#what an ominous way to refer to hand holding
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tell me more about this "mono isnt a human" theory thats really interesting
Thanks for asking! A few people have asked for my thoughts on Mono’s identity, and because I will take any opportunity to ramble about Little Nightmares, I wrote up my (hopefully intelligible) interpretation of Mono, and why I think he was always a Resident of The Nowhere, instead of a kidnapped human child like most of the LN kids. This theory is super connected to a few other ones I have, so I’ll rattle descriptions of them at the start for context. Also this post is insanely long I’m sorry
The Nowhere
The Nowhere is its own world that real children get kidnapped to, it feeds off of humanity and kinda functions like your local mall. A weird amount of emphasis is put on jobs in The Nowhere, Residents are often referred to solely by their job titles (The Janitor, The Doctor, The Teacher, etc. etc.)
Besides having a job in The Nowhere, a Resident's proximity to humanity seems to give them a higher status as well. In a LN1 interview, it was said that ALL residents wear masks (as opposed to just the Twin Chefs); we even see in LN2 that The Doctor makes and presumably sells these masks. A humanoid appearance is something that most Residents want. The more humanoid a Resident looks, the more powerful they are perceived to be (not always, because of The Ferryman, but he’s just chill like that.)
Kids and valuable teens/adults (like the circus performers and Otto from the podcast) feed The Nowhere kinda like how animals feed humans. Some Residents are given jobs to maintain this system. Some jobs require more power than others however, typically these are the jobs that require a Resident to keep control over an entire area, which leads me to…
The Cycle
The head honcho Residents like The Thin Man and The Lady are more humanoid and more powerful than the others, this is because they are handpicked and raised from birth to inherit these forms that are passed down over time. This one is super important to most of my points about Mono, so I’m going to spend some time defending it.
The Lady (prior to the Six stuff) had 4 predecessors, each represented by a different mask/hat that you can collect in VLN; This means that The Nowhere (at the time of the first loop in LN2) is on its 5th cycle. The Thin Man is also a mantle that is passed down, we see the previous one interact with Mono before Mono has even entered a time loop in the LN2 comics. This Thin Man, when datamined, notably wears a different hat than Mono’s iteration.
Furthermore, when asked if Thinny Lad is a mantle that is passed on or Mono in a timeloop in an interview, the devs had this to say:
The Pretender (VLN) is a good example of what I think Mono is supposed to be, and what the child forms of the 5th cycle Residents were. The Pretender is a humanoid child with supernatural powers and a strong sense of loneliness. She has her own mansion and Resident servants. The Pretender is the heir to a currently unknown position. She has a portrait of her and five past iterations on her wall, followed by another one of her and her two Resident parents. The Pretender is native to The Nowhere.
But… who is the boss of all the Residents? Who assigns these jobs? Who creates the natural Residents and brings others into The Nowhere?
The Eye
(you could argue its the ferryman but i think he works under the eye too. employee of the year)
I think most fans agree on this one so I won't spend too long on it, but basically I think the Eye is the unseen overall antagonist of Little Nightmares, overseeing everything and everyone in The Nowhere all the time. The Eye feeds off of misery and has a fate planned for everyone, it is not happy when anything throws a wrench into these plans. I don’t think we are meant to know The Eye’s motives, not yet at least, but if I had to guess; they have something to do with an extremely misguided and angry feeling of loneliness, as that is a prevalent theme in an insane amount of Residents. This finally brings me to Mono.
Mono’s Familiarity with The Nowhere
Mono is very familiar with Pale City, he is much more aware of his own fate, abilities, and world than he’s given credit for.
In the door/boat cutscene, Mono watches every TV in the water until it exits the frame. This early in the game, Mono already has an inherent connection to TVs.
Before Pale City comes into frame for both Six and the player, Mono is already standing, he is familiar enough with the route to Pale City that he knows they arrived without even having a clear view of their destination. This is because Mono has been to Pale City before, in the sixth episode of the LN2 comics:
In this comic, Mono met (and wasn't killed by) The Thin Man shown earlier. So to list off the amount of things Mono was already familiar with at the start of LN2: His connection to TVs, his connection to The Thin Man, and how to navigate Pale City. Mono having a lot of experience living in The Nowhere is demonstrated somewhere even more prominent too:
Kickass Character Design
Six’s character design intentionally makes her not fit in with her environment. While the color scheme of The Nowhere and its residents is mostly bland, monochrome, and washed out (sans the lighting), her jacket is highlighter yellow. This represents that Six does not belong in The Nowhere, she’s from the human world.
With this information to ride off of, Mono’s design becomes interesting. Mono’s design is a beige button up, tan trench-coat, and tan pants: A monochrome, muted outfit that fits in perfectly with the aesthetic of The Nowhere. Mono’s outfit including a key ring and a useful color scheme for camouflage further implies familiarity and experience with the way The Nowhere works. If Six’s simple, bright design represents her not belonging there, Mono’s muted, practical design represents the fact that he does.
His Mask
We actually know why Mono wears his mask, we have a direct answer:
You can interpret this as a representation of Mono being shy or insecure or a combination of multiple things, but I think it’s mainly meant to represent, as the description states: Mono hiding from The Nowhere, Mono running away from his fate. The Eye wants Mono to grow up and be the next Thin Man, but he doesn’t want to. Mono’s mask represents his fear, his refusal to use his Thin Man powers, his refusal to do anything that connects him to the world that hates him and wants him to fail; he wants to hide from that world, his future, and the reality of what he is. But ….
(straight up a post of Mono running from his fate)
Unexplained Powers
Mono’s OP reveal was the moment that shook me the most when I first watched my sister play the game; I’ve honestly always been shocked at how little it’s talked about in the community. To me, it was a reveal that told us we Did Not REALLY know much about the character we had been playing the entire time, and that was exciting.
When Mono fights the Thin Man and contorts the structure of Pale City, it is with ease. This is not his first time doing any of this, his body language does not match that of someone who just discovered/unlocked a new ability, him busting out the moves is framed more like a choice that he decided on just before removing his mask. The Thin Man boss battle is easy on purpose; because it's not too hard for Mono in universe, all he does after is wipe off his head nonchalantly and then he proceeds to warp reality. The ominous boss theme that plays during this fight isn’t even for the Thin Man, its MONO’S boss music. The Thin Man is the one who helps control The Signal Tower’s influence, Mono is the one interfering with it, he is the “Signal Interference.” The theme continues even after he’s defeated The Thin Man, further hammering in that it is his.
