten around the tray as you snap your mouth closed, trying to contemplate on how to navigate the situation.
With a bit of a mental pep talk, you finally manage to put up that happy to help attitude you usually had with every other customer. The smile you give him feels exaggerated and fake, but it’s the only way you can mask all the emotions you’re feeling.
“What can I get for you?”
That devilish smirk widens as Wonwoo pretends to skim all the delicious pastries in the case before he sets his smoldering eyes back on you. “This all looks good,” he muses quietly, but you can hear him perfectly since it’s only you two. “But I think you’re the only thing that can satisfy my hunger.”
It kills you that his words make you heat up from the inside out. You ignore him and start to put the croissants into the case. The clench of your jaw is tight and bordering on painful, but it’s the only way you can keep your emotions from spilling over for him to see.
Unfortunately, your lack of response doesn’t really faze him. One thing you’ve come to learn about Wonwoo is that he’s never uncomfortable in the silence. You wish you could say the same. You’re nearly squirming by the time you’re done placing the croissants in their designated space because he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you once.
Finally, you look up to meet Wonwoo’s gaze. It’s so intense that you almost want to look away. However, there’s a part of you that loves being under the heat of his stare since you can clearly see the desire he has for you.
“You’ve been ignoring me.”
“You’ve been gone.” You counter, vaguely aware that you sound like a sulking girlfriend.
Wonwoo realizes this too because he gently coos at you. “Missed me, babydoll?”
Yes. “You wish.”
It’s obvious Wonwoo doesn’t believe you. That stupid smirk of his only seems to get bigger with every passing moment, and you don’t know if you want to kiss it or smack it off his face.
“I missed you.” He tells you honestly, loving how you’re visibly growing flustered with his words.
Resisting him would be a lot easier if he wasn’t so tempting to you and if the feelings he always evoked from you weren’t so strong. Before you can say anything to betray your easily crumbling facade, Mingyu comes out from the back with a tray of small cakes. Wonwoo gives you a once over before stepping away from the case.
“I’ll be back after your shift. Wait for me.”
You don’t wait for him—technically. It’s not waiting since Wonwoo is already outside of the bakery when your shift ends. He’s clad in his leather jacket, dark jeans, and signature combat boots. It’s not fair that he can lean against his bike so casually while looking as good as ever.
Ignoring him would’ve been all too easy, but you can’t when you notice the bruises and cuts on his pretty face. A familiar irritation bubbles in your chest, but annoyingly enough, it’s overpowered by the concern you feel. You react before you can fully think your actions through.
“What the hell!”
Wonwoo’s eyes widen the tiniest bit when you stomp over to him with angry tears in your eyes. You can’t even enjoy his cute shocked face because of the overwhelming concern and anger you feel. All you can do is hit his brawny chest in frustration.
“You—You asshole!” Your voice cracks with raw emotion as you continue to weakly hit his chest. “You said– you promised that you weren’t going to fight anymore—!”
Wonwoo lets you hit him. His chest aches, but not because of your soft blows. The last thing he meant to do was make you cry, and it’s something he wishes to never see again. His large hands come up to cup your face, fingers delicately wiping your tears. “I know I should’ve kept my promise, and I’m sorry. Just please don’t cry anymore.”
You let out a quiet whimper at his tenderness. His eyes are full of so much remorse and concern that it makes any remaining willpower you have left disappear. It feels right to bury yourself in his chest and let yourself be held by him. He caresses your back, and you can’t hate that it actually makes you feel better.
Once you’ve calmed down, you pull back and smack Wonwoo’s beefy chest again. “Asshole.”
“Your asshole.” His haze is tender as he cradles your tearstained cheek in his hand.
You scowl at him, but it’s quickly wiped off your face when he places a gentle kiss on the corner of your mouth. A sudden desire consumes you when you see Wonwoo’s affectionate gaze. This time you let yourself be driven by your desire and press your lips against his.
It’s easy for him to melt into the kiss. Wonwoo sighs into your mouth as one of his hands comes up to cup your face. His rings feel cool against your warm skin, and you let out a quiet moan when his other hand slips into the back pocket of your jeans and squeezes your ass while pulling you closer to him.
