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nyrasproblm · 3 days

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Ignorance

part 1/?

Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: You confess to Joel and are rejected.

Word Count: 2K

Warning: angst, rejection, mention of the Apocalypse (don't tell me), mention of deaths.

Ignoring the bad part of things was your favorite thing to do. It made you less sad and gave a false sense of normality in the destroyed and rotten reality you lived in. Not that Jackson was destroyed and rotten, but the world outside the gates was. So that's why you ignored everything, the spores, the cordyceps, the clickers, runners, lurkers, all of them. You did everything to escape being put on patrol, you wouldn't leave Jackson unless it was a matter of life and death. Your tasks in the community were taking care of the gardens, the stables and cleaning the community cafeteria.

It seems like a lot, but it's good for not looking idle and useless, it takes up your entire day and gives you a feeling of work accomplished and satisfaction at the end of the day, when you climb the few old wooden steps to the porch of your house. Those steps really need replacing, actually. If you stood still for more than a few minutes on top of them you ran the risk of falling. But you left that aside, you had something else in mind. In fact, you had one person in mind.

That almost completely gray-haired man, with a grey beard, robust, deep and serious voice, strong Texan accent. Joel Miller. You couldn't stand being around him for more than a few minutes, your heart was beating very quickly and you felt butterflies in your stomach. The man was Ellie's father, a girl a few years younger than you, she was a bit foul-mouthed but nice, you had already spoken to her a few times.

You held your breath from the first time you saw him in the community a year ago, and it's never been the same since. Whenever you passed him on the streets you held an idiotic sigh, you felt like a teenager for acting like that, but you couldn't help it. The man had your heart in his hands and you couldn't do anything to get it back.

Some people in Jackson spoke badly about Joel behind his back, saying he was a surly, violent man who had a lot of mood swings. One of your few friends, Emily, said the same thing when you mentioned Joel to her, but you ignored it. It wasn't like he was that bad, it should just be that the hard years he lived outside the gates were taking a toll on him, but you were sure he was a good person.

You said this to Emily, but she reiterated that Joel was an extremely violent and bad-tempered man who had done terrible things in the outside world. You chuckled and said 'and who hasn't done terrible things out there?'. Emily sighed and the conversation ended there

Holidays in Jackson were celebrated without fail, especially the most famous ones, like Christmas and New Year, but Maria began to innovate and encourage other things, like spring food festivals, Mother's Day, and Valentine's Day. It seemed strange to celebrate Valentine's Day at the end of the world, but the young people in the community seemed to get excited, you included, so hearts and pink things were hung on the doors of the houses and some lights were painted pink too, in the community bar.

Oh, one thing that wasn't mentioned: your house was almost opposite Joel's house. A coincidence. You took advantage of the Valentine's Day arrangements and picked up some decorations to hang in your house, a medium pink paper heart was glued, and next to it two small red hearts. You pulled away and smiled widely as you looked at the minimal decorations that gave some life to the almost colorless landscape.

You heard heavy footsteps trampling the snow and turned to see the man himself, shotgun slung over his shoulders, backpack on his back and a tired expression on his face. Joel looked directly at your door, then looked at you and shook his head and turned to enter his own without saying anything.

You let out an excited squeal along with other women whenever someone confessed to their loved one or handed over a hastily made card. The number of these events had been increasing since the community was dressed up for the holiday. You couldn't wait to do the same, you had already planned everything, you had handmade a card for Joel, it wasn't pink or red, he didn't seem to like those things very much. It was a nice card that could be used to decorate his room, or something like that, if he didn't actually have a room.

You wouldn't do that in front of everyone, you knew Joel was an older and reserved man, he didn't seem to like attention. You didn't know his schedule, you only saw him occasionally passing home at dusk, so that's what you did: you sat on your sofa below the window and waited until Joel passed by. As soon as he appeared in your field of vision with the same thick beige jacket, the same shotgun slung over his shoulder, the same worn brown backpack and the same heavy boots you stood up and took a deep breath. She watched until he entered the house and closed the door, then took the card from the coffee table and put on his coat, opened the door and took the few steps it took until he arrived at Joel's house.

The card you had prepared was made of yellow paper, folded in half, it had a bee drawn with your best artistic gifts and right below it there was the phrase 'Bee mine?' in large black letters. You let out a giggle through your nose and walked up the few steps to Joel's house, knocked on the door softly and waited.

You didn't notice, but the window curtain moved to open a tiny crack, where Joel peeked out. A few seconds later the door opened and you caught your breath. There he was, he looked tired and you felt bad for going to talk to him at this time. Shaking your head slightly, you were about to start speaking, but before you could open your mouth, Joel spoke:

"May I help you?" the hoarse voice spoke.

"Oh, good night." you said shyly after a few minutes. "I... I wanted to, uhm–"

"Listen, young lady, I don't mean to be rude, but I just got here and I'm tired." he continued.

You swallowed hard and took the card from behind your back, holding it towards him.

"I-I was hoping to talk, but you're tired, so... here it is, I made it for you." you waved the card but he didn't move to take it. "It's for Valentine's Day."

Your stomach was churning, his expression didn't look very good, he looked very seriously at you, then looked at the card.

"You can take it, it’s for you–” you tried to extend the card to him again.

"I'm sorry, but, did you really think this was a good idea, girl?" the tone of voice was rude now. "Coming over to my house like that and handing me a piece of paper?"

"I– uhm, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you." you swallowed, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I just wanted to give the card I made."

"And why do you want to give me this bullshit so much?"

You had your face lowered but you looked up, slightly wide-eyed at his aggressive sentence, consumed by a wave of angry courage you blurted out:

"I really like you."

"What?" he said mockingly after a few seconds. "Do you really like me?"

"Yes." you answered bravely, still feeling the lump in your throat. "I– I really like you, I mean… I mean I'm in love with you."

Joel stared at your face for a few seconds, as if studying you, then let out a light nasal laugh and said:

"I'm old enough to be your father, girl. Go home and don't bother me again, you seem like the pushy type."

"Listen, please, I've loved you for a long time–"

"What are you talking about, stupid girl?" he looked very angry now, his brow was furrowed and his nostrils were flared. "Love? You don't know what you're talking about."

"If you give me a chance to–"

"Go home, I told you." he said. "There's no chance of that, or anything else, I don't want anything to do with someone like you, understand? Don't bother me anymore."

Then he went back inside and slammed the door in your face.

You knew very early and came home very late to avoid laying eyes on Joel. Maybe she shouldn't have ignored the warnings about him after all, but he was still present in your heart. You shoved the card deep into your dresser, you were embarrassed to look at it now.

Ironically, now that you wanted to be more busy you had less work, winter had arrived and the ground was frozen, so the garden was at a standstill. So you dedicated yourself to the horses and cleaning the mess hall, returning home at almost the same time as always.

You hadn't told Emily what you were going to do and you hadn't told her about the rejection either, she was going to throw it in your face that she had warned you. You felt so stupid now, how could you have thought you had a chance? So much self-esteem.

The days passed quickly and you were thankful for that, but it wasn't like you forgot what happened. Your first interaction with Joel since the incident was when you were cleaning the cafeteria to close, it was already dark and it was practically empty. Mopping the floor repeatedly and sighing every now and then, you didn't see him walk through the large doors.

"Are you guys finishing early?" the thick Texan accent spoke from behind you and you froze momentarily, then turned to him with an effort of blank expression.

"This week, yes, we are down one person." you replied and went back to mopping the floor.

"Okay, thanks." he seemed to hesitate for a moment before walking outside again, and you let out a sharp breath.

The universe seemed to make fun of you and a few days later you had your next interaction with Joel.

Someone covered you in cleaning the cafeteria, so you used the free time to try to fix the rotten steps on your porch. As you repeatedly hammered the nails into place, you felt a poke on your shoulder and stopped your movements, feeling your stomach turn in knots when you saw Joel behind you.

"Can I help you?" you asked, standing up and brushing the snow and dirt off your knees.

"Do you realize it's already night? I need to go out on patrol tomorrow and you're making too much noise." he said rudely.

"Right. I'm sorry." you turned around and started picking up the tools you used, holding them against your chest and seeing the best way to climb without falling.

You had only fixed one of the steps, the one closest to the ground, so you climbed up on it and stretched your leg to try to climb over the others, but the new step wasn't securely fastened and you slipped, letting out a pathetic little scream.

You heard footsteps approaching and his arms lifting you off the ground quickly.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Joel's deep voice asked and you glanced at him sideways.

"I'm fine, thank you." you replied and saw him come closer to rest his hand on the small of your back. "Don't touch me." you exclaimed.

"I just wanted to see if you were hurt." he took a few steps back, looking embarrassed.

"I am well, thank you." you responded quickly and walked away from him, picking up the materials you used earlier again.

You balanced yourself and took a little jump to the porch, entered and closed the door.

#writing #writers on tumblr #fem reader #joel tlou #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader angst #joel x reader #tlou2 #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #rejection #rejection fic

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truly-neutral-art · 2 days

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Din/Luke Pacific Rim AU pt.3

Pt.1 | Pt.2

Welcome to part 3 of my madness as I continue to take inspiration from scenes in the movie. This is when Din get's a full view of Luke's scars (and is caught looking) not long after the drift compatibility tryouts. He still doesn't know of their origins, but he might find out soon 👀👀👀 (More info under the cut if you're interested).

Anyways, hope my insanity entertains y'all! There's still plenty more to come and perhaps even more in the works.

P.S. All the love that this idea has been shown has been a great motivator for me to work on the fic. So thank you to everyone who's interacted with these posts and have shown their interest. Glad to know I'm not alone in being interested in a niche ship and a 10 year old movie crossover.

More info about Luke's Scars: It starts with part of the timeline I've formulated.

2027 - Luke becomes a pilot with Biggs.

January, 2028 - Death of Paz; Birth of Grogu; Din leaves the Jaeger program

August, 2028 - Death of Biggs; Luke is injured;

2029 - Leia becomes a pilot and is Luke's new partner

So, essentially Luke joined the program very young (17) while Leia was still studying politics with the Organas. Biggs was Luke's drift partner and they piloted together for a year.

The destruction of Razor Crest and the death of Paz/disappearance of Din marked the turning point for the Jaeger program. Not long after that incident the Jaegers were struggling to fight back against the onslaught of Kaiju. More frequent attacks along with higher category Kaiju started to wear them thin.

In a particularly dicey situation, Luke and Biggs were deployed on their own to deal with a CATIII Kaiju while backup was on the way. Despite how skilled the two were, the Kaiju overwhelmed them before backup could come and their Con Pod was ripped from their Jaeger. The damage caused an energy serge through the pilot suits causing Luke to get his scars. Those injuries, plus the ones from getting tossed onto shore, also resulted in Bigg's death.

After hearing about this, and while Luke was recovering. Leia decided to join the program and began her training. By the time Luke was recovered she was graduating cadet school and they were able to pilot together. It took some time for Luke to get used to piloting again after being connected to someone who died, but he trained himself to feel the serenity in the drift and keep those memories at bay. Luke's control while in the drift is next to no one except maybe Anakin, but he hasn't piloted in a long time, so it's hard to say.

Speaking of Anakin, he isn't supper happy about his children being pilots, but there wasn't much he could do to dissuade them. After Padme's death during a Kaiju attack, and Anakin subsequently blaming himself for it, he threw himself into the program. He wasn't able to raise the twins because he was on duty so they were raised by Owen and Beru as well as mentored by the Organas (mostly Leia).

Leia is resentful of Anakin for leaving them when they were so young and had just lost their mother. Luke mostly blames himself in an unreasonable way and thinks he wasn't worth enough for Anakin to stick around. The reason Anakin did leave was so he could try to stop the Kaiju and make the world safe for his kids. However, in the process, he may have lost the time he could have had with them.

#dinluke #star wars #luke skywalker #din djarin #art #fanfic #fanfiction #the mandalorian #dinluke fanart #dinluke au #pacific rim au #leia organa #tru's dinluke pacific rim au

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mononijikayu · 2 days

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a walk — ryomen sukuna.

As you entered the banquet hall together, the atmosphere shifted subtly. You made sure to settle him beside your uncle, who was seated on your right. Conversations continued, but there were curious glances and speculative whispers. Sukuna's presence alongside you, clearly as your companion and equal, sent a powerful message to everyone present. Your status as heir to the Ryomen clan lent your actions an implicit endorsement, and your obvious confidence in Sukuna, as a new member of your family, your future right hand man, challenged any lingering doubts about his place among them.