Mono has his own ominously powerful boss theme and the abilities of one of the most powerful Residents at his disposal; he is not a normal kid.
Mono even shares a power with the established Resident heir that we already know; The Pretender.
When The Pretender sees RCG eavesdropping on her crying, she yells so loud that it physically hurts RCG, causing the screen to glitch. I don’t think this is just a visual effect to show how loud it is to the player; I think this is an in universe ability. You know where else we see a powerful child amplify their voice on purpose to harm an enemy with a screen glitch/distortion effect? Mono in Chapter 5.
Mono and the fifth Thin Man
I think that Mono ran away from wherever it is he’s supposed to be, (probably the Signal Tower) and The Eye/ Thin Man want him back; this is why Mono is not killed by The Thin Man in the comic, just pursued by him
Loneliness
I don’t think I even really need to dissect how loneliness relates to Mono’s character, but he’s not the only character who deals with it. A huge recurrent theme with Residents is loneliness; the sense that they need something, they are missing something. The Lady has a bunch of dolls, The Janitor has.. a bunch of dolls in his own way. The Hunter too. The Pretender runs off to cry when her human doll friend gets messed up at her dinner party. The Resident we meet in Chapter 3 of the podcast is the most direct example so far of intense loneliness in a Resident, and not so coincidentally, it has a ton of parallels to Mono.
Narrative
For the rest of this post, I’m going to focus on how I think this theory fits into the story; because I think factoring in the cutscenes and storytelling beats is important when putting together something’s lore.
A little chatter about Mono
Mono is often characterized as a shy little boy who plays the straight man to Six’s feral goblin who loves eating rats, which is a whole other can of worms, but with this characterization I feel like some fun and interesting parts of his character are neglected, such as: The fact that Mono is an ominous little weirdo. His attempt at trying to save and comfort someone is to hack down her door with an ax with no warning, then proceed to chase her through the house she’s been trapped in; Mono is not too familiar with human interaction. Mono isn’t really a dashing hero who tries to save every kid he comes across either. In the comics, Mono finds an area that is away from the monster killing all the kids, but it’s not like he tells the other kids or tries to bring them with him or anything. I don’t think that this means he is a toxic manipulative character or anything because he is. 9 or 10 years old. I think if anything, this is a trait that experienced characters in The Nowhere have: RCG and Mono both know that indifference is the way to survive in The Nowhere, good deeds usually get you killed. It’s the way things are. I think overall Mono is a well meaning boy who just talks and acts ominously, because that’s what he is used to; he’s an eldritch overpowered being who lives in hell if it had a 1940s aesthetic.
I think that Mono doesn’t start the game a sweet perfect little boy whose ending is sad because he gets betrayed, that’s not a character arc. I think Mono starts off relatively morally gray out of necessity, mostly helping Six out because it was kinda his fault she got captured. He develops into someone who is willing to fight his fate, fight the Nowhere and stop resorting to the escapism his mask provides, only to get crushed to rock bottom in spite of his growth. After all, the villain of Little Nightmares is The Nowhere itself.
How this creates character conflict in the plot
Anytime Mono goes into a weird TV trance, Six is horrified. Her body language tenses and she moves away from him. Six has seen first hand that even the kids like her in The Nowhere cannot always be trusted or relied on (RCG shutting the door on her). Some kids like the Pretender aren't even normal kids, they have powers they use to kill people. The one person Six is starting to trust, and he’s showing signs of possessing supernatural powers? Terrifying. Mono notices these reactions, they give him more cause to hide what he truly is from her. Residents scare and disgust Six, he doesn’t want to lose the only person he has.
This conflict leads me to another point; you know those moments of Six being sadistic and angry towards Residents? How an ominous music cue plays when she kills the bully and breaks the mannequin’s fingers? Earlier in the game, when Six first catches Mono, his part of Togetherness II plays briefly to show his feelings in that moment, which implies that the music cues we hear when a story beat happens are Mono’s reactions. I don’t think these scary music cues are because Mono is scared of Six being creepy, Mono himself likes to beat up Residents. I think that Mono is scared in these moments when he sees the extent of Six’s hatred towards Residents, because even though he doesn’t like them either… Imagine how she’d react if she knew about him.
It is only the Thin Man fight when Mono is finally pushed to the point of using his powers, because in the plan to get Mono to the Signal Tower: The Thin Man took Six as bait. Six was constantly pulling Mono out of his TV trances, Six was supposed to die back at The Nest, Six has been a problem for the Eye since the start and now it’s time to kill two birds with one stone, to sentence Six to her new fate and to crush Mono’s spirit so hard that he finally resigns to his.
The drop is its whole own debate, but whatever you think about it, I think at least one factor in Six’s decision is that from her perspective: Mono has revealed himself to be an entity she cannot trust, he didn't tell her either; he's been hiding it this entire time. Why didn’t he use this power to help them all the previous times they were in danger? What are his motives? What IS he? This, mixed with other factors, causes the drop. (a lot of manipulation on the part of The Nowhere is involved too imo but this isn't a Drop analysis)
Mono is crushed, he loses Six and any true feeling of empowerment that he had before. Rather than The Eye trapping him in the Signal Tower and forcibly transforming him into a resident, I think Mono actually accepts his fate because hes just. That depressed. He actually ages pretty normally for most of the sequence (except for being straight up like 12 feet tall, the podcast confirmed that Residents are just super super big as opposed to the kids being really small, bros got Resident genes) This sequence from the art book leads me to think that Mono knows what the hat entails, Mono chooses to run the Signal Tower like The Lady runs The Maw. The chair sequence is not actually him sitting in a chair for that long, I think it just represents his resignation more than anything.
BUT! Mono is an “uncommonly single minded boy,” who also has control over time, i.e. Mono Thin Man slowing down time in his chase just to fuck with you or the clock sounds in The End of The Hall. Whether you think he goes back for revenge or to stop the downfall of everything, he goes back in time. I think it's on purpose, I think every TV in the background of the first scene implies that Mono has gone back to this point in time over and over again, failing repeatedly, leaving a new TV behind and forgetting the past attempt each time.