The kiss is slow at first until your hands smooth over Wonwoo’s chest and fist his shirt to pull him closer. You part your lips to allow his tongue to slip into your mouth. It feels like you got struck by a bolt of electricity the longer his lips are on yours. His desire and hunger are evident in his needy movement, and you absolutely love it.
When you two finally pull away, you’re left breathless. Wonwoo’s thumb gently caresses your cheek as his heart pounds harshly in his chest. “Stay the night with me, babydoll.”
“M’kay.” You breathe out, mind still swimming.
The smile he gives you is so pretty that it makes something inside you burn with ardent desire. You feel like you’re floating on air when Wonwoo hands you a spare helmet that happens to be your favorite color. He looks bashful as he waits for you to accept it, and you wish you could take a picture of his pretty blush.
In spite of all the reasons you have not to take the helmet from him, you still do. And you don’t regret it.
You’ve never allowed yourself to regret the things that you’ve done because life is too short for regrets. But you definitely regret avoiding Wonwoo as long as you have, especially with the way he’s trailing his lips along your legs. Every wet kiss he leaves behind has your heart hammering and your cunt clenching in want.
Finally, Wonwoo gets to your inner thighs. His large hands spread you open with ease, eyes dark when he sees your wet pussy.
“Fuck.” His gaze fixed between your legs as if he's in a trance. “You’re already so wet.”
Your toes curl when his breath ghosts over your cunt. It sends delicious shivers throughout your body, and you have to stop yourself from bucking your hips into his face. But as you’re starting to learn, it seems like Wonwoo knows what you want before you even ask for it.
“You want my mouth, babydoll?”
Wonwoo nearly blows his load when you nod cutely, a needy mewl escaping your lips. “Please.”
He hooks your legs over his wide shoulders, thumbs spreading your folds open for his viewing pleasure. Wonwoo resists his ravenous desire for you long enough to toy with your pretty pussy before he actually tastes it—a luxury he hadn’t gotten to do last time. His rough hands are soon occupied with you, one hand pinching and flicking your sensitive clit while the other gently rubs your slippery folds.
“Fuck, baby.” You whine, biting down on your lower lip. “Feels so good.”
Your cunt is dripping with so much of your arousal that Wonwoo’s fingers are drenched as he slowly rubs circles against your aching bud. It’s throbbing and pulsing in need as his pace grows the tiniest bit quicker. You can’t even try to contain your moans as you stare down at your boyfriend.
Wonwoo has a huge smirk on his pink lips. You’re making such a mess on his fingers, and he just loves it. “You look so fucking cute when your squirm like this, babydoll.”
A needy whimper tumbles past your lips when he presses a gentle kiss to your throbbing clit. It pulses under the attention like it wants his mouth again. Wonwoo’s pupils are blown wide as he licks the remnants of your arousal off his lips. The addicting taste makes his control snap, and in the next second he smashes his face into your cunt like a starved man.
Your hips start move on their own as Wonwoo groans deeply into your drooling pussy. His mouth latches onto your clit, massaging the nub with his tongue. The movements are skilled and toe-curling, and you already feel like you’re fucked out.
“Wonwoo!” You cry out in absolute pleasure when he slips two fingers inside you.
His long fingers work your cunt open, curling up to rub the sensitive spot inside you that made you arch your back in ecstasy. Your mouth is dropped open in a silent min the longer Wonwoo fucks you with his tongue. He captures your juices with his tongue only to slobber them all over you again. Your hands grab ahold of his hair as he keeps moaning into your wet pussy, the vibrations shooting up your spine with every one of his movements.
All it takes his his nose bumping against your clit as he licks around his pumping digits for you to come all over his face. Wonwoo groans into your creamy cunt, licking up every drop of your release.
“So fucking messy.” He grunts as his hand spreads your folds and exposes your heat to the cool air. His fingers trail down your cunt, tenderly rubbing along your sensitive lips. “Fuck, just look at that cream."
You can’t contain your needy moan when Wonwoo brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean. He’s so fucking hot that you just want him to fuck you until you can’t think. Before you can get him to do exactly that, a heavy weight settles on your soppy cunt. His cock is hot and wet as it slides between your folds.