GENRE: Heian Era to Cursed Womb Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, Grief, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining;

masterlist

listen: a walk by baek yerin

note: i wrote this and wanted to publish it early but i fell asleep, so here we are!!! if you want to be tagged for the next chapter, just comment here~ ill make a list and add you in!!! thank you for your support and i hope you enjoy~ mwah~

YOU THOUGHT YOU SHOULD HAVE REFUSED THE SUMMONS. But you supposed that it would be unbecoming of your position as heir to not show up. You stood gracefully before the gathering, your appearance meticulously composed in sharp wonder, which lent an air of solemnity and reverence to the occasion. Your jūnihitoe shone with pride, multiple layers blossoming through with the double heron. The layers of your kimono cascaded in various shades of indigo representing sincerity and integrity, interspersed with lighter hues of wisteria to signify the young life you advocated for within your ancient lineage.

You could see your lord father behind the magnificent byōbu, his dark gaze fixed on you as he sat primly on his shitone. Your uncle, now a father to Sukuna, was just behind your father, enveloped in a solemn silence with his adopted son behind him, head bowed. You think that Sukuna shouldn’t lower his head. A Ryomen shouldn’t.

Yet you could not blame him. Sukuna knew this gathering was about him. But how could it not be? He was a boy tied to cursed energy, one who had been plagued by a curse himself. And the world was curious, for he was no one but a common boy—a fiend who had stolen and stirred chaos.

It was not uncommon for the Ryomen to welcome new members among their ranks, to bring them into the family and give them a new name. However, giving the Ryomen name to someone bound to a curse was another matter entirely. You did not see it as a significant issue—the curse was dealt with, and Sukuna was free from its clutches. Yet, it still wasn't enough for these people. It was common procedure for the elders to get involved, but it infuriated you that the elders of your own clan had chosen to inform the other clans and involve them in what should have been a private matter.

You looked at your father and bowed.

You turned to the Ryomen elders and bowed.

Then towards the other clan elders, you nod.

“You may speak, Ryomen Hiromi.” Your father says to you, raising his hand. “State your case.”

You purse your lips as you stand still to address the assembly, your voice carrying a calm yet unmistakable edge of frustration. Your uncle snorted, noticing it. "Esteemed elders, and honored guests from the esteemed clans," you began, your dark eyes sweeping across the room. "I understand the concerns that arise upon this matter. However, let us not be swayed by fear of the unknown nor the shadows of the past."

You paused, making sure your words sank into all. "Sukuna was indeed once a fiend, but he was also a victim of circumstances far beyond a child’s control or understanding. The curse that once clouded his fate has been lifted, cleansed by the very traditions and strengths that our clan upholds."

As you concluded your statement, a stern voice cut through the charged atmosphere of the assembly hall. Elder Hoshiko of the Kamo Clan, known for her conservative stance and influential voice among the sea of clan elders, stood up. Her presence commanded attention, her eyes sharp as they fixed on you.

"Lady Hiromi," she began, her tone as cool as the steel of a blade, "Your words paint a hopeful picture, but they also skirt the edges of naivety. Are we to simply forget the chaos this boy wrought before his 'cleansing'? Are we to trust so readily in the efficacy of a ritual that many of us have yet to witness firsthand?"

The room tensed as other elders nodded in agreement, their murmurs filling the space with a wave of skepticism. You think that was a fair comment. None had seen the depth of your own cursed technique for years. No one truly knew the depths of it all, not even you. Your head hurts, that voice whispering once again. But you stood firm. You will not waver; you meet Elder Hoshiko's gaze with a steely one of your own.

"Elder Hoshiko, I respect your concerns," you replied, your voice thick with firm resolve. "Yet, I must challenge the perspective that holds us anchored to fear and doubt. Sukuna's past actions, while regrettable, were influenced by forces he neither understood nor could control. An orphan in the streets has had no guidance. Since his arrival under our care, his behavior has been nothing but exemplary."

Another elder, Takashi of the Ryomen, known for his strategic mind but cautious nature, chimed in, his voice adding weight to Hoshiko's doubts. "But can we risk the safety of our clans on 'exemplary behavior' observed over merely a few moons? What assurances do we have that the curse does not linger or that it cannot be rekindled?"

The tension in the room thickened palpably as Akihiko of the Fujiwara, your great-uncle, made his position clear, aligning himself with the more conservative faction represented by Elder Takashi. His voice, seasoned with years of authority and sharpened by disapproval, filled the room as he addressed you with a stern glare.

“I agree with Elder Takashi,” he declared, his stance rigid and commanding, underscoring the gravity of his objection. The silence that followed his statement was heavy, charged with familial and political implications.

Your mother, ever the astute matriarch of her line, responded not with words but with a haughty smirk, a subtle yet clear indication of her alignment. Her amusement at the discomfort you now faced was thinly veiled, revealing the complex layers of rivalry and allegiance within the clan. This smirk was not merely a mother's reaction; it was a political stance, one that favored her own kin over the progressive ideas you proposed.

Your father’s reaction was swift and sharp. His gaze darted towards his wife, eyes narrowing into a harsh glare that spoke volumes of the internal conflicts that often played out behind the closed doors of their estate. This look was a silent rebuke, a fleeting yet intense display of disagreement with the stance his wife had chosen to publicly support.

Akihiko continued, his tone slightly raised to emphasize his disapproval. “He is an outsider. One who does not know the ways around our world. Is the Ryomen name ever made so lightly that you give it to any random boy you find on the street, Lady Hiromi?”

The challenge hung in the air, direct and formidable, questioning not just your judgment but also the very principles under which you operated. It was an accusation of recklessness, a critique that sought to frame your decision as a dilution of the clan’s esteemed legacy.

You, standing amidst your family and the clan elders, maintain your composure. Your expression was calm, though your eyes were alight with the fire of conviction. You understood that your reply needed to bridge the gap between honoring your clan’s traditions and advocating for the progressive values you believed were essential for their survival and growth.

A glint of purple light echoed in your eyes. When Sukuna saw that, he could feel every fiber of his being scream in the silence. It was terrifying, the way you glared. It was silent, it wasn’t provoking. Rather, it was quiet. The whole room shuddered at the sight. Sukuna did not know what it was. But everyone in the room was silenced immediately. For a moment, he thinks how awe-striking the purple was in his lady’s eyes. Yet, when you closed your eyes and opened them, they turned into hazel summer gazes once more.

“Great-Uncle Akihiko, Elder of the Fujiwara,” you began, your voice steady and respectful, yet imbued with a firmness that matched his challenge. “I understand your concerns, and I do not take them lightly. Sukuna was indeed an outsider, but under the guidance of our clan, he has shown a willingness and a capacity to learn and embrace our ways.”

You paused, ensuring your words were measured and impactful. “The Ryomen name is not given lightly—it is earned, through commitment, learning, and transformation. What I propose is not a hasty grant of our name, but a carefully considered integration of a potential new member who has shown promise. We are not just preserving our past; we are building our future.”

Your response was a blend of deference to the clan’s traditions and a confident assertion of your modern leadership approach. You sought to remind everyone present that the strength of the Ryomen did not merely lie in their exclusivity, but in their ability to adapt and thrive through the inclusion of new strengths and perspectives.

The room fell silent as your words resonated with the assembled family members and elders. Some faces showed contemplation, perhaps reconsidering their initial resistance, while others maintained their skepticism. You knew that convincing them would not be an overnight success but a gradual process requiring patience, diplomacy, and unwavering dedication to your vision.

"Elders, the assurances you seek lie in the very foundations of our practices and the strength of our traditions. Our ancestors built these rites to combat such curses, to cleanse and to renew. Have we become so distrustful of our own heritage that we doubt its power?"

Your challenge was bold, and it hung heavily in the room. You continued, turning to your great–uncle. "Moreover, allowing fear to dictate our actions leads to stagnation. We are not merely guardians of the old ways but also shepherds of potential. Sukuna deserves the chance to prove his transformation—under careful watch, certainly, but he deserves that chance nonetheless."

The rest of the elders started to echo into a symposium of words as they huddled about together. The assembly was silent for a moment, the weight of future decisions palpable in the air. It was the lord of the Gojo Clan—Gojo Suzaku who broke the silence, his voice a calming balm to the heated exchange. His tender eyes gazed at you with a soft smile.

"Lady Hiromi speaks of progression and trust in our ancient rites. Perhaps it is time we consider her words not as a call to blind faith, but as an invitation to demonstrate the resilience and adaptability of our ways. If the boy proves himself under the vigilant eye of the Ryomen, would we not then strengthen the trust in our own traditions?"

His intervention offered a momentary pause in the contention, providing the elders a chance to reflect not just on the risks but on the potential rewards of embracing change. You nodded to Suzaku, grateful for his support and hoping your arguments had sown seeds of courage among your doubts. You appreciate him quite well. From what you heard from your uncle, he refused to send the delegation of elders from his clan without him. It was as though he knew that you would be suffering the ire of his kinfolk.

The room simmers down and the rest whispers like cicadas in the summertime, now considering the broader implications of their decisions. Ryomen Hiromi used this moment to strengthen your position, your voice resonating with conviction. Sukuna looked at the clan leader of the Gojo. He was perhaps your age—no, he’s older than you. He was a tall man, dressed in fine layers of white and blue silks, the crest of the Gojo clan across each layer. His motodori made his handsome features obvious, his clean shaven face.

He did not have their family’s technique. It had not been reborn for multiple generations. But from what Sukuna hears, that does not make lord Gojo any less powerful. Perhaps that’s why you look at him tenderly, with deference. Sukuna knew that jealousy is not a good feeling, it was a negative emotion. A Ryomen did not concern themselves with jealousy, either. Contentment is a Ryomen’s word. Yet, as he smiled at you and you smiled back, Sukuna thinks lord Gojo did not deserve to look at you like that. Nor did he like that you eyed him with deference too.

"Thank you, clan leader Gojo, for your insightful words.” You continued, turning your attention back to the room at large. "Our young Sukuna's integration into our clan isn't just about managing risk—it's about leadership and vision for the future. One that I must lead, as my lord father’s heir. Our traditions are not just relics of the past but living, breathing practices that adapt and overcome contemporary challenges."

You addressed the assembly with a renewed fervor, "We stand at a crossroads where our choices will define not just Sukuna's fate but the identity of our jujutsu world. Will we be known as those who shrank back in the face of adversity, or as pioneers? Are we just not to live in a modern world, because you fear change?”

Several of the elders shifted uncomfortably in their seats, your words challenging them to rethink their initial resistance. You think you have gotten the Kamo. They speak too much of pride for tradition, about being the guardians of the past. Perhaps had the Zenin arrived too, there would be the same reaction on their faces. But you doubt that they would willingly go. They hated that your father had chosen you as his heir above any other man in his household.

But you think you could scarcely care for Zenin at this moment. You basked in the look your father had given you from afar. Your appeal to their legacy and identity struck a chord, particularly with the younger members around them, who were more receptive to the ideas of adaptation and evolution.

Elder Hoshiko, still a formidable figure, softened slightly but maintained her cautious stance. "Lady Hiromi, your passion is evident, and your argument compelling. However, we must proceed with caution. If we are to embrace this path, I propose strict conditions under which the boy's integration is monitored and evaluated at every step."

You nodded, understanding the necessity of compromise. "That is a prudent suggestion, Elder Hoshiko. I welcome oversight and stringent conditions. I am one for rules, after all. If this is what must be, then let us begin somewhere. The clans I’m sure would be more than willing to aid our Ryomen clan in this endeavor. Is it the strength of each other, to contribute to society together, not what must be?”

This proposal seemed to appease the more conservative members of the assembly, providing a structured path forward that included checks and balances. The atmosphere began to shift from overt skepticism to cautious optimism

Elder Takashi, now seeing a structured approach to the situation, added, "Let us then draft a framework for the boy’s observation. This framework will detail behavioral expectations, milestones for assessment, and the consequences of any deviation from the set path. This way, we maintain control while allowing for the possibility of integration."

"Very well, Elder Takashi," you replied, your tone even and composed, betraying none of the frustration that tinged your earlier thoughts. "This will be much discussed with my father. Fear not."

Before another elder could interject with further doubts or concerns, Lord Isamu, your father and the esteemed leader of the Ryomen, rose to his feet. His movement was graceful, yet deliberate, capturing the attention of everyone present. The elder's stature, combined with the authoritative calm of his voice, immediately lent an air of finality to the discussion.

“That it shall be, do not fret, elders, friends,” Lord Isamu announced, his voice resonant, echoing slightly off the high, ornate ceilings of the council chamber.

As he spoke, he adjusted the sleeve of his kimono, a subtle, almost unconscious motion that nonetheless underscored his next words. The faint rustle of silk against the quiet of the room underscored his presence, as shadows from the flickering light of hanging lanterns played across the fabric, adding a dramatic flair to the moment.