This could all be wrong, maybe Mono is just a really badass 4th grader from the human realm who got his abilities like Six, just off screen. But one thing I love about LN is all of the different, creative and interesting interpretations of the fans. So here’s mine regarding Mono lore. Sorry this was so long and I write posts weirdly it is 4 AM. I hope you enjoyed
#little nightmares#little nightmares 2#mono ln#six ln#little nightmares theory#i meant it when i said i could talk forever abt this franchise. the floodgates were unleashed#sorry i don’t usually post theories so i know this isn’t like#super polished game theory levels of organized at all#but little ominous eldritch being mono means a lot to me#some of the achievement names are in first person and it’s so funny like he words shit like dracula#the achievement for holding hands with six for six minutes is#in the palm of my hand#what an ominous way to refer to hand holding#love u lil weirdo
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Bodies.
7.8k, raider!Joel x f!reader
reader has no physical description, pics are for mood
raider master | playlists: raider, sweet pea (smut)
SUMMARY: Uninvited guests make a nice evening devolve into disaster, but when they're gone, Joel takes a big step 💋
A/N: follows Hunger. Ty to this ask about flirting; arm anon; @gracieispunk for the B/W pic; @xdaddysprincessxx, @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog, and others who've discussed his name, @javier-penas-wifexx420 for asks, @milla-frenchy for listening, everyone for your patience and support. @toxicfics for notifications, @toxicrecs for fic recs.
WARNINGS: I8+ canon typical violence, tension, possessive/aggressive reader, angst, self-harm scare, references to skin carving scars, hurt/comfort, Joel is a little grumpy, exhibitionism, grinding, dacryphilia, leather choker, bj with ball sucking, unsafe P in V, creampie, obsessive unhealthy toxic dynamic, Joel can hold reader, reader can hang onto Joel.
Raider POV of smut.
The dog has stuck around for more than 24 hours now. He's a good dog. He’s working on a duck foot while you, Joel, and Carter eat by the fire. The evening air is cool but mild. The sky is clear.
Joel and his men spent most of the day working on the van and looking for parts. The dog sat with you while you read a book. You made a wildflower crown and put it around the dog’s neck. When one of the men walked in your direction on his way to the woods, the dog jumped in front of you and growled. Joel looked impressed.
-
Now the fire is keeping you toasty as the sky fades from blue to black.
“Tommy!” you call out to the dog to see if he reacts.
Carter chokes on his food, but quickly recovers. His eyes are wide.
“What’d you say?” Joel asks, ominously quiet. When you don’t respond, he reaches over to gently turn your head toward him. The look on his face makes your stomach turn.
“I thought you’d like that one since it’s a type of gun,” you explain.
“No.” He shakes his head, “I don't like it.” He lets go of your face. “Namin’ the goddamn dog,” he grumbles under his breath. He puts down his plate and stands up.
You’re afraid to ask, but when Joel silently walks off toward the woods, you look at Carter. He asks, “He tell ya anything about his family? His brother?”
Your face is hot and your tummy feels dizzy. “He said he didn’t have any family.”
Carter raises his eyebrows, then he's quiet for a moment and stares at the ground. His face becomes studious.
“What,” you ask.
“Ain't my place,” Carter looks down apologetically.
A few seconds later, watching your face, Carter adds the obvious: “I wouldn't go there.”
"Yeah," you whisper. Anything about his family. The question weighs on you. You really don't know Joel, do you?
Carter changes the subject. “He’ll come around on the dog.”
You perk up. “You think?”
Carter nods, then adds, “Sorry ‘bout Daisy,” squinting solemnly.
“Thanks,” you nod, then can’t resist asking, “Joel wasn’t. . .married, was he?”
Carter shakes his head and doesn’t elaborate. At least there’s that. But still. His family.
You're unsettled, and you try to distract yourself with other dog names, mentally going through a list. Bullet. Clover. Duck. Joel doesn’t have to know he has a name.
Apparently, Carter is thinking about the same thing. He tries to cheer you up. “Gun names, huh? Pistol, Rifle--”
“--Rifle??” You crack a smile.
“Hey, there's no bad ideas,” Carter laughs, and you giggle.
“What about Bullet–”
“--Shh,” Carter nods toward the tree line. Joel is on his way back.
As you finish eating, Carter tries to make small talk with Joel to break the tension. Joel doesn't say much. You ask Carter how he makes his jerky, and he walks you through it. It doesn't sound hard. You could probably do it yourself.
—--Carter—--
The three of you are sitting outside by the fire after dinner. You’re on Joel’s knee, and Joel slides his hand up your dress a little bit. Carter averts his eyes and watches the dog work on his duck foot, making happy little growls and wagging his tail. Hard to say whether you and Joel are about to go inside and fuck, or if Joel’s just copping a feel like he does twenty times a day.
You have Joel wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even know it. You wouldn’t know Joel’s never been like this before. You wouldn’t know Joel’s never made a girl his in the years Carter’s known him. Joel’s always been a man of focus. He’s always been a tough guy. He’s always had a temper, but at this point, he’d tear a man to shreds just for looking at you wrong. It’s scary, and it’s a lot of mess to clean up. Carter’s seen Joel do some crazy shit, but never as crazy as turning one of his own men into a scarecrow for an off-hand comment. Carter knows Joel better than anyone, and it’s clear to him that Joel is crazy about you.
The dog drops the duck foot, growls and barks, then takes off and runs toward the back of the trailer. You get off Joel’s knee to go after the dog, and Joel’s arm around your middle stops you. As Carter stands up and puts on his rifle, a high-pitched shriek comes from behind the trailer. Joel grabs his rifle off the log, and Carter says, “it’s cool,” holding his hand out. He won’t hesitate to yell if he needs Joel. “Go inside, sweet pea,” Joel tells you. You take your time going.
Carter goes around the back of the trailer and trains his rifle on two figures cresting the hill. The dog has stopped short of them and is keeping his distance, but he’s still barking and looks ready to pounce, like he’s holding himself back.
“DON’T MOVE,” Carter booms, then keeps his rifle fixed on the pair and slowly approaches them. When Carter reaches the dog, the dog’s barking fades into a low growl.
They drop their backpacks and put their hands up.
“What’re ya doin’ here?” Carter asks.
The woman clears her throat and follows it with a demure smile. “Went huntin’, came back ’n our house was taken.”
Carter nods and looks back and forth between the two of them. They’re both decent looking. Some resemblance, maybe siblings.
“What do y’all want,” Carter asks, then spits over his shoulder.
“Nothin’,” the man claims. “Just cuttin’ through on our way to the road.” His eyes pan down Carter’s shoulders and arms. Carter squares his shoulders and adjusts his grip on the gun.