“You feel so good, angel.” Wonwoo groans as he thrusts forward, coating the underside of his dick with your arousal. “So fucking wet, just for me.”
The mouthwatering sight of your folds splitting open as he slides his cock between them makes him feel like he’s drunk. Maybe he is. Drunk on your pussy, that is. He only gets to enjoy the feeling for a second before you eagerly buck your hips against his.
“Let me ride you.”
It’s a miracle that Wonwoo doesn’t come all over your stomach at the words you moaned so desperately. He’s quick to get into position, leaning against his headboard as you hover above him. You look so eager as you straddle his lap, the love bites he littered all over your thighs giving him a sense of pride as he brushes his thumbs over them.
Wonwoo’s free hand reaches for your ass. He roughly kneads the skin before slapping it. You moan out in pleasure. Everything is almost too much for you to handle. The sight of him bellow you waiting patiently for you to fuck him like the first time is making your core throb with insatiable desire. His cock rests on his stomach, leaking with precum and waiting for you to sit on it.
The hottest part of it all is how Wonwoo’s looking at you with unadulterated desire and affection—like you’re a living goddess on top of him. Your hands are splayed over his muscular chest, and he just loves the feeling of them smoothing over his hot skin.
His hands move on their own, caressing your hips and mapping out every inch of your body with his rough hands. Wonwoo kisses any part of you he can reach, lips trailing from your neck down to your collarbones. His large hands slip back to your ass to deliver a sharp spank which makes you fall forward. Wonwoo skillfully captures one of your tits in his mouth, tongue immediately gliding over your hardened nipple.
“Nonu!” You cry out as your arms hook over his shoulders to keep him close, softly moaning as he switches between your tits, warm tongue swirling around each erect nub.
The cute little nickname makes his cock twitch. Fuck. You were going to drive him completely insane.
He gently nips at your sensitive bud before pulling away to look up at you. “You look so fucking pretty on top of me, babydoll.” He murmurs, forcing himself to stay still as you shift against his leaking tip.
His sweet praise is enough to make your pussy flutter. You mewl as he teasingly circles his cock against your pussy. The insistent nudges from his leaking head are making your head swim with pleasure. You’re so soaked at this point that he can feel your arousal start to stick to his skin.
Finally, you can’t resist any longer and slowly sink down on his cock. Your tight walls stretch wide, welcoming the bulbous head with just a bit of resistance. It’s been almost two weeks, and you’d already forgotten it felt to have such big and thick dick inside you. His cock isn’t even halfway inside yet, and you can nearly feel him in your stomach.
You sit back and slowly circle your hips, throwing your head back with a moan when his twitching tip nudges your walls repeatedly. Wonwoo feels like he’s gone and died to heaven with the filthy show you’re giving him of your soppy cunt. He curses quietly at the sight of your tight cunt clinging to his fat tip, nearly blowing his load at the erotic sight.
“Show me what you can do, pretty girl.”
He doesn’t have to tell you twice. With a wanton moan and your hands braced behind you, you slide all the way down. You whimper at the stretch, loving the feeling of his thick cock splitting you open. Mewls flutter from your lips, and it feels like the oxygen is slowly being forced out of your lungs.
Once he’s fully inside you, Wonwoo is sure that he’s never going to feel as good as he does now. His head is thrown back and his eyes roll to the back of his head. The feeling of your hot cunt wrapped around him is absolute heaven. You share in his feeling as you moan loudly, completely full and stretched out as he grips your ass to steady you on his dick.
Wonwoo can’t stop looking at the fucked out look on your face while you’re busy staring down at where your pussy and his cock meet. You don’t notice how his pupils are blown out with lust at the sight of you impaled on his cock. His heart fluttering in his chest because fuck, you’re like a literal goddess on top of him.
“Shit, babydoll. You gotta move.” He sounds out of breath, almost needy with his plea.
Wonwoo looks so fucked out and pretty that your pussy tightens around him at the hot sight. That's all it takes for you to give him what he wants. You lift your hips before slamming your ass back down. His cock reaches so deep inside you that you throw you head back with a loud cry. It makes you ravenous, and you eagerly repeat your movements until your practically bouncing on his cock.