“But all must have trust in my daughter. There is no reason for the child to not grow with such excellence when the pride of the Ryomen teaches him our ways.” Lord Isamu’s gaze swept across the room, each member of the assembly feeling the weight of his look. Then his wife, and then, her uncle. His wife lowered her eyes. He turns back his gaze at Hiromi. It was a reminder of his authority and of his confidence in your capabilities as both a leader and a mentor. “There is no one better than my daughter and my heir.”

His statement was not just a declaration of support for you; it was a directive that echoed his unwavering belief in the principles that had guided the Ryomen for generations. His words sought to remind the elders that the strength of their clan did not merely rest in maintaining old traditions but in their capacity to adapt, to teach, and to grow stronger by integrating new elements into their lineage, guided by the wisdom of their customs.

The room, previously filled with murmurs of concern and skepticism, now fell silent, the elders and other attendees digesting Lord Isamu's words. His endorsement of your judgment effectively sealed the council’s decision, casting it in a new light—not as a concession but as an affirmation of the Ryomen’s resilience and dynamic leadership. And through the dull bureaucracy that had led to more hours of waste, the adjourned assembly agreed, and what had started as a contentious debate moved towards constructive planning.

You felt a cautious relief; while the road ahead would be rigorous and filled with scrutiny, it was a path forward nonetheless. Sukuna would be given his chance under the watchful eyes of the Ryomen elders. Sukuna will do so. He’ll show them. You sighed.

You think you’ll be able to sleep tonight.

‘Do you think that you deserve such a thing?’

That voice says, almost mockingly as you sighed.

The voice was truly right. A god is always right.

“No.” You say under your breath, “I don’t.”

FATHER ANNOUNCED A BANQUET FOR THE GUESTS SOON AFTER. As the elders dispersed, leaving the room echoing with the last murmurs of conversation, you stepped closer to Sukuna. Your uncle sighed at you as you nodded back at him. You smiled down at the younger boy, looking at him as though to reassure him that everything was fine. You brushed your fingers against his hair, a small blush appearing on his cheeks.

“You just had to antagonize the elders, hm?” he sighed, a slight smile playing at the edges of his mouth despite his words. You stood together in the quiet aftermath of the council meeting, the heavy doors closing softly behind the last of the departing figures.

You met his gaze with a spark of defiance still alight in your eyes, tempered by a hint of mischief. “Uncle, if I didn’t challenge them, who would?” Your voice carried a lightness, but underneath lay a steely resolve. “We can’t always bow to fear and comfort. Sometimes, we need to stir the waters to catch fish.”

Hiramu chuckled softly, shaking his head. “True, but you don’t have to use a spear every time, little niece.” he teased you gently, acknowledging your tactic. “Your father supports you, and that’s no small thing. But remember, these elders are not just obstacles to overcome; they’re resources, allies in the making if you handle them right.”

You nodded, understanding the wisdom in his advice. “I know, uncle. I do value their counsel and their experience. But sometimes, it feels like they’re more interested in preserving their own peace than in what’s best for the clan. I want to push them to see beyond their immediate concerns.”

Hiramu placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “And you will, Hiromi. Just remember that it’s not always about pushing. Sometimes, it’s about guiding, showing them the path and letting them walk it with you. You have a vision for the Ryomen that’s bold and inclusive, and it’s exactly what we need. But bring them along with you. You’ll need them on your side as you lead.”

The last of the daylight filtered through the high windows, casting long patterns on the floor that flickered as lanterns were lit in preparation for the evening’s banquet. The moment of solitude between you was a rare pause in the rhythm of your responsibilities.

“Come,” Hiramu finally said, breaking the contemplative silence as he gestured toward the hall where the banquet was being prepared. “Let’s join the others. Show them your resolve pairs with your grace. Tonight, let them see the leader you are becoming, not just the challenges you pose.”

You nodded at your uncle, understanding his encouragement and the wisdom behind his gentle urging. However, as Hiramu turned to move towards the bustling banquet hall, your gaze drifted away, settling on the young boy who was the subject of much of today's discourse—Sukuna. Your eyes lingered on him, seeing not just a boy shadowed by past misdeeds and complex curses but a burgeoning emblem of your leadership and the clan's potential for inclusivity and change.

Sukuna stood slightly apart, his posture betraying a blend of apprehension and curiosity about the evening's events. The noise and light from the banquet seemed to beckon him, yet also hold him at bay, emblematic of his current place at the fringes of the Ryomen clan. He did not know what to do, you think. He does not know how to belong after not belonging for so long.

Your uncle noticed your hesitation and followed your gaze. With a sigh, he understood the silent conversation passing between you. Your responsibilities as the heir—and your personal commitment to Sukuna's integration and acceptance—were pulling you in a different direction than the rest of the clan members joyously heading towards the banquet.

Hiramu gave a slight nod, a gesture laden with both resignation and respect for your dedication. "Go on, little niece," he said softly, his voice carrying a fatherly warmth. "He needs you more than I do right now."

With that, Hiramu turned and proceeded alone, his figure gradually merging with the others, disappearing into the light and laughter of the banquet hall. Left in the quieter, shadowed part of the corridor, you took a deep breath and approached Sukuna, your steps measured and your demeanor composed yet inviting.

As you neared, Sukuna looked up, his eyes reflecting a mix of relief and surprise to see you approaching. "Everyone's going to the banquet," he remarked quietly, an underlying question in his tone about his place in this new world.

You smiled gently, reaching out to lightly touch his arm in reassurance. "They are, and we will join them, but first, let's talk for a moment. Let’s take a walk.”

Sukuna purses his lips in a line and nods slowly. “Yes, my lady.”

You snicker. “You and your formality, Sukuna. Are we not alone?”

“But—”

“This is all new to you, I understand that and it's important to me that you feel part of this, truly part of it," you explained, your voice low and soothing. “But do not risk discomfort. You don’t have to be so formal all the time.”

“.....Yes, Hiromi–sama.”

You sheepishly sigh but it was a start.

He would learn in time to be comfortable.

Perhaps it's just not the time just yet.

Your decision to delay joining the festivities was a clear indication of your priorities. For you, leadership was not just about making decisions from afar or addressing the clan from a position of authority; it was about being present and supportive, about making sure that each member of your future clan, especially one as vulnerable as Sukuna, felt valued and included. And more so, you did not want him to be overwhelmed. He had never been a part of this sort of world before. What sort of leader would you be if you were not thinking of his comfort?

Together, you would later join the banquet, but this moment—quiet, away from the prying eyes and ears of the clan and the jujutsu world—was crucial. It was an opportunity to strengthen a bond, to build trust, and to reaffirm your commitment not just to the traditions of the Ryomen clan but to the individuals who formed its heart. To give him a chance to be a young one first, before a man. Soon enough, in a few years, he would not have such moments to himself anymore. He needed this. No one deserves to be deprived of their youths, after all.

"Sukuna," you began, your voice soft yet imbued with a strength meant to fortify him, "I hope that you raise your head. A Ryomen does not bow his head. Today was important, not just for you but for all of us. You've been given a rare opportunity, one that comes with great challenges, but I believe in you. I wouldn’t have stood up there if I didn’t."

Sukuna looked up at you, his previous resolve mingling with a trace of vulnerability. "Hiromi–sama, I... I'm not sure I can be what they want me to be. What if I fail?"

You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Failure is a part of growing, a part of learning. Remember, perfection isn't what we're striving for; it's growth, understanding, and integration into a family that values strength through trials. I have grown from my failures too.”

Your words seemed to slowly seep into Sukuna, easing the tension that had knotted his features. It’s as if he had not known you to be one of failure either. But Sukuna thinks of you as his god. There were no flaws in gods. And he had to live up to that. "But they see me as a risk, a potential threat. How do I change that? What can I do to make sure I stay by your side, Hiromi-sama?”

As you paused, something in the moonlit night seemed to transform you. Sukuna watched, captivated and slightly bewildered, as subtle changes manifested before him. It was as if the serene glow of the moon drew out a deeper magic from within you—a magic that seemed inherent to the legacy of the Ryomen clan. Your eyes flickered with a mysterious purple light, briefly illuminating the darkness with their ethereal glow.

Your hair caught the moon’s silver rays, turning shades lighter until it mirrored the lustrous sheen of moonlight itself. The transformation was subtle yet profound, marking you not just as a scion of your clan but as something more, something almost otherworldly.

As the days turned into weeks, Sukuna's understanding of you deepened, and his nocturnal observations revealed more than the daily interactions could. There were nights when, wandering the silent halls of the shiden, he would find himself drawn towards the quiet tsuridono, where you often retreated.

At first, these encounters seemed mere coincidences—chance moments when your paths crossed under the silver glow of the moon. But as these nights multiplied, Sukuna began to understand: you, the ever-composed heir of the Ryomen clan, battled with your own hidden struggles. One you refuse to talk about. One that you refuse to expose to the world. The vulnerability of the heir is the vulnerability of the clan, after all.

The servants whispered among themselves, voices low but filled with concern, that you rarely succumbed to sleep. Some even murmured that you did not sleep at all, plagued by nightmares too profound and terrifying for others to fathom. Yet in his presence, you never showed any sign of this nocturnal torment. To Sukuna, you were always the pillar of strength and grace, your smile unwavering, your demeanor unflinchingly positive.

But he knew. He had heard enough, seen enough in the shadows under your eyes when you thought no one was looking, to understand that your vigils were not by choice. The nightmares that haunted you were a burden you carried silently, a stark contrast to the serene facade you presented to the world.

Sukuna, who had once been considered a monster himself, felt a poignant connection in these moments. Standing by your side under the luminous canopy of the moon, he felt an unspoken bond form between you. It was in these quiet hours, away from the eyes of the clan and the weight of your roles, that he felt he could offer you something invaluable—respite from your unseen demons.

In the peaceful solitude of the tsuridono, with only the whispers of the night and the soft rustling of leaves as their company, Sukuna would speak softly, telling you tales of the world outside the clan’s domain or simply sharing his thoughts on the mundane aspects of daily life. Anything to distract you, to pull your thoughts from the clutches of your nightmares.

Sometimes, he believed, his presence did rob you of those nightmares. Maybe, just maybe, the monster he thought he was could be the guardian he aspired to become. Under the watchful eyes of the moon, your features would relax, the tension easing, your breaths becoming more measured and calm. In those moments, Sukuna felt a profound sense of purpose, far from the destructive path he had once walked.

Sukuna could only gaze at you in awe each and every time. To him, you embodied the very essence of beauty and power that his previous life had taught him to fear but now urged him to revere. The Ryomen shiden-zukuri, known for their formidable marvel, of its wondrous magic and spiritual depth, were indeed a marvel of the world, yet none seemed as wondrous as Ryomen Hiromi at that moment. Doubt clouded his mind—was he worthy of such attention, of your kindness, or even your presence?

His internal turmoil must have shown on his face, for your expression softened as you looked at him, your magical display subsiding as you returned to the warm and reassuring figure he had come to know. With a tender smile that seemed to calm his racing heart, you reached out, your touch gentle and reassuring.

“You don’t need any excuse to be by my side, Sukuna,” you told him softly, your voice as soothing as the night breeze. “You are one of us now. You do not ever have to leave.”

Your words, simple yet profound, pierced through the fog of his insecurities. They were an affirmation, a welcome, a promise of belonging that Sukuna had never dared to hope for. Your acceptance served as a powerful antidote to his self-doubt, reinforcing the fledgling sense of identity he was just beginning to explore under your guidance.

"Still, to your question, you change perceptions not by hiding your past but by owning your future actions," you responded with a determined nod. "Show them who you are becoming, not who you were. Every day gives you a chance to write a new page. And remember, you are not alone in this. I am here, uncle is here, and we will support you through every step, every stumble."

Sukuna's eyes, reflecting a mix of reassurance and residual fear, met your steady gaze. "And what if the elders are right? What if I am too much of a risk?"

You smiled warmly, squeezing his shoulder. "Then we take it as a challenge, Sukuna. We work harder, learn more, and prove them wrong together. You are part of this clan now, and that means something. You have the Ryomen blood of resilience and courage starting to flow in you, even if not by birth, by choice and by bond."

You had always refused to say ‘you’ to him for moons now. You always say ‘we’. You always made sure he was not alone. That he would not face the world alone. Perhaps, it was true—how the heart only beats for the gods, like those monks at the temple say in their sermons.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Sukuna's mouth, the first genuine one since the meeting began. "I don't know if I deserve this chance, Hiromi–sama."