Carter nods hesitantly. “Can ya hang tight for me? Don’t want ya walkin’ into gunfire.”
They nod in agreement with a hint of fear. They shouldn’t be trouble. They aren’t carrying much.
Carter walks backwards for a few slow steps, then nods and turns around toward the trailer. Carter sees you spying in the kitchen window and gives you a reassuring nod as he goes around the trailer to talk to Joel.
-
"They're alright, I think," Carter tells Joel.
"What do they want," Joel grumbles.
"Nothin'. . . Cuttin' through on their way to the road."
Joel nods.
“Lost their house, didn’t say who took it.”
Joel’s brow furrows and he nods. “Armed?”
“Not heavily,” Carter answers.
“Bring’em around. Let’s find out who took their house.”
“You got it,” Carter says.
—---- 🌸you 🌸 —---
You move to the window facing the yard and the fire pit with logs around it. As they walk around the trailer, you overhear that they’ve been traveling most of the day. When they stop by the fire, you wait a few minutes, thinking they’ll leave. Then they take a seat, and the woman sits on the log next to Joel’s, on the end of the log closest to him. Your chest tightens. When she smiles at him, you scoff out loud to yourself. You start to go out the front door, then stop and go to the bathroom. You look in the mirror and open the flannel. You run your finger over the faint, healed letters on your skin, and you leave your chest exposed. You adjust your thigh holster, then go outside.
When the door opens, Carter looks over his shoulder and announces, “There she is.”
Joel introduces you. “This is, uh. . .”
“Jill,” she pipes in.
“Ron,” the man nods at you.
A couple. They must be a couple. They look a little alike, but not enough to be siblings. Joel leans forward with his elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped, connecting with your eyes for a moment, sharing something near a smile before his eyes fade back to serious.
Joel doesn’t make room for you in his lap, but he doesn’t tell you to go back inside either. He looks alert and on guard. There are four logs and five of you. You sit on Joel’s log and feel satisfied when he doesn’t scoot toward Jill to make more room. He doesn’t mind you being right up against him. Carter’s on the log to your left. Jill talks about their house and what was going on when they got back from their hunting trip. Ron is quieter. He glances at Carter a few times. Jill keeps looking at Joel. She talks too much.
Jill says they saw Infected behind the trailer park. Joel and Carter look at each other. Your stomach twists, but you study her face, and you don’t trust her. Attention. She wants attention. She wants Joel’s attention. Joel is better than Ron – bigger, stronger, better looking. There were no Infected. She’s making it up for attention.
Everyone is quiet for what feels like a full minute. You look her dead in the eye and break the silence with a soft, matter-of-fact, “No you didn’t.” Joel gives you a cautionary look, and you add, “We would’ve seen'em. We were there yesterday.”
Jill raises her eyebrows, bemused. “Just one,” she admits with a little smile. “My brother took care of it.” She nods to Ron, and the fact that they’re siblings makes you hate her.
“Where,” Joel asks flatly. You wish he wouldn’t speak to her at all.
“Woods behind the junkyard,” she answers. “Thought ya’d wanna know,” she shrugs. It’s quiet again. Nothing but the fire crackling and the dog growling happily.
“Thanks,” Carter mumbles.
Jill’s gaze lingers on Joel. She seems pleased with herself. Joel looks away, sits back, and crosses his arms. Now she’s checking out his arms as they bulge out with his hands under them. Your heart races. Anger simmers under your ribs.
"Bet ya could handle anything that comes over that hill," she purrs at Joel. Your nostrils flare. Your eyes are glued to her. You don’t blink. She looks at Joel’s pants and wets her lips. Your heart skips a beat. It feels like a personal attack. You pop up from the log.
Joel makes room in his lap and looks at you as he replies, "Carter here could handle'em, too,” with a nod to his left.
Joel must have expected you to sit on his knee like you were before they showed up. He clears his throat as it becomes clear you’re going to fully straddle him. His nose twitches and his eyes sparkle. He puts his arms around you loosely. His hands rest on your back to help you balance. You scoot closer and he helps you settle in so your crotch rests on his. Your head is in the crook of his neck, facing toward Jill to keep an eye on her. It doesn’t take long for a familiar bulge to twitch under you.
Your arms are around Joel. Your hand runs over the handgun in the back of his pants, and he tenses.
Jill has the nerve to speak again. “That can’t be comfortable,” she laughs.
“You can’t be serious,” you snap back.
“Shhhh,” Joel whispers into your hair. “‘S’okay, baby.”
“I’m comfortable,” you tell Joel.
“I know, sweet pea.” He nuzzles his nose at the top of your ear. “‘s’okay, baby,” he whispers. You rock your hips into him, feeling him grow harder. He pulls you tight, adjusting your weight. He moves one hand to your thigh. You grind yourself into him and he lets out a little “mm.”
“Um, okay,” she mumbles in disgust.
You snarl and turn your head away from her, back toward Joel. Then you turn your head toward Carter. Carter is absentmindedly examining the bite on his hand. Ron is spaced out, watching Carter’s face. Then, his eyes fall down to Carter’s lap.
“You’re bit,” Jill announces. “Ron, he’s bit!”
Ron snaps out of his daze, sits up self-consciously, and when his eyes fall on Carter’s hand, his face hardens.
Carter protests, “It’s not–”
“--It was the dog,” your head snaps back toward Jill. “It doesn’t look anything like Infected.” She just wants attention. She wants drama.
“It was the dog,” Joel repeats, unamused. It sounds like a warning. Joel’s hand on your thigh nudges the gun loose from your holster. Your hand wraps around the handle of the gun in the back of Joel’s pants.
“Lemme see it,” Ron demands. He stands up and points his gun at Carter. He snarls with a look of disgust. His face has completely transformed since a moment ago.
“SIT DOWN,” Joel booms and grabs the gun out of your holster.
Carter starts to offer, “I’ll show-”
“No ya won’t,” Joel snaps as he stands up with you still wrapped around him. Joel points the gun at Ron. “Come into my yard, orderin’ us around?” Joel’s deep voice vibrates in your ear, then he whispers, “Go inside,” as he tries to let you down. You take the gun out of the back of his pants. “Inside, now.” You put your feet on the ground.
“Nobody owns this land,” Ron laughs.
“C’mon, man, y’all know how it works,” Carter seems to try to de-escalate. “Show some respect.”