You lean towards him and wrap your arms around his neck, your pace faltering a bit when your lips meet his neck. As you litter his skin with wet kisses and gentle bites, you feel his cock throb and twitch inside you. It makes you think that you might actually get him to come first this time.
At least, until Wonwoo commits the tender act of pressing a sweet kiss to your shoulder, removing a hand from your ass to gently thumb at your clit.
“Fuck, Nonu.” You whimper at the stimulation. “You’re so deep.”
“Missed having you on my cock, babydoll. You look so fucking pretty being split open like this.” His fingers trace your stretched hole before they slap your clit.
You moan wantonly when Wonwoo suddenly thrusts up, going impossibly deeper. That’s when you know he's about to ruin you in the way you’ve been craving. You shove your face into his neck, sucking and biting his skin so he can move you on his cock in the way he wants. Apparently, this isn’t enough for him, though.
Wonwoo grips your face, pressing his fingers into your cheeks. “Need to see your pretty face while I fuck you stupid.”
He doesn’t give you time to respond before he’s gripping your ass and grinding you on his cock. His fingertips press into your soft flesh as he lifts you and brings you down his length. You start bouncing to meeting his pumps. Broken mewls contrast with Wonwoo’s groans and mix in the the sound of lewd squelching and skin slapping. His abs tighten every time you come back down, thighs flexing beneath your ass.
Your swollen clit rubs against his pelvis with every thrust, and the feeling is quickly driving you insane. The knot in your stomach is coming undone fast, much faster than you want, but you feel too good to stop. Wonwoo isn’t doing much better. His mind is only full of you and the way your hot cunt is gripping his cock. The carnal look in his eye is locked to where you’re connected. He’s mesmerized with strings of arousal connecting his skin to your dripping folds.
“You look so fucking pretty when you’re bouncing on my cock—just like last time. Gonna let me pump your pretty pussy full again, babydoll?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” You cry out mindlessly, a delicious ache blooming in your core. “Whatever you want!”
You can’t believe Wonwoo has the audacity to blush like you two aren’t literally fucking like animals. It makes you gush around him, orgasm so close that you can feel it in every inch of your body.
“God, baby. Keep fucking yourself stupid on my dick.” He growls as he fucks up into you harder, needing to see you come undone on his cock.
The leaking tip of his cock brushes against your sweet spot over and over again until your eyes gloss over like you’re on the brink of tears. Wonwoo will never get enough of that fucked out face of yours, and it drives that insatiable desire in him to fuck you impossibly harder.
It takes only a few more deep thrusts for you to come on his cock with a loud moan. Your body shudders and shakes against him in absolute pleasure. Wonwoo’s movements don't stop. He fucks you through your orgasm and straight into overstimulation. But you can’t really care because it feels so fucking good. All you can do is cry out his name until he’s emptying his balls inside you.
“Y/N!” He groans into your ear as he pumps you full of his hot cum, thick ropes filling you to the brim until it’s leaking out and coating his heavy sack.
You’re gently grinding into each other as your mouths meet for a messy kiss. Wonwoo’s still-hard cock keeps twitching inside you, and you can’t help but groan into his mouth at the feeling.
“More.” You plead against his lips. “Want you to keep stuffing me full of your cum.”
“Fuck, angel.” Wonwoo pants out. “You’ll be the death of me.”
But if this was death, he’d gladly embrace it every time.
Wonwoo moves down the bed until his back meets the messy sheets. With his hands secured on your waist and the back of your neck, he pulls you down to his chest and forces you to take every inch of his throbbing cock. At this angle, he feels even thicker. Your mind goes blank as his fat dick spears into your tight hole relentlessly.
Wet noises fill the room, dancing in the air with your wanton cries. A white ring forms at the base of his cock, smearing down to his loaded sack. Wonwoo moans along with you, large hands sliding down your body to grip fistfuls of your ass. You let out a broken gasp when he grinds up and pulls you down, stuffing you to the brim only to do it again and again.