"Deserving isn't something that’s always given, Sukuna. Often, it’s something you take upon yourself to prove," you countered, standing up and offering him a hand to rise as well. "Let’s start this journey, shall we? Step by step, day by day. You're not just proving it to them; you're proving it to yourself."

As they walked back towards the gathering, Sukuna felt lighter, bolstered by your faith in him. The road ahead would be fraught with challenges, but the promise of becoming more than his past defined was a compelling beacon. With you by his side, the journey seemed not just necessary, but hopeful.

As they approached the warmly lit banquet hall, the sound of laughter and conversation spilling out into the night, Sukuna took a moment to look over at you. Your confidence in him, your unwavering support—it didn't just make him feel accepted; it made him feel expected, like his presence was something to be celebrated rather than merely tolerated.

"Thank you, Hiromi–sama," Sukuna said, his voice carrying a mix of gratitude and resolve. "For believing in me, when not many would. For letting me be with you.”

You smiled, your eyes reflecting the flickering lights of the banquet hall. "We all deserve a chance to prove ourselves, Sukuna. And sometimes, we need someone else to see that potential in us before we can see it in ourselves."

“I realize these things because of you, Hiromi–sama.” He says shyly, looking down at his feet. “That’s why I’m thankful.”

“Then I should thank you too, Sukuna.”

He looked confused. “For what, Hiromi–sama?”

“For taking a walk with me,” you said, your words floating softly in the cool air. “I know that it was quite a lecture, this walk. But I must thank you still. For the company, for the peace. It was the best walk I’ve had in a while.”

Your tone carried an earnestness that made Sukuna glance at you, noting the genuine smile that touched your lips and the relaxed ease in your posture that you rarely saw during formal clan gatherings. It was as though the walk had not only distanced them from the physical space of the banquet but also from the roles they habitually played within the clan. Here, under the canopy of stars and the gentle rustle of leaves, they were simply two individuals sharing a moment of tranquility.

Sukuna’s response was thoughtful, touched by the sincerity of your gratitude. “Hiromi–sama, I should be the one thanking you,” he admitted, his voice low. “Not just for the walk, but for everything today. For standing by me, for bringing me into your world and treating me as more than just…..”

He hesitated, searching for the right words, aware of how much you had put on the line by supporting him so publicly. “It means a lot to me, more than I can properly express. This walk, this evening—it’s more than just a pleasant time. Everything. Everything is more than anything to me. It’s a symbol, I think, of a new beginning. Of being seen for who I could be, not just who I was.”

You stopped and turned to face him fully, your expression softening further under the moonlight. “Sukuna, seeing potential in others is easy. Helping them see it in themselves, that’s the true challenge. And you’re rising to it beautifully. You are now the pride of our clan, too.” You reached out, your hand lightly touching his arm in a gesture of camaraderie and reassurance. “This walk, these talks, they’re as much for me as they are for you. We all need reminders that we’re not alone, that change is possible and worth striving for.”

Resuming your walk, you continued in companionable silence for a few moments, each lost in their thoughts about the day’s events and the future that lay ahead. The pathway wound through the meticulously maintained garden, past flowering shrubs and under arching trees, their leaves whispering secrets to the night wind.

“As for the lecture,” you added with a playful smile, turning to look at Sukuna again, “consider it part of the learning process. We both have much to learn, after all. And I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather learn with.”

Your words, light yet laden with truth, struck a chord with Sukuna. He smiled, realizing how much this journey with you was transforming him. Not just in how others saw him, but in how he saw himself. The night might be drawing to a close, but for Sukuna, it felt as though his true journey was just beginning—with you by his side, the path seemed not only clear but inviting.

The pathway meandered gently, lit sporadically by lanterns that cast a warm glow and stretched their shadows long and thin across the ground. As you walked, a comfortable silence settled between you, filled only by the natural sounds of the night—the soft chirping of crickets and the occasional rustle of a breeze through the leaves. It was a peaceful backdrop that allowed both you and Sukuna to reflect on the transformation each was undergoing.

Finally, Sukuna broke the silence, his voice thoughtful. "Hiromi–sama, before today, I often felt like I was looking at a road mapped out by someone else's hand. But now, walking this path with you, it’s like I’m seeing the horizon for the first time on my terms. It’s liberating and daunting all at once.”

You listened, your expression one of understanding. "It's a journey that many fear to start, Sukuna. The road to self-discovery is never straightforward or free of obstacles. But you’re not just on any path—you’re on one that you are helping to pave. Every step forward you take, you're laying down your own stones."

As you reached a small bridge that arched over a tranquil koi pond, you paused, leaning on the rail to look down at the slow-moving fish gliding under the moonlight. The scene was picturesque, almost too perfectly serene, a stark contrast to the turmoil that had often marked Sukuna’s past experiences.

You continued, your voice soft but firm. "Remember, change isn't just about leaving behind who you were; it’s about moving toward who you want to be. And you have everyone in the clan, especially me, rooting for your success. We believe in you, Sukuna, not just for what you can offer us, but for who you can become.”

The affirmation brought a genuine smile to Sukuna’s face. "Thank you, Hiromi–sama It's hard to believe sometimes, that I have found a place not just to stay, but to belong. And to think that I can contribute, that I can be part of something bigger—it gives me hope.”

You turned from the pond, continuing your walk back towards the house. The moon was high, casting a silver light that seemed to guide your way. You glanced at Sukuna, your gaze assessing yet kind. "And that hope is what will drive you through the darkest times. Just as the moon guides us tonight, let your hopes guide you when the path seems unclear."

Sukuna nodded, absorbing your words. The concept of hope as a guiding light was powerful, and he felt its truth resonate deeply within him. As you approached the residence, the sounds of the night began to give way to the soft murmur of voices from inside, signaling your return to the world you had temporarily left behind.

As you reached the door, you stopped and faced Sukuna once more. "This walk may end here, but our journey together is far from over. Remember, step by step, day by day."

With a final reassuring smile, you opened the door, stepping back into the light and warmth of the clan home, a symbol of the community you were both a part of. Sukuna followed, feeling not just like a guest being led, but like a member walking alongside his equals. Each step was a step forward, and with your support, he was ready to face whatever the future held.

Throughout the evening, you made sure to introduce Sukuna not just as a newcomer but as a valued member of the clan. You shared stories of his progress and his efforts to integrate and contribute, framing his past as a testament to his resilience and his future as a promise of his potential. With each interaction, Sukuna felt the weight of his old identity—the cursed, the outcast—shedding away, layer by layer.

"It's not going to be easy," you whispered to him as you paused by the grand window overlooking the clan's ancestral grounds. "Change never is. But every step you take is a step forward. Remember, you're not alone in this."

As he stood there, beside you, Sukuna felt a newfound fortitude. The doubts that had once clouded his vision began to dissipate, replaced by a resolve that was anchored by the support and belief you showed in him. With you by his side, guiding him with wisdom born of experience and a deep understanding of the very traditions he was learning to navigate, Sukuna found himself not just ready but eager to meet the expectations laid before him.

The notion of earning acceptance in a world that had once seemed wholly alien to him no longer appeared so formidable. Instead, it beckoned as a worthy challenge, an opportunity to prove his worth and carve out a place where he truly belonged. Your assurance that every step was a progression made him view each day not as a burden but as a building block towards a larger goal—a mosaic of efforts that would collectively shape his destiny within the clan.

Your presence—a constant reminder of strength, perseverance, and the potential to overcome adversity—instilled in him a courage that he hadn't known he possessed. It was this shared strength that transformed his perspective, making what once felt like distant dreams now seem within tangible reach.

The moon above, a silent witness to his inner transformation, cast a silver glow that seemed to light up the path at his feet. It was as if nature itself conspired to remind him of the luminous journey ahead. The cool breeze, whispering through the trees, carried with it a sense of anticipation and the sweet scent of the gardens below, reinforcing the sense of renewal and growth.

Ryomen Sukuna feels his heart beat.

He doesn't think he'll ever forget this feeling.

And he never truly did, not even as years passed.

Ryomen HIromi was all he'll ever love in humanity.

And he'll always go back to this night, this walk.

facts about the story !

hiromi at this point was sixteen - seventeen; sukuna is only three - four years younger.

her father, isamu and her mother, akiko, have been estranged for many years, more so because she's supporting her family, the fujiwara and their ambitions.

hiramu has always maintained her will never be a good husband, so he never really sought it out despite his brother arranging for him to meet eligible ladies.

the ryomen adoption system requires a sponsor - hiromi is sukuna's sponsor and that's why she speaks for him. however, someone else has to be give him his name. hiromi convinced her uncle to do it and he agreed. this changed during genmei's time, they can now be both.

sukuna still hasn't adapted to the ryomen way of life. the ryomen clan is the strictest in way of life. they wake up before dusk and do all their training, tasks and work before it gets dark. they immediately sleep after dinner.

hiromi doesn't sleep very well, but her reverse cursed technique aids in that. still sukuna is always too concerned about her that he insists to the medicine wing that she needs the best stress relief tea. the medicine wing became endeared by him for his devotion to hiromi over time.

sukuna is technically now the fourth heir of the ryomen, being adopted as a son into the main line. in the future, because of sukuna, the ruling line of the family can no longer adopt anyone, to prevent usurpations.

suzaku gojo has known hiromi since they were children, and is very fond of her. he was very good friends with hiromi's elder brother, akimu - who he sparred and rode horses with as a young boy.

the elders of the ryomen are very conservative too, but because isamu has all the power, they can't step on what he does or what hiromi does as often as they would like. inviting the other clan elders is another choice to make hiromi's life hard.

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bwabys-scenarios · 2 days

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hello, i hope you’re doing well <3 im not sure if you do platonic yanderes but.. i saw another blog that did it and i thought the idea of yandere kurapika with a little sister would be so cute ><

Yandere!Kurapika and his little sister

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

warnings: possessive and obsessive behavior, Kurapika is traumatized and he doesn’t want to lose you, he’s very guilty about leaving you alone before :(

A/N: this is completely platonic so please don’t be weird. I’ve never really written for sibling!reader but I hope y’all like it!

HXH Yandere SFW taglist: @lightshowerrr @jungtoast @nenggie @pannacottababy @aliceattheart @atransmuter

‼️If you want to be added to the taglist, please check out the taglist information then comment what you want to be added to! Make sure you have your age in your bio and that your blog can be tagged/mentioned!‼️

Kurapika had always been the protective type, even when he was just a tiny tot, so when he learned he was going to be a big brother, his world was turned upside down.

Unlike most children, Kurapika felt no unease or jealousy for the arrival of his new little sister. He only felt a strong urge to protect her from the world, to be the big brother he was supposed to be.

When you were born, it felt like his family truly became complete. Your cute, chubby little cheeks and tiny hands fascinated him, he absolutely adored you from the start.

Despite him being quite young as well, he held and carried you as much as he was able. His mother and father worried slightly, but Kurapika was a fast learner. He knew when you were hungry and needed a diaper change just by the different ways you cried. He was truly a big brother!

As the years went by, he always kept a close eye on you. You were a little bit of a clingy cry baby, fussing any time your beloved big brother wasn’t near. He didn’t mind, though. Kurapika was supposed to take care of you and stay by your side, so he never minded comforting you.

He felt a little bad when he left the clan for his test with Pairo. You begged him to take you instead, but Kurapika was 12 and you were just 7. Although he wanted to believe the outside world was less dangerous than the elders wanted him to believe, he couldn’t bear the thought of you being injured if he brought you with him.

“Shh… shh…”

You clung to him, crying into his tabard as he tried his best to soothe you. “Don’t cry, (Name). I’ll be back by the end of the day. There’s no need to fuss.”

He wiped away your tears, his heart aching to see the scarlet in your eyes. You truly loved your big brother, and hated the idea of being separated from him.

“P-please take me, Pika! I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna be left behind!”

Kurapika gently cupped your chubby little cheeks. You were so small, just a little girl, he couldn’t dream of taking you to the outside world.

“I can’t, (Name). Please, be a good girl. I promise, if I pass I’ll take you with me, okay?”

You sniffled, your little hand clinging to his sleeve. “Okay… and promise you’ll always stay with me!”

Kurapika smiled, pushing back your hair to kiss your forehead. “I promise. Now, go help mama with lunch, okay? I’ll be back by dinner time.”

When Kurapika got back… he was a little different. He was still the big brother you looked up to and adored, but… he had seen and experienced things that changed his outlook on the outside world.

He was still determined to go out and see the world for himself, to get Pairo’s medicine, but now he was hesitant to keep up his promise to take his little sister with him.

“(Name)…”

You looked up from your drawing, seeing him standing in the doorway to your room. His bag was packed, slung over his back. “Pika?”