You slowly, carefully recede into the shadows, but you don’t go inside.
Jill points her gun at Carter and demands, “Show us.” With everyone else’s eyes fixed tensely on each other, you can approach her from behind, undetected. Two guns are pointed at Carter and one at Ron. Carter reaches for his rifle, and Ron braces his own gun with both hands. Ron cocks the hammer, and you quietly approach Jill from behind.
Ron adjusts his finger on the trigger, and Joel shoots him in the head. Jill screams.
It all happens in an instant: You lunge forward, tackling her to the ground, making her drop her gun. You could shoot her in the head, but something makes you toss your gun aside. You can't stop yourself from putting your hands around her throat. She claws at your chest and breasts. She slaps you, and it stings. You elbow her in the face, keeping one hand on her neck. She keeps clawing at you. “Stupid whore,” she spits.
“I'm only his,” you snap back. She laughs. “And he’s mine,” you pant and put your palm over her face, covering as much of it as you can, putting all your weight on her. Before she can bite you, Joel’s massive hands are firm around your arms, pulling you off. You resist, and he wraps an arm around your middle.
“‘S’okay,” he repeats as he pulls you off, and lifts you into standing. “Go inside.”
You hesitate and he firmly adds, “Now. I'll handle this.” He gives you a look that says he means it. Then he turns his attention to Jill. She coughs as you walk away. She whimpers and plays up how injured she is. Pathetic.
“Hey,” Joel’s voice softens for her. “You’ll be alright,” he tells her. You glance back and he’s what? He’s straddling her. He has his hands on her face. Is he . . .stroking her hair? You can’t see well enough. Your chest burns, and you start to turn around completely, wanting to approach them.
But Carter whispers, “C’mon, let’s go,” and gently takes your elbow.
Maybe it’s for the best. You walk with Carter in a daze. Maybe you were seeing things. No, Joel is comforting her. Your Joel is straddling and comforting the woman who just slapped you and called you a whore.
“It's okay,” Joel reassures Jill again, then you hear the loud crack of her neck snapping.
You feel a lot of things. Joy, relief, guilt–not for being happy, but for doubting Joel.
Carter opens the trailer door and you go inside.
-
For a few minutes, you just sit at the table. Your relief at Jill’s demise quickly fades when you realize she died thinking Joel liked her. Joel acting sweet with her even for a few seconds was more than she deserved.
Now you can't calm down. All your muscles are tense. You start to cry, then you go to get a glass of water. Your hand is shaking and you can hardly hold the glass. You want to throw it, but you put it down, still empty, on the counter. You take a deep breath, bury your mouth in your shoulder, then scream as loud as you can, until you're out of air and your throat is sore. You cough and spit over the sink, nauseous from the effort. Then you slump down onto the kitchen floor in tears.
Almost as soon as you hit the floor, the front door opens. It's not Joel, it's Carter.
“What happened?” Carter rushes over to you.
“Where's Joel?”
“Haulin’ a body.”
“Which body? Don't let him touch her!”
He looks at you, stunned for a second, then says, “Not hers.”
“You promise?” you try to choke back tears.
“God damn, you're both losin’ it,” Carter mutters to himself. Then he hesitantly reaches for your shoulder. “Shhh, it's okay.”
You lunge toward him on your knees and let yourself fall onto his chest. He looks over his shoulder then hesitantly hugs you. “Okay,” he whispers with his hands very lightly touching your back but not resting their full weight. He gives you a moment, then clears his throat. “I've gotta. . . ” He lets go, stands up, and fills the glass of water. “Here.” He puts it on the table, then comes back to you.
“Been a long day, huh?” Carter asks. He squats down and takes your elbow in his hand. “C’mon.” You wipe your eyes on your flannel and stand up. He guides you to the table with his hand on your back and pulls out a chair for you. He leaves you at the table with your water.
—--
You sit there for a minute, sipping your water. Then go to the bathroom to splash your face. You stop crying. You fix your hair. But your eyes are still misty. You look at your chest in the mirror. She scratched you. You can see a couple of her scratch marks better than Joel’s name. Your chest heats up as you stare at it, and your heart beats faster. You take calming breaths. You want her to go away. You don’t want anyone on your skin but Joel. You dab your chest with a cold washcloth. The worst scratch is right over the ‘J’.
You open the medicine cabinet, don’t find anything useful, and close it. You go to the kitchen and find a pocket knife in one of the drawers. You bring it back to the bathroom and open the sharpest blade. What if you just. . .if you make the ‘J’ a little better, maybe. It’s like she goes away. How should you do it? You look down at yourself. You can’t really see. You look in the mirror and bring the knife to your chest. The hand-eye coordination is hard in the mirror.
You’re looking in the mirror, holding the pocket knife in your hand, when the front door opens and slams shut. Joel’s boots thud, then stop. He says your name. “You okay?”
You sniffle. He approaches the bathroom door. It's not shut. You move toward the door to shut it, but you're too late. Joel stops it from closing. He's so much stronger than you, he pushes it open with ease, then his arms wrap you in a hug and the force of it walks you backward toward the sink.
You still have the knife open in your hand. As his arms tighten, you whisper, “Careful,” and hold your hand away.
He pulls away, looks you over, and looks at your hand. “Hell are ya doin’,” he mutters.
You turn back toward the mirror and stroke the ‘J’. “Making it better?”
“Makin’ it. . .”
Your eyes water again as you face the mirror fully. Joel turns toward the mirror, too, standing behind you. You run your fingers over your chest with one hand and hold the knife with the other.
Joel's face changes when he realizes what you're doing. He grabs your wrist so hard you reflexively drop the knife and it clatters into the sink. “No.”
He picks it up, closes it, and puts it behind the faucet. He looks at your face in the mirror. “Can't let ya do that.”
“You said people can’t see it.”
“Told ya we’d figure somethin’ else out.”
“Like what?”
Joel runs his hand over your chest, and his thumb lingers on the scratch over the J. His nostrils flare, his head tilts down, and his eyes darken under his brow. “This from her?”
You nod.
Joel sighs and steps over to the bathtub. He starts a shower. He takes his shirt off over his back. You back away toward the door, and start to give him some space.
“Whoa, nuh-uh” Joel stops you. “Did I say leave?”
“Sorry.”
“Take your clothes off.” He sits on the toilet to untie his boots, then slips out of them and takes off his socks.