You’re panting and whimpering as his cock sinks in deep, plugging your dripping cunt. Tingles of ecstasy course through your quivering body with ever snap of his hips. You aren’t even moving anymore, it’s all Wonwoo. He’s fucking you on his cock like you're his personal fucktoy. The more you think about it like that, the more turned on you’re getting.
Your hot cunt tightens around his veiny cock. The drag of his veiny length stretching you out makes more of your juices coat his dick and spill down to his heavy balls. Wonwoo shudders when he feels how tight you keep getting. He can feel his own high quickly approaching.
“You gonna come for me again, babydoll? Soak my cock with your cream and make a mess all over me?” Wonwoo changes the angle of his hips as he speaks his lewd words. The tip of his cock slams into the soft spot inside you that makes you scream in pleasure. He keeps pounding into you from below without stopping, and you love every second of it.
“Fucking love your cock.” You babble mindlessly, any and every thought that’s not about the fat cock splitting you open being fucked out of you.
“Sweet little cunt is all mine now.” Wonwoo growls possessively. “Gonna be mine forever, right, baby?”
It’s all too much. His filthy yet sweet words combined with his fierce thrusts make you fall over that edge and into your orgasm, this one more powerful than the last. Your body erupts in flames as you squirt all over Wonwoo’s aching cock. He keeps you locked on his dick, balls slapping against your ass as he continues to pound into your gushing cunt.
“So fucking good.” Wonwoo groans gutturally before his hot cum floods your ruined cunt, painting your stretched out walls and claiming you in every sense of the word.
So much of his cum spills out and trickles down his pulsing cock, and you whimper when Wonwoo fucks it deeper into your pussy. You’re both sweaty and sticky, yet there’s still a burning ache in your core that seems like it can only be soothes by Wonwoo and his big cock.
“Want it again.” You moan into his ear, clenching down on his twitching dick. “Please.”
This is where you learn that the resident bad boy can never tell you no.
You barely process him flipping you over and manhandling you into the position he wants. Wonwoo presses your legs against your chest and start to pound into you with rough thrusts. He’s slow but brutish, slamming against your cervix every time he pushes in. Your cream soaks his thick cock and your inner thighs. It slowly drips down to your ass where his heavy balls slap against the tender skin.
“Fuck, babydoll. I’ll never get enough of this tight little pussy.” He sounds so gone, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust.
You cry out each time, the pleasure blooming into that delicious feeling in your stomach. Wonwoo’s words have you clenching around his dick, and he lets out a deep groan. He keeps moaning out praises about how good you are for him, but it’s hard to focus on his words when his thick cock is pummeling into you relentlessly.
You continuously gush around Wonwoo’s cock on the brink of yet another orgasm as you leave a stain around the base. Your pussy is stretched beyond belief, and it feels so fucking good that’s it’s making you delirious.
“I’m gonna have to stuff this pretty pussy full every day.” Wonwoo moans, loving how your cunt keeps spasming around his throbbing cock. He’s fantasised about this for so long, and now that he’s had you he’s completely addicted to you.
“Fuh-Fuck!” You wail, soaking his cock even more at his promise, leaving it dripping.
Wonwoo’s thrusts grow more powerful and ravenous. The pretty sounds you’re letting out every time he drives in and out of you is driving him insane. It’s not long for the harsh snapping of his hips to finally send you into your climax. This one is more somehow more intense than your previous one. Wonwoo groans loudly, watching as you squirt all over his cock.
Each time Wonwoo strokes your g-spot, another gush of liquid spurts from your core. “You’re so fucking hot, angel. Making a mess all over my cock.”
“Come inside me.” You beg with a loud moan, mind already so far gone to think about anything else but being fucked full of his hot cum.
Your lewd plea only drives his desire for you. Wonwoo feels his orgasm approaching with every rough thrust. His balls are aching to be emptied again, and he doesn’t hesitate to chase that euphoric feeling. Your pussy is practically begging him to fill you up with his seed, and he does exactly that. With one final shove, he bottoms out inside you and stills, cock twitching and throbbing in your hot cunt.
A huge load of cum pours into you, coating your walls and taking up the minimal space his cock hasn’t covered. Wonwoo slowly fucks it into you until you’re both whimpering from the overstimulation.