He stared at the drawing you made, a frown on his face. It was a picture of you, him, and Pairo holding hands, playing in the forest. You wanted Pairo to get well just as much as Kurapika did, and he knew that.

“You know how much I care about you, right?”

He took a seat next to you, smiling as you clung to his side. “Yeah… c-cuz you’re my big brother!”

Kurapika petted her hair, sighing softly. “Yes, I’m your big brother, and I have to protect you. And sometimes, that means breaking promises.”

You paused, your crayon dropping to the table. “… Pika?”

He immediately pulled you into a hug as you began to process this information, your little eyes fulling up with tears. “You’re… gonna leave me behind?”

Kurapika felt his heart thump painfully in his chest as you looked at him. You looked like you’d been betrayed, your little face scrunched up in anger and sadness. “You promised! You said you’d always stay with me!”

“(Name)…”

He held you close, kissing the top of your head. “It’s dangerous, I can’t take you with me. You’re too little, and-“

“B-but I’m not that little! I help mama all the time and even papa says I’m super strong!”

Kurapika sighed, rubbing your back to attempt to comfort you. “(Name), I love you more than anything. You have to be good and stay, or you’ll make big brother very sad.”

You stopped crying at that, sniffling as you looked up at him. “I… I don’t wanna make big brother sad… I want you to be happy…”

“I know…”

He held you for a little longer. You may have been attached to Kurapika, but he was just as, if not more attached to you. “I’ll be back before you know it, okay? And I’ll bring home so many treats and toys for you.”

You rubbed your face against his shoulder. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Despite being upset, you still waved to Kurapika as he left, calling out for him to come back safely.

If only he hadn’t of left you behind.

When Kurapika heard the news 6 weeks later that his clan had been attacked, he rushed home as quickly as he could.

Between the dead bodies, the smell of ash and decay, and the knowledge that his parents and Pairo were dead, Kurapika was only able to focus on one thing.

‘Where is (Name)?’

Your body wasn’t in the place of the massacre, neither in their home, so he made his way towards the outskirts.

There was only one place he knew to look. It was where he had snuck away to read books with Pairo when they were younger. You joined them a few times, usually sitting in Kurapika’s lap and giggling as he showed you pictures and drawings.

‘Please god, don’t take away my baby sister. Let her be there, let her be alive! I promise I’ll never leave her again, just let her still be here!’

Kurapika panted, catching his breath as he leaned against the small opening. Once he was able to breathe again, he was able to peek in.

Inside he could see the small outline of someone, a pair of (e/c) eyes full of tears staring back at him.

“B-big brother?”

Kurapika began to sob, nearly tripping over himself as he ran to pull her into his arms. “(Name), oh my god… oh gods above thank you, thank you…”

You were shaken up, a few cuts and scrapes covering your hands and knees from running and falling while escaping the village, but other than that and being a bit dehydrated and malnourished, you were mostly fine.

Kurapika sat there, holding you in his arms and rocking you as you ate. The visions of his dead clan, of your mother and father flashed in his mind. How was he supposed to tell you? How was he supposed to even speak to you after leaving you all alone?

Had you been scared? Did you spend your nights in fear that the people that hurt mama and papa would come for you too? How many times had you prayed that your big brother would come and save you, just to wake up cold and alone?

“I’m so sorry…” he choked out, his grip tightening around you. “I’ll never leave you again, never.”

You cried too, clinging to your big brother with all the strength you had. He couldn’t bear to see you so scared and upset, you were such a happy little girl before…

Before he abandoned you.

It wasn’t healthy, and it sure as hell wasn’t right, but Kurapika blamed himself for what happened. If he had just taken you with him like he promised, you would have never ended up like this. He could have saved you from being afraid, from going hungry and ending up traumatized.

He would never, ever leave you all alone again. Kurapika was your big brother, and from that day on the bond you two shared only grew. Now, he was your sole guardian, and the only person you had left.

———————

For the next 4 years, Kurapika took care of you as if you were his baby, never letting you leave his side for more than a few minutes. You slept together, ate together, and only stopped bathing together when you told him you were a big girl and wanted to take baths by yourself. He relented, but due to his clingy and paranoid nature, he sat in the bathroom as you bathed, reading you books or chatting with you.

He meant well, he truly did, but being around your big brother felt… stifling sometimes. He was so protective and clingy that making friends was nearly impossible. Kurapika never approved of people being too close to you, and it was hard to blame him. He wasn’t sure who he could trust and who he should be wary of in this world.

As you reaches your 12th birthday, Kurapika knew it was finally time to take the Hunter Exam. He could have taken it earlier, but he couldn’t bear to leave you alone for that long, so he was determined to bring you with him.

You were finally able to make friends with Gon and Killua, and Kurapika relatively accepted it. He was still overbearing and clingy, but he did let you hang out with them. He didn’t really trust Leorio with you at first, but relented with time. Leorio was a doctor, and if you got hurt, Kurapika allowed him to take care of you. It was hard for him, trusting others with his beloved baby sister.

It wasn’t hard to notice how protective and obsessive Kurapika was over his sister and your safety. It was a little worrying, but it was also hard to blame him for ending up the way he did. You were the only other member of his clan left, and his baby sister. Of course he would want to protect and nurture you, even if it was to an extreme extent.

“(Name).”

Kurapika squeezed your hand as the final phase of the exam was revealed, his eyes narrowing. “I want you to forfeit your match.”

“H-huh? Big brother, I don’t understand. If I forfeit th-“

“(Name).”

You flinched, and he quickly began to stroke your cheek. “Hey, I’m sorry. I just… you have to forfeit. You’ll be fighting against Hisoka, and…”

Kurapika bit his lip, pulling you in close. He could sense the magician’s malicious intent. “Just listen to me, okay? You know I’m just trying to protect you.”

So you did as told, humiliated and embarrassed as you immediately forfeited the match. Kurapika sighed with relief and instantly comforted you with a hug and kiss to your forehead. “See? Now you’re safe and you can try again in a future match.”

After the final phase, you passed without even needing to fight, and went with Kurapika to save Killua from the Zoldyck estate. You accompanied him and the others, bonding with Gon, Leorio, and Killua until it was time to go your separate ways.

Kurapika was happy to have you all to himself again, he was terrified that you would leave him all alone one day. So your travels with your big brother continued.

As his work became more dangerous and his infamy grew, he realized that bringing you everywhere with him was more dangerous than leaving you by yourself. So Kurapika made the hardest decision of his life.

“Princess…”

Kurapika opened the door to your hotel room, his eyes softening when he saw you curled up in bed, holding the stuffed animal he bought for you after the massacre. It was something you held dear to you, a reminder that your big brother would always come back for you.

“Pika? What’s wrong?”

You could sense he was uneasy, which in turn made you uneasy. He sighed and sat next to you, reaching out to hold your hand.

“I’ve been thinking…” he said softly, his thumb caressing the back of your hand. “Wouldn’t it be… better if we had a permanent place to call home? Ever since…”

He paused, swallowing hard. Even now he didn’t like bringing up the massacre, especially with you. “Ever since… we started traveling together, we’ve stayed from place to place. I just think… it would be better if… you stayed somewhere safer more… stationary.”

“Pika, so you mean… you won’t be staying with me?”

Despite disliking how smothering and clingy your big brother was, you were just as attached to him as he was to you. You were still the little girl that cried when he left you all those years ago, and couldn’t help but tear up when he avoided your gaze.

“I won’t just abandon you, (Name), but you know as well as I do that I have to enact vengeance on those who slaughtered our brethren. I will always come back to you, you know that right?”

You sniffled as he pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around you. “It’s h-happening again… you’re leaving me all alone…”

Kurapika’s eyes went wide, and his grip tightened. You were right, this was too similar to before. His paranoia began to grow as he thought about every way you could get hurt if he left you alone for even a second. His heart thumped against his chest, and his fingers lightly dug into your soft flesh.

“Ow, Pika you’re hurting me!”

He trembled, his grip leaving bruises on your delicate skin, but he couldn’t let you go. “No, no sweetheart I would never leave you… never…”

You began to cry for a different reason. It hurt, your big brother’s love hurt sometimes. “P-please, it hurts!”

Kurapika snapped out of it, instantly releasing you. When you hissed and rubbed your arms, his own eyes got teary. “Oh god… (Name), angel…”

His already fragile mental state began to deteriorate as he held you close, kissing the top of your head. Thoughts of what could happen to you if he left you alone for even a second filled his head.

How could he leave his little, defenseless baby sister alone? Was he stupid? How had he ever thought that would be okay?

“Shh, shh…” he began to rock you, much like he had when he found her after the massacre. “Your big brother is right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

As you fell asleep, you wondered if reacting the way you did had been the right thing to do. Kurapika’s protective nature would only grow, making the things you could do alone become less and less as the years passed by.

He just couldn’t bear to lose his baby sister. Not you, not the only family he had left.

And you didn’t want to lose your big brother, so you didn’t try to leave. If anyone could understand why he was the way he was, it was you.

And you both loved each other. Who else was going to be there for the two of you, after the world turned their backs on you? You only had each other.

And that’s how it would stay, forever.

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merakiui · 2 days

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HELLO MERA I come with some Azul thoughts because mafia Azul is so !!!! ><

Imagine that your parents worked under him and they messed up greatly... OR they were his enemies and he finally got them cornered (figuratively or literally haha). And to make up for it... they offer your hand in marriage to the mafia boss! Though, they definitely didn't expect him to actually accept...

Young mafia Azul that has been gaining a lot of influence recently and is on his way to become a big shot in the mafia world... and when your parents fiasco happens, you're still a child so you don't even get to say anything. You get sent to the area where Azul operates though you may not even see him for years, he had other business to attend rather than look after a child/teen. He's building an empire after all! So it's only when you grow older that you're met with ojiisan boss Azul who's now very happy to fulfill the contract he made with your parents! Congrats, you're the most feared mafia boss' housewife now <3

AAAAAA ANON!!!!!!! OTL OTL this is so yummy...... not thinking much of your betrothal because Azul's never around and your parents don't say much, so in your mind he feels so nonexistent. In fact, you live a fairly normal life (albeit one that is very heavily monitored in secret just to make sure your parents don't go back on their deal with him). Azul is kind enough to let you finish your university studies before he decides to swoop in and finally make good on the promise your parents made.

orz marriage to mafia ojiisan Azul....... such an extravagant event. You're dressed in the finest of wedding attire, as is your soon-to-be husband, and people from all over attend to congratulate the both of you. You suspect most of this is just empty courtesy. Who would want to make an enemy out of one of the most feared people in the underground? >_< there's no point in escaping or trying to get out of this with lukewarm excuses. You try to tell Azul your parents would never agree to this and he's more than happy to show you the contract they signed. It crushes your hopes. You're quiet for the rest of the ceremony.

Azul isn't going to be a terrible husband; he promises he will always adore you and keep you safe and content. You just need to learn to accept this new union and then all will be well. And even if you continue to resist him, there are other ways to stamp out that disobedient fire of yours. If he didn't on your wedding night, then he's definitely knocking you up during your honeymoon. A child will certainly be enough to calm you down and direct your focus to a sweet, happy, and domestic life with him. <3

#twisted chit chat #n/sfw

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barbwritesstuff · 1 day

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Pls don't feel bad about the time skips! I read ppl complaining on the forum but I think they miss the point of TT.

It's meant to show how much of a curse vampirism actually is. Like no matter how much you try to keep your humanity, you are functioning on a completely different wavelength as humans and one thing that encapsulates it are the time skips. You can't have a non vampire partner or child and expect a happy ending, one distraction or something gone wrong and you lose a decent chunk out of their lives without realizing. It's a story meant to lack agency! Being a vampire in your world is only meant to end three ways: being hunted, starved, or walking into the sun. And most probably utterly alone.

Writing is a learning curve that never stops curvin'. And, to be clear, that's something I really like about writing. I really enjoy trying new things and getting feedback on readers on whether or not those things worked.

I didn't expect the time skips to be contentious, but I can understand why some people don't like them.

They feel like they remove agency in a choice based game. That's a very real critique that I totally understand.

Unfortunately, they've been baked into the narrative from the start. I always planned on Thicker Than to take place over a decade (actually, originally it was 13 years, but I shortened it to a decade to show a tiny wee bit of mercy to the human ROs) and the time skips are the only real way to do that.

The time skips make sense for me because they show how vampires change over time. The player gets to level up their powers and becomes more a part of the undead world.

A just resurrected fledgling is not going to be the same creature as a ten-years-dead vampire. And while you're still very young, it makes the final showdowns a little more probable.

The player's character isn't a total noob by the end of the game.

I've tried to brainstorm some ways to smooth over the transitions, but the truth is, they're already pretty much as good as I can make them. So I hope those that don't like the time skips aren't too put off by them.