“Ya know, ya came out there. Got her all worked up,” he grumbles. What? That’s not fair.
“I just wanted you.”
“You were starin’ right at her, sweet pea.”
“I just wanted to be on you, wanted to touch you,” you insist.
“She wanted her grubby hands on you.”
“You think that's what she wanted?”
“And she got it, didn't she?” Joel asks rhetorically, eyes fixed on your chest again. He clenches his jaw at the sight of her touch. He nods toward the shower. “That’s yours.”
“Can I have a bath?” You know it’s a long shot. He’s not in the mood to wait for water to boil.
“Fire's out and we’re outta gas. Gonna be cold either way.”
You brace yourself for the water. Joel remains seated on the closed toilet and holds your hand to help you balance as you step into the tub. You're far enough back that the water only hits from your abdomen down. It's not quite as bad as you expect, but gives you a chill all over. He scans your body as it prickles in goosebumps and your nipples pebble. He reaches behind you for the soap, then lathers a washcloth. He starts with your chest. The scrape stings.
“She wanted you, not me,” you mutter, wincing at the echo of your own words under the light beating of the water. Joel slows down and you continue, “She was looking at you, not me.” He stops the washcloth on your clavicle. Lather pours between your breasts and trickles down your sternum.
Joel squints at you, looks from your mouth to your tits, swallows, and refocuses on the task, adjusting the washcloth in his hand.
“Don’t gotta worry ‘bout that, sweet pea,” he murmurs and begins to slide the cloth slowly across your skin.
It’s nice to hear, but it’s not enough. Your eyes feel weak. “Well, I do worry about it,” you croak and feel the tears coming back.
He adjusts himself, then sighs. “You always cry in the shower?”
The coldness stings.
“Are you mad at me,” you ask shakily.
Joel curses himself under his breath. His brow furrows at your breasts and he braces his wet hand on his knee. “No, baby.” His eyes rise to meet yours, and he cups your cheek. “No. . .Just tired. . .” He searches your face. “Too many bodies in those woods. Gettin’ old.” You sniffle. You start mentally going through the bodies, and your head hurts at the thought. Joel says, “and ya can’t get in my shot like that, sweet pea.” You relax a little more. Your tears wane at the thought that he was already planning to kill her.
Joel stands up, hands you the washcloth, and starts to undo his jeans. You watch his pants come down over his crotch, a sight that always makes your breath hitch. “Face the water,” he mumbles, and you obey, staying far enough back not to get your head wet. He braces his hand on the far wall of the shower and steps in, squeezing between you and the back of the tub. You inch forward to make room. His feet are spread around yours and his hands rest on your hips for a moment. He presses his lips into the crown of your head, then reaches around your front to take the washcloth from you.
Joel presses himself up against your back, then continues to wash your chest. He soaps up your breasts again, then cradles one with his bare hand as he washes your trunk. You look down and watch the suds slide down your body. He washes your hips, your thighs. You’re grateful for the warmth of his groin against you. He turns you to the side and washes your sides, under your arms, your back, your ass, your legs. Then he tells you to rinse off while he washes himself. He steps all the way under the cold water without so much as flinching. When he’s finished, he rinses off, turns off the water, and wraps you in a hug. The water rolls off your skin and the faucet drips as you stand there in his arms.
After a few minutes, Joel’s deep voice slices through the silence. “Carter's stayin’ tonight. Wait here.” This unsettles you because you imagine Joel must be worried about something to have Carter stay. Did he believe her about the Infected?
Joel wraps a towel around himself and leaves you in the bathroom with your own towel. You look in the mirror for a moment, then quickly avert your eyes from your reflection.
Joel returns with clothes for you. He’s in plaid pj pants and a white t-shirt. Both are too small on him. His pockets are puckered. You smile at the sliver of skin between his pants and shirt, and he asks, “What?”
You shrug. “You’re wearing pjs.”
“Yeah? Well I ain't wearin’em long,” he murmurs and you feel a twitch of need. “You're gonna finish what ya started out there.” He looks at you darkly. “Got it?”
You bite your lip and nod as desire throbs between your legs.
“That means I ain't doin’ it, you are.”
Your chest flutters with butterflies.
He rests a flannel on his shoulder, while he holds up your nightie for you. You lift your arms and he puts it over your head. He pulls it down and pats your butt. “Want it that bad. . .” He holds the flannel up for you and you stick your arms in. He brings his mouth to your ear. “Gonna show me how bad.”
The front door opens and shuts.
“All good?” Joel yells.
“All good,” Carter answers, then exaggerates a loud yawn.
“Blankets in the closet,” Joel yells.
Joel brushes his teeth and leaves you to get ready for bed.
-
Joel returns just as you're finishing up. He shoves his hand in the puckered pocket of the pj pants and pulls out something brown and strappy that looks small in his hands. It looks like a piece of your holster, but thinner, more delicate. His brow furrows at it and he swallows. He sits on the closed toilet seat again.
“What is it?” you ask.
“It's. . .” He looks at your chest. “C'mere.” You step forward. He holds the object against his thigh and with his other hand, he traces the letters on your chest. “It's better than tryin’ to . . .” he trails off. He looks at your face, then back to your chest and caresses it again. “Better than this.” Your heart swells. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He doesn’t want you to hurt you.
He looks at the object in his lap.
“It's for me?”
He nods. He takes a deep breath and fiddles with the belt-like closure. “Can wear a sweater or whatever, and still. . .”
“Lemme try it on.”
He searches your eyes. “Really want to?”
You nod.
He stands up and guides you to the sink. He stands behind you as you both look in the mirror. He wraps it around your throat. Your breath hitches when you see his name in careful, bold lettering, clear but imperfect. It’s an odd sensation, having something around your neck, but the back of it is soft against your skin. It’s smoother and more delicate than the holster is on your thigh.
“It's beautiful,” you tell him as he concentrates on putting it on you.
He's gentle and careful. He fastens it with enough room to breathe and swallow. You look at it in the mirror, and the fact that he made it makes you emotional. “You made it,” you whisper.
He nods. “Don't gotta wear it all the time, but-”
“I love it.”
“Yeah?” he turns you around with his hands on your hips, and his gaze devours your form from head to toe. “Well, God damn. . .Looks good on ya, too.”
You wrap your arms around him and he hugs you close. He leans back to see you wearing the choker. “Let's go to bed.”