When he pulls out, his cum and your cream slowly leak out of your messy cunt. The fucked out pants you’re letting out are quickly stifled by Wonwoo's lips. You moan into his mouth as he slowly lets go of your legs and hooks them around his hips.
Pulling away, you barely register as he starts to tenderly kiss all over your body. You’re completely sated and too gone to acknowledge your surroundings even as Wonwoo gets up and brings back a warm towel. He gently cleans you up, whispering sweet praises that make you feel a different type of euphoria.
“Hold me, Nonu.” You finally manage to say when you realize he’s done cleaning the both of you up.
His smile is so pretty and precious as he goes to lay with you. The way he cradles you against his chest is comforting, and you know that you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
taglist: @duolingofanaccount @felix-3002 @junhui-recs @asjkdk @dani41 @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @ohwonwoo
#svthub#wonwoo smut#svt smut#wonwoo x reader#svt x reader#seventeen smut#wonwoo fanfic#svt fanfic#seventeen fanfic#wonwoo fic#svt fic#seventeen x reader#svt imagines#wonwoo imagines
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desire — ryomen sukuna x f!reader
a/n: me? not sticking to the poll? no wayyy 😙 I AM SORRY I COULDNT RESIST HEIAN!SUKUNA X CONCUBINE!READER next up will be the dad one (I hope) <3
the servants jump in fear as they hear yet another loud crash thunder through the hallway. some of them even latch onto the pillars near them, fearing that the shaking ground would crumble right under their feet.
“uraume, another one!” they hear their lord’s voice shout venomously.
they realize that if the collapsing ground doesn’t kill them then there is a possibility that sukuna might do it himself.
for some reason, this morning, sukuna has been in a terrible mood. with the first ray of sunlight, he had slammed the door of the chambers open.
with an ever-permanent scowl, he scanned the hall filled with concubines and servants.
his chest was heaving slowly; his breath almost scalding hot as he breathed out. he looked at uraume and says, “I need five people sent to the vacant room this instant.”
with no other word, he turned and exited the hall, closing the door with a bang.
the servants were wide-eyed, and they frantically looked at each other.
some of them started weeping, scared out of their minds that they might be chosen. others were considering the option of fleeing because what can they do so uraume doesn’t choose them for whatever massacre sukuna was planning?
uraume exhaled lightly, “you have heard lord sukuna,” they stared at the myriad of quivering servants, emotionless, “stand in line.”
and so it was.
now, on the other side of the door is sukuna crushing the skull of yet another servant. he breathes heavily, fury flowed through his veins.
he stares at the pool of blood on the ground, the splatters of it on the walls, and the splashes of it on the ceiling. his jaw tightens as he thinks of the reason of why all of this happened.
yesterday was the first night he had ever spent with you.
of course, that entailed bedding you—the norm for your position—but what had sukuna in a turmoil was the conversations, the words exchanged, and soft touches you had given him before anything.
he had seen you in the estate on occasion, acknowledging you as one of the better looking concubines, but it was only yesterday that he actually interacted with you.
from the moment you entered his room to the moment you left, it was all like none other.
he had never entertained the idea of making conversations with his concubines as they only had one purpose—to serve him. on days when he was in a good mood, he would tease, speak lowly, anything to get a reaction.
all of that was to fuel his own pleasure, since he hated stagnancy.
to your luck, though, yesterday, he felt very pleased—whispers of it being caused by defeating yet another considerably strong opponent. so, he talked to you.
“so, what’s your name?” he asked, small smirk playing on his face, when you were first brought into the room. pretty little thing you were seated in front of him, eyes not knowing where to look and trying to keep in mind all the instructions uraume told you.
he expected you to be meek, bordering on shy.
however, despite maintaining humility as you were told, you spoke your name with pride, and for the first time since you entered, you looked him in the eyes.
he should’ve had you killed for that little act; however, he noted that you immediately averted your eyes after it. perhaps, it’s your way of screaming ‘remember me’, a way to engrave yourself into his memory even for a millisecond.
it had sukuna smiling smugly before commenting, “you’re quite bold…and peculiar,” he rested his chin on his palm, “did they not inform you to not look me in the eyes unless you’re told to?”
you straightened your shoulders and spoke carefully, “I was, but I was taught by my parents to be prideful of who I am.”