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johnwickb1tsch · 19 hours

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The Bastard’s Mistress ~ A Don John x Servant!Fem!Reader Fic

So I caught the don John brain rot this weekend…very contagious, 10/10 recommend. This might be @scarlettspectra ’s fault, from all her beautiful gifs she’s been posting!😆 I didn’t go full Shakespearean here but had some fun with the syntax. I apologize in advance. Reader is properly deferential for the time, but she’s got a little spunk.😬

Warnings: the line between dubcon and noncon here is VERRRY thin. I don’t even know. So if that bothers you do NOT read this! What else. Period correct misogyny and degradation. Corruption. I’m so bad at itemizing these things. Please take care. If u have squiks i probs wouldn’t read this…

You are a chambermaid in His Excellency don Alejandro’s hacienda. It gives you a certain distance from things, as you come and go, doing your best to keep the country house clean and stay out of sight. But don Alejandro’s bastard, the fire-eyed boy with such a burning contempt for the world, has always seen you.

When you were young children, don John would play with you all, the offspring of the servants who were too young to work. Not because he enjoyed your company, but because he delighted in ordering you all about. Luckily in those days he ignored you as often as he tormented you.

Then there was a time, when the two of you hovered on the precipice between childhood and adult responsibilities, that you had almost been friends. Or at least, not enemies. He, the bitter outsider with the privileges of a full blooded son, but none of the standing. You, unmoored in your fatherlessness, the fever having taken your sire when you were just a babe.

Don John goaded you into shirking your chores one day to go play in the hills. He’d only taunted you a little, as you played your silly games, which mostly consisted of him manipulating you, ordering you to do this and that, always testing just how far he could go before being met with rebellion. It was still better than working your hands raw in the laundry. “We should run away,” he’d said in that devil-may-care way brash young boys have, so sure the world is destined to fold for them. You, however, had begged to go home, for all it won you. Upon returning your mother absolutely tanned your backside, and you never associated with Don John in such a familiar way again.

You saw him around the grounds, of course, as you scurried from one backbreaking chore to the next, and as he went through the motions of learning how to become a gentleman. Amidst his riding lessons he would wink at you from astride his fine black horse, but the cruel turn of his mouth never failed to halt you in returning it, even if your heart quickened in your chest.

That did not mean you didn’t think of him later though, on your lumpy cot of straw, as urges began to awaken in your body that was well on its way to becoming a woman’s. You saw his face at night, so achingly handsome you could hardly contain your longing. It felt like madness, and so you shoved it down in the deepest dungeon of your heart, as far as it could go.

It was not helpful, or good, the times when young don John passed you in the halls, and you felt that he would like to just eat you up. He would tug at your apron strings with a smirk before striding on to whatever lark he plotted for the day. The unholy feelings just a look from that man called up in you had you reaching for your rosary–and late at night, when all others lay asleep, between your legs.

You’d felt a certain relief when he went off to war with don Pedro. Even though your heart ached for the inevitable change, a part of you hoped he would never return.

As it turns out, your hopes were not to be realized. He has returned to his father’s country house, on the tails of some scandal in Messina. His temper is even fouler than you remember. His scowl, crueler. He has met with some disappointment, out in the world. You hope he will not take it out on you blameless servants.

Perhaps that is too much to ask of the upper caste.

You feel his eyes upon you again, as in the old days, but different. There is a weight in his gaze that makes you uncomfortable in your own skin, as though it no longer fits upon your own bones. It makes you ache for something no pious unmarried girl should yearn for, something you cannot name, only feel in the darkest hours of night when you lay awake on your mattress of straw, your sinful fingers exploring the bud of flesh between your legs.

You decide don John carries the flames of Hell in his burning dark eyes.

You dream of him, as though he has possessed your flesh in your sleeping hours.

He corners you one day, as you are changing the linens in one of the many airy rooms of the hacienda. You eye him warily, as he shuts the door, his large and forbidding form blocking your exit. His dark eyes upon you are black as night.

“What a flower you have blossomed into, y/n,” he muses, stepping slowly into the room with the measured calculation of a predator stalking prey. “No longer the knees and elbows girl I remember.”

“You…have also changed, my lord,” you offer cautiously. No longer the awkward, rail thin youth, his shoulders have the breadth of a man who rides a charger and wields a sword. You have tried not to notice.

“How so?” he fishes, canting his head with a smirk.

Your face feels as though you have caught on fire. “You are…taller,” you offer, winning a cruel little chuckle.

“Oh? I do like the sound of that. What else?” Another step closer, his booted heel clicking on the floor, and you are veritably boxed in between the walls and the oversized bed.

“My lord?” you stall, mortified.

“Did you miss me, y/n?”

This question also takes you aback, and perhaps that is why you answer honestly.

“Sometimes.”

“Well. That is more than any of my relations here will bother to claim,” he answers bitterly. In that moment you still see a boy just striving, yearning for his father’s recognition. Perhaps it was ridiculous, but you always felt bad for him, in a way.

“Did you hear the happy news? Don Pedro has taken a wife, and opts to dwell in Messina,” snarls don John with a mocking brightness.

“How…fortunate for him.”

The man before you makes a sound that suggests he barely restrained himself from spitting upon the floor in his half brother’s name.

“Indeed.” He takes one more step, and you know you are done for, your heart in your chest. There will be no escaping now. “What of you, fair y/n? Assumed the yoke of marriage yet?” The disdain in his words hangs bitter in the air.

You are tempted to lie, but know no good should come of it. “No, my lord,” you answer, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

“How fortunate for you.”

Perhaps in your fear, you forget yourself. “John, please–”

He moves to strike, and you are but a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf, quick but not quick enough to evade him. His arm is like a band of iron about your waist, lifting you off the floor in his fury. He slams you down–albeit upon the feather mattress–a luxury you’ve never experienced for yourself, your back accustomed to scratchy tick straw.

“Insouciant wench! How familiar you are, to address me so.” He sounds so cruelly delighted by it, wedging his lean body like a knife between your legs, his narrow hips locked against yours. When you attempt to sit up he easily pins you down, his large hand spanning two of your wrists with ease, his other pressed lightly over your throat. You can hardly hear, hardly think, over the sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears. He can surely feel it in your pulse, fluttering against his fingers. You are filled with fear–and the sharp ache of desire, God save you.

“Please, my lord…”

He makes a low sound in his throat, his lips tracing your jaw. “Please what, pretty maid? I have a mind to make a meal of you.”

“Please…don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? That is up to you, my dear. I will have you. Sweetly, or by force, tis your choice.” Your heart lodges in your throat. Your mother warned you about this, time and again. Men are dogs and gentlemen the worst of them. Never let them catch you alone.

And in your darkest heart of hearts, you know that a part of you hoped don John might do just that.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, surprisingly gently for such a villain, but you attempt to turn away. It only wins his annoyance, his large hand turning your face back to him. Before he can press his mouth to yours you say, “You merely seek to make sport of me in your boredom here. It is not right.”

He laughs at that. “Sport, I shall make,” he muses, hiking your skirts above your thighs. “Let us test the truth of your righteous outrage?” Boldly his fingers climb the trail of your leg, to the apex where he finds the damning evidence of your treacherous loins. “My lovely girl, so wet for such a reluctant quarry.” His long fingers dip inside your weeping center, and the sound you make does not resemble protest at all. He smirks down at you like the very devil. “And a virgin my little rabbit is not.”

Javi the stableboy took care of that for you, in a quick and disappointing tumble in the hay. His touch…had felt nothing like this, if truth you tell.

Ashamed, and burning, you look away. Tears trail out of your eyes, and a part of you wishes it shall just be over soon. He frowns at the shining tracks of water upon your cheeks, a menacing scowl that makes your eyes screw shut tight.

“Do not seek to engage my sympathy or my better nature, for you know I have none,” he growls above the dip of your throat, his lips searing as a brand upon your chest.

“That wasn’t always true,” you dare, winning naught but a growl from this ravenous beast of a man above you.

“You are the only one who thinks so.” For the barest moment you see a flash of vulnerability in his eyes–the ghost of the memory of the boy he once was, there and gone like ripples in a pool. It is as though this second of softness spurs him on in his deed, as though he must shove it aside to enjoy his sordid pleasure.

Clever fingers tear at the laces of your stays; you are freed to breathe, but you are bared to his hungry gaze as he tugs down your shift for his delectation. “Such lovely fruits, just ripe for picking,” he muses, cupping your breast in his hand, suckling upon a nipple.

You never knew how such a thing could make your insides clench, your sinning cunt tightening in its aching emptiness. Your hips move against his of their own accord, your legs wrapping about him as you mindlessly seek some relief from this madness. He withdraws with a dramatic pop, laughing at your body’s treachery.

“You are a fiend.”

“Pray, tell me,” he taunts you.

“I hate you.”

“Is that any way to speak to your master?”

He is enjoying this far too much.

“You forget your place, don John, as ever.”

That is when he slaps you. Not hard, nay, your own mother has hit you harder, but it certainly gets your attention. “I will rule here someday, y/n. Have a care with that tongue. I can think of better uses for it.” His piercing eyes fix upon your lips, a moment before he falls upon you, kissing you as though he means to devour you. You tense, thinking to bite him for being so cruel, so conniving, for just using you for no other reason other than he can.

He plays a very dirty trick on you, though.

That dexterous hand slips under your skirts again, swiping up your slick before circling that small nub of flesh that causes you such great tumult and shame. You moan into his mouth, and you feel him smile wickedly against you.

This man is the very devil, you are sure of it.

“Now who is ready to forget?” he taunts you, rubbing you in slow circles that drive you mad, make you writhe for the unbearable tightness coiling between your legs.

You can only manage a small cry, words escaping you. You’ve never felt anything like this, not at your own hands, and certainly not with Javi the stableboy.

“Please,” is all you can manage, and you’re not even entirely sure you know what you’re begging for.

“I like to hear you beg so sweetly.” He reaches to free himself from his breeches, his swollen tip hovering at your entrance. “So beg, wench, what favour is it you ask of me?”

You should entreat him to leave you be–you should beg for his mercy. But the delicious weight of him atop you, this dastardly man whose touch is such sweet sin–you are not sure you wish for him to leave you be. Your whole life has been such a march of drudgery. Even just the possibility of feeling something that is not pain or exhaustion makes you willfully forget every lesson your mother ever taught you, every fiery sermon the Padre ever flung down from his pulpit. Tis easy to renounce the Devil, until temptation has you in its clutches.

“I know not what to ask for,” you answer cautiously, and that at least is true.

Don John smirks down at you, a wicked gleam in his dark eyes.

“Ask for my cock, you stupid girl, and if your quim pleases me perhaps I may be moved to share in the spoils.”

“Yes.” You strain your hips towards him, craving that satisfying, stretching burn of a man’s first thrust. That, atleast, you know something about.

“Yes, what?” he taunts you, delighting in your torment as he holds himself just out of reach.

“Yes, my lord,” you whimper, hating yourself as much as him in that moment. “May I have your cock?”

His smile widens in his devilish delight, almost showing teeth. “Remember that you asked for it.” But he taunts you no further, his thick head penetrating your weeping hole, the fullness of him stealing the very breath from your lungs. He groans once fully inside you, burying his face in your neck.

“I’ve always known you would have the sweetest little cunt in the sierra,” he growls against your skin, and he begins to thrust.

If there is one thing you have always known about don John, it is that he loves to hear himself talk.

“You are mine, little maid,” he goes on, filling you so deeply you fear he must be in your belly. You are not sure you like it, and you only whimper in answer, straining for a better angle against him, seeking that certain friction that made you see stars.

“Say it,” he demands, understanding what you seek very well. You whine, turning your eyes to the ceiling. You know you are a mere peasant, and you know you do not own anything, much less yourself. Yet some small defiance rises in you, for his demanding tone.

“Perhaps I shall, if you make it so.”

You wait for him to strike you again, but to your surprise he smirks with a sort of dark delight, only turning your gaze back to his with a rough hand upon your jaw. “There is the saucy wench I remember of our youth. Do you remember how you used to defy me?”

You don’t very much, recalling that he usually always emerged the master and victor of your games.

“No, my lord.”

“You do not recall striking me with a stick, in defense of a hapless bird?”

You blink, finding it rather unfair of this man to expect you to command the capacity to think in this situation. But then you do recall. You had all been small children. The boys sought amusement in throwing rocks at an injured sparrow. You had taken exception to it.

Don John had sworn he would tell his father and have you executed.

You’d cried for days, but the sword never fell.

You’d nearly forgotten all about it, perhaps willfully burying the memory out of shame and fear. Mostly fear.