—-—--
You take off the flannel and get in bed. You bury your head in your pillow. Joel wraps you in his legs and arms, muscles straining his pajamas as he holds you in the dim room. His big, warm hand strokes your back. His body is like a furnace. You take deep breaths. In his bed, in his arms, you finally feel like you can breathe. His arms feel like home in a way that nearly overwhelms you. These are the arms that took you. They hurt you and pushed you away. Would they still? These arms hold you and care for you. They comfort you and kill for you. You hope they never let go.
It doesn't feel like you were ever really home before him, and it's impossible to imagine an after. There is no after. You're his. In the cruel, awful world, he carved out this space just for you. He kisses your forehead. You pinch your eyes shut and a tear runs down your cheek. It's a tear of relief. You press your cheek into his white t-shirt and his warm package twitches against you. He pushes his hips into you only slightly, and keeps holding you. You focus on his breathing and the beat of his heart.
You wedge your hand between your bodies. Your knuckles slide down your abdomen, and your palm skims his tummy on its way to his pants. You cradle the warm bulge in his flannel. You press your palm into it and he grunts softly as he presses his hips forward. Then he wraps an arm over you. He rolls onto his back, taking you with him. You're on top of him, and your heart flutters as his words from the bathroom echo. That means you’re doin' it.
-
You come to your knees, and he watches you curiously as you straddle him. You lower yourself so your panties meet his flannel, and the warmth of his bulge sends a shock to your chest. You lightly grind against him and watch his chest rise and fall as his cock swells against your neediest place. His hips lift and his eyes gloss over as he watches you move on him. You must be a vision – swollen, misty eyes, scratched up chest – but the look on his face says you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.
That means you're doin’ it.
You scoot back so you’re straddling his thighs. You bring your hand just above his waistband, and your thumb traces his happy trail up under his t-shirt to his belly button, bringing the shirt up with you. You use both hands to push it up and he asks, “Want this off?”
“It's okay,” you shake your head. “Just like to see this. You slide your hand down his stomach, once again running your thumb through the hair leading to his groin. You run your hand slowly up and down it a few times and feel his muscles tense under the light padding of his tummy. The bulge in his pants becomes more of a tent. His tummy flexes as he rises up enough to take the shirt off anyway.
“What else ya like?” He asks. By now, he knows. Oh God, does he know. But he must want to hear it. He must want to see it, feel it. He wets his bottom lip. You back up down his legs and take his flannel pants down. His cock bounces free, and for a moment, you dismount him entirely. Once the pjs are down below his knees, he kicks them off the rest of the way as you take off your underwear. He sucks in air through his nose as he watches you. He's still, and he’s quiet, but the look on his face is more pain than patience.
You straddle his legs, bend at the hips, and rest your elbows on either side of his hips. You take his cock in one hand, then bring your lips to the head. He's still not at full mast. Not for him. For another man, this might be as hard as it gets, but not Joel. You suck the tip into your mouth. A masochistic part of you imagines how many women might have sucked this cock. You have, too, of course. But you want to outdo them all. You suck as much of it into your mouth as you can, and he sucks in a shaky breath as you furrow your brows and close your eyes. You suck from the back of your mouth, and your throat gurgles obscenely as his tip nudges it, then you gag. His hand rests gently on the side of your head. “You’re okay.”
You lock eyes with him as you slowly let his shaft out of your mouth. A string connects your lips to his tip until you wipe your mouth with the back of your wrist. You hold his shaft in a loose fist, thumbing his dorsal vein as you turn your attention to his balls. You cup his balls, then lick a stripe up the seam of his sack, and his hand grips the fitted sheet. When you look up at him, he releases the sheet. Your tongue circles his left nut and he closes his eyes. You have your free hand braced on his upper thigh, near where it meets his torso, and you can practically feel the blood rushing to his cock. His eyes meet yours again, and his brows are furrowed.
“Can I have them in my mouth,” you ask and he nods encouragingly.
You take one into your mouth and circle your tongue around it. You let it rest on your tongue then give it a gentle suck and he breathes, “oh God damn.” It’s fuzzy and soft and feels nice in your mouth.
You pinch your eyes shut and sigh, “Mm,” with your mouth full. You move to the other one, careful and gentle. “Ohh,” he moans a little louder than you expect, and you pause.
You look toward the bedroom door nervously, and take your mouth off. You’re about to remind him about Carter, but he cuts you off, “Shhh,” before you can.
You lick all around his balls again, and his cock throbs angrily in your hand. You suck a ball into your mouth. You want both, but there’s no way you can do it without scraping him with your teeth, so you don’t.
Instead, you return your lips to his tip and feel yourself throbbing as you suck his shaft into your mouth. When you look up, he’s shaking his head no.
“This aint what ya wanted, baby.”
“Is it good?” you ask.
“Yeah. It's good, sweet pea. . .The best.” His thumb brushes your temple. He moves his fingers to tilt your chin up to look at him. “But this ain't what ya want *really* want.”
“Wanna make you feel good.”
“Yeah? You were bouncin’ on my cock out there, just to make me feel good?”
You twitch and swallow and your chest flutters with desire.
“What’d I tell ya in the bathroom?”
“I'm gonna finish what I started”
“That’s right,” he nods.
His cock is raging hard. You’re throbbing and gushing for it. You give the tip of it one last kiss, then get up on your knees and take your time positioning yourself over it. You press his tip against your most sensitive place for a moment and let out a whimper. The contact makes you ache for him.
—
Joel cradles the backs of your thighs as you hold his cock. You look down as you move forward just a little more, then nestle his cockhead at your dripping hole, the very tip of it prodding just barely inside. You’re more than wet enough. You brace your hands on his tummy, near the bottom of his ribs. Then, you begin to sink down with a whimper, letting his cock spread you open. He growls, “God damn.” You're biting your lip, with his big cock stretching you already.
He nods, “go on, you can do it.” You lift yourself up and bend slightly forward, tilting your hips. He sucks in air through his teeth. He grabs your hips, and you groan as he pulls you down. “Fuck,” he breathes heavily. He loosens his hands on your hips, then moves them to your thighs. You sit still on his cock with your body angled slightly forward, your clit pressing into his pubic hair. You savor the fullness and the way your body makes space for him.
You brace your hands on his chest and begin to move yourself. “Good girl,” he whispers with a gentle thrust of his hips. You whimper as his length nudges deep inside, and his hips lift you.