“and pride is a good thing for servant to display in front of their king?”
your eyebrows furrowed, and you pursed your lips, mumbling, “no—but I was born like this, my lord, so I apologize.”
he chuckled, hand holding your face and moving it with ease, “I should have you decapitated for that attitude.”
your eyes drifted to the window, but the nail that sunk lightly into your cheek snaped you back to reality. sukuna scowled, “look at me when I speak to you.”
“didn’t you say that I am not to do that, my lord?” you asked, looking him straight in the eyes.
“I changed my mind,” he grined devilishly, “you complaining?”
“I could never.”
he leaned closer to you and whispers, “smart girl.”
and so, the night went as he took you for himself. what surprised him in the whole ordeal is that he found himself being just a tad bit gentler when tears prickle at the corner of your eye.
he actually spoke to you through it, but what resonated with him the most is what happened after.
you slowly gathered your robes with all the strength you can muster. however, sukuna called out from his position on the bed, “did I order you to leave?”
you blinked in confusion and spluttered, “b-but uraume said that you don’t like—”
“and my orders are above uraume’s: you are to stay until I tell you to leave.”
you clutched your belongings to your chest. you felt your heart squeeze in a bit of fear and excitement. you have been caught off guard by him more than once already.
you had come in expecting a ruthless and painful night, but it was surprisingly pleasant.
the little talk before it was also easier on your heart than you had assumed. you thought that he wouldn’t even bother talking to you and would just take you like an animal as you have heard the concubines bellow and wail.
so when a thumb was wiping away your tears and a hand was holding your waist with a light touch, you wondered whether the man you were with was truly the king of curses, the man that everybody was screaming and thrashing about.
though, you felt that it might be a test of some sort—something to make you lower your guard before he can do what he truly wanted.
so, with that in mind, you spoke up, “but my lord, I can’t possibly stay in your own chambers; that would be disrespecting you.”
he grunted, a frown making its way to his face, “I decide what’s disrespectful and what isn’t, so you better make your way here, before you regret it,” his eyes flashed with a threat, “I don’t have the time to deal or put up with your every objection.”
instantly, you scurried to the bed where he is comfortably laying down while propping body up on his elbow.
you stood just by the bed and asked, “where would you like me to—”
his hand held your forearm and pulled you right beside him, so you’re laying by his side and still looking up at him. he smirked down at you, “you ask too many questions.”
you didn’t know what to do with your hands. they gripped your kimono while you murmured, “sorry.”
he sighed and with a roll of his eyes, he hummed, “you will stay with me until midnight; you are to entertain me until then.”
you looked at him in shock then you looked at the window. your mouth hung open before you snapped your head back to him, “but the sun has only just set.”
with a raise of his eyebrows and a small smirk, he inquired, “you planning on disobeying me?”
“never!”
“then get to it.”
and you did, gathering all the stories, anecdotes, poems, and songs you can think of to fill the time. during your hours with him, you find out that sukuna is a man of interest in literature.
and there were multiple times where you would talk about a story, assuming that he doesn’t know it only for him to continue the telling of the story himself.
during your hours with him, you saw that he is not completely disregarding of people around him. you saw that he acknowledges those who are truly strong. you saw that he wants to make a world that is whipped to satisfy his own desires.
his rampages are not completely based off of bloodlust.
during your hours with him, you felt content in a way you never thought you could experience with him of all people.
but, during his hours with you, sukuna has never felt so conflicted yet so satisfied. satisfaction should be something good for him, as he only does what he pleases.
if your company is what pleases him then your company shall be what he gets, right?
but why your company? why are you different? why is his pleasuring dependent on you and your talking and not the death that he could bring you?
he was confused and annoyed, yet he was content at the same time. he was so caught up in you that midnight had fallen to him suddenly. he only noticed when the moon’s light hits your face, and your face has never been clearer—even under the sun.
he noted each and every delicate feature, and he frowned because why is he doing it? what does he get from it? he needed time for himself to think this through.