The bastard had deserved it.

He never forgot a slight, it seems.

“I always told myself I would have my revenge for that,” he tells you with a smirk, pressing his thumb into your mouth. You try to shrink away, but he has you like a fish on a hook. “Suck,” he commands you. You do not understand why those jetty black eyes boring into yours, paired with that unyielding tone, makes your needy cunt clench around him, only that it is extremely satisfying to see his eyes flutter closed, even if just for a moment.

You do as you’re told.

He uses your own saliva against you, reaching between your legs with that spit-wet thumb to touch you again.

You forget everything else, but the carnal heaven that is his clever fingers with his manhood inside you. The sounds the two of you make are barely human, as you strain and writhe against each other, chasing your release from this hell. Those full lips made for sin devour you–his mouth on your breasts makes you see God, a searing pleasure crashing through you in a spine-cracking rush. How can something that feels so wonderful be so forbidden? Only then does don John truly let himself go, the sound of flesh striking flesh filling the room as he takes you with all his pent up fury. It is not long before he roars his release, filling you with ropes of his hot seed, his powerful body trembling in its tangle of limbs with yours.

For just a moment you wished would last, his fingers lace with yours rather than pin you, his head heavy on your chest as he catches his breath. Yet when he lifts his gaze to you, his eyes gleam with their usual malevolence.

“You will come to my chambers tonight,” he orders you. “For I am not finished with you yet by half.”

When your mouth opens–indeed to give protest–he silences you with a hard but heart-melting kiss, his long fingers tangled unforgivingly in your now loosened hair.

“Do as I say, servant girl. Though if you don’t, I may enjoy making you.” That proud mouth ticks as he seems to imagine it, that fire igniting once more in his mesmerizing eyes. The thought simultaneously makes your blood run cold–and a thrill of desire run raucous down your spine.

This man is the very devil. You are as sure of it now, as you know when the household goes to sleep, you will find your way back to his merciless embrace.

#don john #much ado about nothing #don john x reader #don john keanu reeves #keanu reeves #keanuverse #keanuverse fic

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geeks-universe · 16 hours

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Thanks to the lovely anon, here’s another sneak peak of the one shot that’s actually gonna be two lol (keep in mind this is still a work in progress and will likely be edited before posting)

Cooper Howard was deep in thought the first time he met you.

He’d been sitting on a park bench, mentally running over some of his lines for what could’ve been hours before he realized someone was now occupying the spot beside him.

It was a woman.

A pretty one.

A sad one.

Ever the gentleman, he cleared his throat, cautiously asking, “Everything alright?”

The look you gave him was a tired one, shoulders weighed down with a weight he didn’t know of. You chewed on your lip- a habit, if the way you did it unconsciously told him anything.

His eyes threatened to follow, but he refused to let them. He was an honorable man, and a loyal one. The strain is his marriage would pass, and he wouldn’t be the one to throw it away for a pretty face.

A very tantalizing, pretty face.

“If you knew the world was going to end, and there was absolutely nothing you could do to stop it, what would you do?”

He was surprised by the question, concerned even, with the state of the world. The way you asked it was so melancholy, a fact as true as the clouds in the sky.

A beat passed as he tried best to formulate an answer, your eyes trained on the park in front of you once more. It was a nice day, the kind where a calm breeze didn’t make you shiver, but the air was just as fine without one.

Peaceful, he’d say.

Not the kind where doomsday propositions were answered, but he couldn’t refuse your question- not when you gazed at him sideways, like you didn’t expect him to have an answer.

“I’d try anyways.”

You blew out a breath, nodding visibly as if his words had solidified a conversation you were having with yourself. The tenseness in your shoulders lessened, and the beginnings of a smile pulled at your lips.

“You’re the hero type, then?”

He breathed a laugh, shrugging in an almost humble manner.

“I just play one in the movies.”

The surprise on your face was evident. Clearly, you had no idea who he was. It wasn’t unheard of, but his reputation had blown up, so he hadn’t expected it.

Actor of the Century, indeed.

You hummed, a light sound that matched the birds chirping in the trees above.

“What movies?”

He raised a brow, smiling a bit at the interest on your face. You were leaning back on the bench now, arms crossed over your chest. His first assessment of you had been military, maybe.

You weren’t in frilly skirts or a smart pantsuit that frequented the local areas. Instead, you were in tight fitting black jeans and a leather jacket that looked like it’d seen better days, an armor of sorts to the outside world. Your hair was pulled back in an elaborate braid, strands framing your face like they’d fallen out on their own.

Without the forlorn expression though, you looked too young to be some grizzled general. There was something in your eyes, a camaraderie between two people who had seen some shit, but you hadn’t yet lost that youthful radiance.

“Why don’t you figure that one out,” he teased, a winning smile reaching his eyes.

“Alright, stranger,” you laughed, jumping to your feet.

The breeze blew your scent over him- honey and peaches and all the comforts of home. It was intoxicating, and he was reminded once again why continuing this conversation was dangerous.

“Next time I see you, I expect an autograph.”

He didn’t even have time to say a proper goodbye before you were walking away, newfound confidence in your gait.

The strange interaction stayed with him for the rest of the week.

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout x reader #fallout reader insert #cooper howard insert

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rosietrace · 2 days

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This is a personal rant about my thoughts on Greek mythology retellings, and just the way Fantasy books and the publishing industry is at this point 🧍‍♀️

I have nothing against Greek mythology retellings, or just anything Greek mythology related in fantasy in general!

However, I have certain gripes about the way Greek mythology is portrayed in media, specifically in the way its interpreted in Fantasy.

[ More under the cut! ]

I love Percy Jackson, and I think that Uncle Rick did a wonderful job at expanding the world and making Greek, Roman, Egyptian, and Norse mythology entertaining and easily digestible for young audiences. Genuinely, he does a better job at writing children's books than R*wling could ever be capable of.

However, as much as I can love PJO as much as I do, I still find certain bits of the world building and character writing as... Very hit and miss.

To start, I don't like the way Ares was written in the series. I can understand that it would make sense for his personality to be that way, because he's the God of War and it helps with Clarisse's character development; but I find fault in it because Ares in the myths is nothing like PJO Ares. (He literally killed one of Poseidon's sons because he raped his daughter, Alcippe, and he's one of the only gods who doesn't hump anything that can breathe in air. At least Ares has the courtesy of asking for consent 💀)

The Gods being the reason behind WWII and Hitler being a child of Hades. All I must say.

The portrayal of the Aphrodite cabin

The fact that Athena can have children. Annabeth, pjo fandom at large, I love you are, but you gotta admit it must've felt weird when you first read the books and you find out Athena — the maiden Goddess of Wisdom — can have offspring. Regardless of the reasoning, I still find it weird 😭 (EDIT: I've now just remembered that it was a reference to how Athena herself was created 🤡 I'm a clown)

I get that the Hermes cabin is also the cabin for the unclaimed, but couldn't have Hestia's cabin worked too? She doesn't have offspring, sure, but it probably would've made more sense for the unclaimed to go to Hestia's cabin so that the Hermes cabin wouldn't be so crowded

This isn't really a world building issue, but I think I should bring it up: I'm not saying this against the Kane Chronicles fandom, but... Sadie and Anubis. Why. Like you can't convince me that no one WASN'T weirded out by that.

Less of a complaint and more of a question because I can't remember if the question was answered in HoO or not, but when Percy told the Gods to start claiming their unclaimed children and be more decent parents (as he should, go off king), did that request apply to the Romans at Camp Jupiter too? Because that's gotta have been confusing when the unclaimed kids at CP suddenly started getting claimed 😭😭

I could go on a whole ass tangent about PJO, but that would make this post longer than it needs to be 😭😭 and any of the points might not make much sense, since I haven't read the books in a LONG time

Off to the YA Fantasy segment... Hoo boy.

The oversaturation of Hades/Persephone retellings makes me SEETHE. Why is it always Hades and Persephone why can't it be something else 😭

I just don't like the “modern feminist” retellings of Greek myths in the YA Fantasy genre, in general. They tend to completely miss the point of the original myth, and it's the case with a lot of Hades and Persephone retellings where they try to paint Hades as the good guy taking Persephone away from her control freak mother, Demeter.

Because that wasn't what the myth was about. The myth isn't a love story, at least, not a romantic one. It was about Demeter's love for Persephone and how much she wanted her daughter back after Hades stole her away. Keep in mind, in the historical context of the myth, the daughters of women in ancient Greece never really get to see their mothers after their engagements are solidified.

If they wanted to make a “feminist” retelling of the myth, they'd have it centered around the love Demeter had for Persephone to almost doom the mortal realm to an eternal winter to get her back.

I love the myth of Hades and Persephone, truly, I do. I understand the appeal it has on people, the appeal it has one me. I can see why people adore the myth in the way they do because Hades is one of the better husbands in Greek mythology (a low bar, but my point still stands).

Personally, I blame Lore Olympus and especially the video of the myth by Overly Sarcastic Productions for the way the myth is portrayed in mass media. And I say this as a former LO fan and a fan of Overly Sarcastic Productions 😭

I'd also want to go into my many, MANY gripes about “Crown of Starlight” by Cait Corrain, but in all honesty? I don't think I can properly convey how much I DESPISE Cait and their book. So I'd highly recommend y'all to check out the videos about Cait Corrain by Reads With Rachel, WithCindy, and Xiran Jay Zhao on YouTube if you're interested in going into more detail about the controversies, especially for those who weren't made aware of it.

I feel like the publishing industry just... Isn't good anymore, after Booktok went viral. Reading has been “hot girlified”, and all Booktok seems to ask when they get recommended a book is: “Is it spicy??”

Reading is like fast fashion, now. It's all based around certain popular tropes that that's how books are promoted now. Not for the plot — or sometimes lack thereof — but for the tropes the book has.

The only thing I can thank Booktok for is that they helped me discover The Cruel Prince. And even then, it's marketed as romance on there, when it's a political fantasy with a romance subplot.

‼️ Woah! A secret bonus section! ‼️

I, personally, don't read — nor do I like — Sarah J Maas. (Especially considering the problematic aspects of her storytelling, character portrayals, and is (apparently, correct me if I'm wrong) a Zionist)

However, that isn't to say that I don't like some of the characters she makes. A lot of them have potential, actually! From what I've seen, I think Nesta, Gwyn, Azriel, Eris, Tamlin and Lucien from ACOTAR are the only characters I actually like, based on what I've heard — and seen — on anything in the SJM critical tag on this hellsite.

And while we're at it, let's discuss the elephant in the room with ACOTAR, right? Rhysand.

By all that is good and holy, I hate Rhysand so much and I think I'd hate him even more if I actually READ the books. I don't get why Booktok is so invested in him when Maas retconned Tamlin's character to make him look better as Feyre's love interest.

Also, from what I recall, didn't Rhysand sexually assault Feyre? And he didn't bother to apologize for it, and justified it with his sad tragic backstory??

I can't with y'all, istg 😭 the fact that “Feysand” is apparently a Hades and Persephone retelling too makes me even more mad about it because it isn't even a GOOD retelling. It just takes away what ACOTAR originally was— a Beauty and the Beast retelling, with Feyre and Tamlin as the leads.

Didn't Maas dedicate ACOTAR to her husband because “He would go under the mountain” for her??? BECAUSE IT CERTAINLY WASN'T RHYSAND WHO SAVED FEYRE FROM UTM, I'LL TELL YOU THAT

I think, out of all the series Maas has made thus far, Throne of Glass is the only one I ACTUALLY kind of like, based on what I've heard. Crescent City seems to be too complicated to understand, and even though I've never read it myself, I miss what ACOTAR could've been. (My hope lies with Nesta, Elucien and Gwynriel, at this point)

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frudoo · 3 days

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Like a Stone — Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Y'ALL. I apologize in advance. Literally sobbed writing this one.

Warnings: Unspecified illness, reader death, smut, poorly written Scottish accent.

Here you go, @xoxunhinged!!

MDNI

Any day now.

That’s what the doctors said. Any day now and you would be gone. Dead and gone, a ghost where your body used to reside. To be so young, only just married and so full of potential, diagnosed with the deadliest of circumstances, a waste. And oh, your poor husband, who was so excited to finally have the love of his life to keep by his side forever. How distraught he was to have to stay by your bedside in this dull hospital and watch you slowly shrivel away, resembling more of a corpse than that of his beloved wife.

A dry cough that leaves your lips startles Johnny awake, immediately standing from his chair and hovering above your bed.

“Ye alreit, bon’?” He brushes a strand of brittle hair away from your face, smiling down at you softly.