he needed to know why does he feel this way and only from a night spent with you?
surely, you had done something.
so, he silently raised his hand, and you paused right away. your hands settled on your lap, and your smile slowly turned into a thin line, one that’s nervous as you await his next order. he looked up at you, eyes burning.
he then commanded you sternly, “leave.”
you nodded, wasting no time in gathering your things and scurrying out of the chambers but without a small and hesitant, “good night, my lord.”
sukuna’s eyes widened a fraction as he looked up at the door closing behind you. he groaned, throwing his back. he figured that he could just think about it in the morning when he wakes up, but the thing is
he doesn’t wake up
because he doesn’t sleep.
thoughts flooded with images of you, your voice, and your touch to the point that no slumber was he granted. it drove him insane. he is the king of curses; he shouldn’t be tied to a thought of one person, a mere concubine at that.
he racked his brain for the cause of it, but he couldn’t think of any. since the moment you came in till the moment you went out, he had kept his eyes on you.
he thought it was to make sure that you don’t do anything foolish, but he doesn’t know when did his eyes follow you just for you.
so, with anger swirling in his gut, he got up and did what he can to quench his anger, and that’s how everything got this point:
him standing in the middle of the—formerly vacant—room that is now filled with flesh and painted with blood and you who is treading through the gardens with a blissful smile.
your thoughts wander to the night before as you reminisce every soft touch and every little praise you were granted, and it lifts your mood even more.
unaware of the chaos that happened in your absence, you entered the hall where half of the people have disappeared.
your eyebrows furrow, and you look at the weeping ladies, “where are the rest?”
hiccups are all you hear, and eyeshot eyes are what you see. their sobs are unseizing even as they look you in the eye. you hear light footsteps behind you, so you turn and see uraume standing at the door.
they look you in the eye, “are you y/n?”
you nod slowly, and they hum, “lord sukuna has requested for your presence.”
you light up considerably while the other concubines shake in fear as their eyes dart to you. one of them jumps out of her place and latches at you, “no! no! don’t go! he will—”
“silence!” uraume snaps.
the lady holding onto you quickly lets go and crawls back to hide behind the others.
she grips tightly onto the shoulder of the woman in front of her, tears streaming down her face as she is faced with uraume’s sneer.
uraume looks up at you and affirmed, “go.”
after a while, you finally find yourself face to face with the entrance of sukuna’s chamber.
you take a deep breath, and you carefully push the door and speak up softly, “my lord, you called for me?”
you feel a hand roughly clutch your arm and snatches you inside. you are then slammed against the wall. you let out a yelp as pain shoots up your spine.
you squeeze your eyes shut, afraid of the sight that you will see.
and even though you can’t see his eyes, you can feel the heat from his glare. the venom dripping from his voice doesn’t help as he sneers, “what have you done?”
you force your eyes open slowly, and you stutter, “w-what?”
a hand flies to your throat and is wrapped securely around it. you choke out a small, “my lord!”
his grip tightens, and you feel tears form in your eyes and flow down your face.
more than ever, you feel the fear that his looming figure sends through everybody else, you feel the fire of his red eyes scorch your skin, and you feel the aura that everybody talked about.
an overwhelming evil.
“I don’t understand what game you’re playing, but you better stop it this instance,” he threatens, and you let out a sob.
“what game, my lord? I don’t understand!” you manage to choke out.
your hear him let out a breath before he says lowly, “I have told you that desires and pleasures are fluctuating, right?”
fearing for your life, you nod desperately. you feel his grip loosen, and he leans down to rest his forehead on your own.
with furrowed brows and a deep scowl, his eyes bore into your own as he holds your face up with his other hand, “then why do I still desire you?”
you blink owlishly at him then speak cautiously, “didn’t you say that you take what you desire?”
he raises an eyebrow, urging you to continue. slowly and hesitantly, you raise your hand to cup his face.
you look him up in the eyes, and you find them following your every moment. “then what’s wrong with,” you hesitate, “with taking this one?”
you look innocent as you look up at him, but to him, your words are nothing but.
with a low chuckle, he pulls your face closer to his own, “temptress,” and he seals your lips with his.
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