Your glossy eyes crease with love, admiration, as you look up at him and nod, carefully scooting over to make room for his large body. He wordlessly obliges, settling under the thin sheet and blanket just because you held it up for him. He presses a soft kiss to your cold, chapped lips, nuzzling his nose against yours. It’s a habit that formed after your wedding day—you can still picture those sparkling blue eyes staring into yours, that bright smile nearly blinding you. The memory feels like it’s centuries away, now, although it had just been a little over a year ago.

“I talked to the nurses,” you hum softly, cuddling closer and running your fingertips along his bicep.

Johnny frowns almost imperceptibly, but you pick up on it anyway. You’ve learned more about each other since being admitted into this hospital than in the two years you two had dated.

“Aboot wha’?”

“Johnny…” you whisper, tangling your fingers into the overgrown mess of hair that his mohawk had become over time. “I know you’re going on assignment soon.”

He doesn’t bother to hide his discontent this time, fingertips gently caressing the skin of your sunken-in cheek. You’re practically all skin and bones and it tears him apart.

“We dinnae have tae talk aboot tha’,” he mutters, his heart pounding in his chest.

“The nurses are giving me—us—an hour alone,” you explain gently, eyes scanning his face cautiously. “I… I want you to make love to me.”

Johnny’s breath catches in his throat, and his fingers stall on your face, resting there as he stares at you dumbfounded. Surely you can’t be serious. Not when you’re in this condition—so frail and weak and pitiful.

“Bon’, ah-”

“Please,” you interrupt, eyes glazed over with hot tears that threaten to spill. “In case this…”

“In case it’s the last time,” he finishes for you, his cerulean eyes just as glossy as yours.

There’s a moment of pregnant silence in the air between the two of you. Johnny glances at your heart monitor as the beats steadily increase in pace, before returning his attention back to you and nodding slowly. God, he thought the worst pain in the world was the time he broke his leg in primary school, or getting shot in his shoulder on the field. But this is far worse—the longing in your dull eyes, the coolness of your fingertips raking over his abdomen beneath his shirt. The knowledge that this could very well be last time he ever sees you, feels you.

You’re the first to lean in, lips carefully brushing against his like it’s the first time all over again. The shyness and innocence of it all makes his heart flutter, and he quickly melts into the kiss, large hand cupping your cheek in his calloused palm. He hums softly into your mouth as your lips part, fingernails gently digging into the meaty flesh of his bicep. His hand moves to the side of your neck, then down your arm, eventually meeting your bare thigh. He grins when he feels goosebumps rise on your body, pulling away from the kiss with a soft gasp.

“Ye’re sure aboot this, hen?” He asks gently, voice just lower than a whisper, almost inaudible.

“Yes, Johnny. Please,” you nod quickly, tugging at the hem of his shirt and staring up at him with wide, eager eyes.

Johnny has to fight back tears when he sees your expression. He can’t remember the last time he saw you like this—after the diagnosis, you had been treated and admitted so many times that any intimacy other than cuddling or kissing were long forgotten. He missed this, the beautiful glint in your eyes that reminded him that he was the only one who could make you feel that way. The last one who ever would.

Johnny climbs on top of you but is careful not to put any weight or pressure on your limp body, his lips brushing against yours before lowering to your jawline. The giggle you let out makes his stomach jump, and he can’t help but smile against your clammy skin. His lips trail down your neck and to your collarbones, and with gentle fingers, he helps you out of the flimsy gown. He bites his lip at the sight of you, thinner and paler, but still nonetheless as gorgeous as the day he met you. Healthy or not, he would always be a fool for you.

He cups your breasts in his hands, thumbs gently flicking over your nipples. He smiles softly with content when he hears your little moan, leaning in to kiss you again. You wrap your shaking arms around his neck, fingernails gently scratching at the back of his head. His body is so warm against yours, full of life and hope like you used to have. It makes your head spin.

“Ye alreit?” Johnny feels you tense up and immediately pulls back, worried eyes scanning your face.

His eyebrows unfurrow when you nod your agreement, but his movements are still slow and calculated, like he’s afraid he’ll break you. You shake your head softly, grabbing his wrists and encouraging his hands to move lower.

“Touch me, Johnny. It’s okay,” you grin slightly, leaning up to press a kiss to his clenched jaw.

With trembling hands, his fingers descend down your stomach and rest right above your mound, hooded eyes looking up at you cautiously. Johnny spreads your legs carefully, placing your thighs over his shoulders and pressing soft kisses to the insides. He knows you won’t be as wet as you need to be—the medication you take gives you dry-mouth, and parches you in other inconvenient places. No matter to him. He lets saliva pool onto his tongue before gently parting your folds with his thumbs, letting the warm liquid drip onto you slowly. The gasp you let out makes him grin and squeeze the soft flesh of your thighs gently.

“Is this alreit, bon’? Ye want me tongue?” He questions, peppering kisses to your inner thighs, making sure his stubble doesn’t rub your delicate skin raw.

“Please, Johnny,” you whisper hoarsely, grabbing at his dark hair and tugging slightly, trying to push his face further between your thighs.

He huffs softly in amusement, making sure his tongue has another sheen of saliva on it before swiping a long stripe through your slit. He moans, dragging the tip of his tongue up to your pulsing clit and flicking it a few times. Your legs are already trembling, and he digs his fingers into your thighs to keep you grounded as he dips his tongue into your entrance, eyes shutting once he finally gets a taste of the unmistakable tang of your arousal. Your whimpers are music to his ears, and he takes his time licking and sucking at the sweetness he’s craved for months. In the back of his mind, he wonders if you’d missed this, too. He assumes as much by the way you’re already grinding your hips against him, salty tears streaming down your flushed face.

You whine when Johnny pulls away, and he’s quick to replace his mouth with the pad of his thumb on your clit. With his other hand, he sucks two fingers into his mouth, coating them in his spit and making sure they’re nice and wet before circling the tips around your entrance. He kisses your thigh before resting his cheek against it, oceanic eyes staring up at you in silent question. The need displayed by your quivering lip is all the consent he needs. He slowly slips his middle finger inside, breath hitching as your velvety walls contract around it. He pumps it in and out a couple of times before adding a second finger, wrapping his lips around your clit once more to distract from the stretch. Fuck, he forgot how tight you are, how your walls flutter like they’re trying to kiss the intruder. He flicks his tongue over your clit right as he curls his fingers, and by the way you tug at his hair, he knows he’s found the spot.

“Doin’ so good fer me, bon’. Want ye tae cum on me fingers, aye?” He coos, circling your clit with a flat tongue while he stares up at you eagerly, an almost boyish glint in his eyes.

He curls his fingers against that squishy spot again, and that’s all it takes before you’re seeing stars. Your thighs clench violently, and your back pops as it arches, a soft ringing in your ears as your husband coaxes you through your orgasm. He groans in delight at the taste of you, savoring the gush of sticky cream that coats his fingers. Once your body relaxes, he presses a final kiss to your clit before pulling away. He pants, the heady taste of you on his tongue making him smile as he leans back up to kiss your lips. Dazed and lightheaded, you kiss him back the best you can, fingernails clawing at his back as you try to bring him closer.

“Want you, Johnny, please. Please,” you pant, chest still heaving as you recover from the bliss that you’ve been lacking for months.

Johnny hesitates, though, worriedly gazing over at the heart monitor. The beeping had become more rapid, and it concerned him. He rakes his fingers through your hair, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as he waits for your heart rate to return to normal. Once your body has calmed, he kisses your lips again.

“Are ye sure, hen? Ah dinnae want to hurt ye if-”

“Johnny. I need you,” you murmur, eyebrows furrowed as you peer up at him desperately.

Johnny nods, momentarily standing from the bed to remove his jeans and boxers. You gasp softly at the sight of him—you’d nearly forgotten how he looked completely bare, scars that you’d previously memorized like brand new to you, and you reach out to caress them with a feather-light touch. Johnny grins, grabbing your frail wrist and pressing a kiss to the inside before climbing onto the bed once again. He strokes himself a couple of times before helping you get into position, pressing the leaking, dusty-pink tip against your entrance, still slick with your spend.

“It might hurt a bit,” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. “Tell me if ah’m hurtin’ ye, alreit?”

You nod and reply with a soft okay, hooking your arms beneath his to rest your hands on his shoulders. Slowly, he pushes in, covering your mouth with his own to swallow your gasp. Tears prick your eyes as he continues to penetrate you, your slick clinging to the bulging veins that protrude from his shaft. He’s so much thicker than you remember, the intensity of his girth seating itself inside of you bordering on unbearable.

“Ah ken it hurts, bon’. Ye’re takin’ me so well, so perfect fer me,” he murmurs, kissing away your tears and cupping your clammy face in his hands.

It takes a while for you to adjust, and it feels like losing your virginity all over again. You cling to him tightly as he mutters reassurances and praises into your ear, not moving until you give him explicit permission. He’d wait for eternity if that’s how long you needed.

“You can… you can move now. Please,” you whimper breathlessly, opening your eyes to meet his patient gaze, so full of love for you–his perfect girl.

He waits for another moment before nodding, slowly pulling out until just the crown remains inside of you. With a deep breath, he pushes back in gently, like you’re fine china and he’s a bull threatening to break you. Your nails dig into his tan skin but his mind is focused on how good you feel, how much he wants to make you feel just as incredible as he does. His pace is slow and calculated, and he doesn’t dare break eye contact with those beautiful globes of joy that he fell in love with. Fuck, he’s lost in you, staring like he sees right into your soul, like you’re another part of him.

The longer he studies you, the slower he strokes, unwilling to let go of this perfect moment, the absolute euphoria he can’t find anywhere that you’re not. He sees heaven in the black of your pupils—the future he would never have with you. He always imagined having a family with you, filling up the cozy home he’d buy for you with precious little rugrats. God, he’d be so gentle, always caressing your pregnant belly and kissing your temple, dancing with you in the living room to teach his bairns how to treat a proper lady. He’d watch you grow old together, comfort you as the pair of you becomes empty-nesters, reliving the honeymoon days and reminding you just how much he loves you.

He always thought it’d be him to die first, killed in action or succumbing to the forces of nature in his old age.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s crying until he feels you flinch when a teardrop lands on your face. He’s quick to thumb it away, leaning down to capture your lips in a slow, tender kiss. It reminds him of your wedding night, how timid you were despite having been with him before, how stunning you looked with your parted lips and eyes clenched shut. He remembers it like it was yesterday, how the two of you fit flawlessly, like your bodies and souls were handcrafted just for one another.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, pulling back to study his face and wiping away the tears that pool up in those sapphire eyes again.

“Ah’m alreit, bon’,” he whispers through a sad smile, nuzzling his nose against yours once again. “Ah jus’ love ye.”

“I love you, too, Johnny,” you hum, scratching the back of his neck gently, trying to soothe him.

You know exactly what he’s thinking. You’ve spent days, weeks, months imagining how different things would be, had this illness never corrupted you. You’ve come to terms with it, but you know Johnny hasn’t. You’re not sure if he ever will with the way he’s looking at you. All you can do is kiss him again, moaning softly into his mouth when you feel yourself on the brink of ecstasy once more.

“I’m close,” you mewl, head falling back against the creased pillow beneath you.

Johnny nods frantically, grunting softly as he thrusts the slightest bit quicker, still worried that he’ll hurt you. But God, he’s so close, too. He needs to feel you clamp down on him just one last time, engrave it into his memory, tattoo it into his brain.

“Me too, sweet girl. Cum with me, aye? Let me feel ye.”

With that, the coil in your belly snaps, and you let out a squeal as you climax. He cups your gorgeous, flushed face between his rough hands, forcing you to meet his gaze as he finishes with you, simultaneous bliss lingering in the shared air between the two of you. Almost as quickly as they came, the highs dissipate, little tremors and jerks taking their place in the afterglow of euphoria. He leans down to kiss you yet again, quickened breaths mingling together. It feels like eternity before he pulls away, a shaky sigh escaping his agape mouth. When he meets your gaze again, he knows. He’s seen the emptiness, that blank, peaceful stare one too many times.

“Ah love ye, bon’,” he whispers, smiling softly when he feels your head turn into the palm that still holds your face.

“I love you, Johnny.”

He pulls out of you for the last time, pressing one more kiss to your quickly-cooling lips. You hum contentedly, and it’s all the closure he needs. He tries to block out the rapid beeping of your heart monitor as he gets dressed, tears streaming down his face as he glances at your still figure, watching as you fall into perfect, eternal rest. He covers your bare body with the sheet and kisses your hair, whispering a final goodbye just in time for the doctors to come in and call the time of death.

Time stands still.

#cw: illness #cw: death #cod mw2 #cod #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #call of duty #soap mactavish #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #cod x reader #sorry for being depressing #Spotify

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