You lift your ass and let most of his length out, before swallowing it up again and moaning with the delicious stretch. You slowly move yourself, and when you whimper, you feel his nipples harden under your hands. You palm his pecs as you ride his cock. His chest rises with deep breaths as you fuck him. His eyes keep drifting to his name wrapped around your neck.
You try to be quiet, biting your lip, but you still let out little moans, you can't help it. So does he. “Ohhh, baby—ohh.” His sounds are desperate, from deep in his chest.
“Ya do it good,” he whispers. He cradles your ass in his massive hands and begins to move you on him, a little faster than you were going. He watches your breasts move under your nightie. He lifts up the hem of your nightie to watch your cunt swallow his length, and he groans softly. You pause and take it off, then start moving again.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, then his hands return to your ass, gently guiding your rhythm. He clenches his jaw, and you can tell he's trying not to take over entirely.
“C’mere a minute,” he murmurs.
His tummy pudges and wrinkles over his flexing abs, and his fingers dig into your ass cheeks as he sits up. He wraps his arms around you and turns to face the edge of the bed with his legs hanging off. “Hang on,” he murmurs. “Hang on, baby.” He holds your back with one arm, stands up slightly, and pulls at one of your thighs. You adjust your position so you’re seated instead of kneeling and your bent legs wrap loosely around him. Without the leverage of your knees on the bed, it’s up to him.
You have your arms around his neck and your face against his cheek. Your lips pull like a magnet to the skin just below the dark, curly hair on his head. You plant a kiss on his neck and suck lightly. He exhales vocally. He hugs you into him and moves you up and down. He’s doing it all now. You both sigh and moan as his cock fills you up.
Then, he loosens his arms and slides his hands to your shoulder blades. He hooks his thumbs under your arms and breathes, “Lemme see ya for a minute.”
You hesitantly let him pull you away from his body, missing the heat of his chest against yours.
“Ain't gonna drop ya, sweet pea.”
You relax some of your weight into his hands, and he brings you all the way down so you're lying face up with your lower back on his lap. His hands under your arms hold you steady as he thrusts into you, like your body is a warm, wet sleeve for him. You let your head fall back in pleasure. He grunts as he moves you, and you look again to see him snarl. He looks down and watches his cock disappear again and again.
“God damn you feel good,” he whispers. His eyes roam from your eyes to your lips, to your choker, to your tits. He watches where your bodies are joined as he keeps thrusting into you, making you feel like no one ever has. Then his eyes drift up your body again. He slows down. His hands tighten, and he grunts as he brings your body upright again. Your breasts meet his chest. Your arms wrap around his neck again as he hugs you. Your cheek rests against his jaw, and his scuff scratches you pleasantly. “Always so good,” he breathes, moving you on his cock. His breath is warm against your ear. “Ohh baby,“ he sighs.
He tilts his chin to look up at the ceiling, and you latch onto his neck. He braces a hand on the bed and his hips lift under yours as you grind your body into his. “Yeah,” he sighs. “Oh, God, baby. You're–you’re so good for me,” he pants, barely above a whisper. “Ohhh–so good, sweet pea.”
You release his neck with a whimper. He cradles your head with one hand, and his cheek returns to yours.
As you ride him, his head slowly drifts back, so his breath is on your cheek instead of your ear. Your lips are dangerously close, and Joel doesn't pull away. Your mouths get closer while your bodies move as one. Soon, the corners of your lips are touching. You breathe and moan against each other's mouths. Your lips tingle at the closeness, and all you want is his mouth on yours. It feels so close. The sides of your mouths move against each other. It’s enough, just feeling his lips. You want more, but it’s enough, for now. He pulls his head back, and your heart barely has time to sink before he leans his forehead against yours and cradles the back of your head. Your mouths loosely connect, with his lower lip hitching on your upper lip every time you slide down his cock. You breathe each other’s breath. Your noses touch. His bottom lip tenses, and his mouth follows yours, not letting your lips slip away. You moan softly against his mouth, pinching your eyes shut, resisting the urge, resisting it.
Then, Joel presses his open lips against yours. His lips drag lightly, clockwise, then they truly embrace you. As your mouths seal together, you half-moan, half-whine, “Mmm.” His lips are strong and desperate, pulling on yours like a hug. You can feel him taking your air and your spit. He sucks it right out of you, replacing it with an even more desperate need for him. You’re having him, you’re having all of him, but you can never have enough. Arousal floods your body. It gathers deep in your gut and bubbles up to your chest. You take a deep breath through your nose as his tongue slowly thrusts into your mouth and finds yours. His cock is in your tight, wet cunt, and his tongue is in your soft little mouth. You throb and twitch on his cock, and you're nearly overcome. Your whole body simmers. He wraps his arm tighter around you, and your tits smush against him as he kisses you hungrily, and you kiss back. It’s real, it’s really–it’s real. His hand slides down to grip the back of your neck as your mouths move together, drawing each other in, deeper and deeper, like you need it to live.
“Mmmm,” you whine at your imminent peak.
“Mm,” he grunts into your mouth as you twitch again on his cock. His tongue slides against yours, and the tension boils over violently, erupting from your core out to every inch of your body. Your walls clench, and you don't want to let go of his mouth, but your body jerks. Your lips begin to break away with a moan as you spasm on his cock. He holds you there by your neck. Your mouths stay half connected, and you breathe and moan against each other. Time freezes and waves of pleasure ripple through your core. Then, Joel’s thick cock twitches in the embrace of your spasming cunt. “Ugghh,” grunts, then his lips take yours again. “Mmmm.” He erupts, and you're still not finished. He holds you still, holds you tight. His hips lift slowly into you as his cock pulses. Massive bursts of warmth flood your core, and he kisses you slowly but needily as he comes. The kiss becomes sloppy. You both breathe through your noses, but your mouths still disconnect for split seconds, breathing each other’s humid breath.
When Joel finishes emptying his load into you, he gently pulls his lips from yours to take a deeper breath. He leans back and collapses on the bed. You sit there on his cock, still twitching, and your hand drifts to your tingling lips. His hands rest on your thighs. You watch his chest expand with air, and you watch his face. He opens his eyes, then silently motions c’mere with both hands. You fold at your hips and hug him. As you settle in, he strokes the nape of your neck. His chest rises and falls under your cheek. He unfastens the leather choker for you. You were planning to sleep in it, but now that he’s kissed you–and it was more than that, it felt like more–you don't feel quite as desperate for the tangible reminder that he wants you. You have it. Your lips are buzzing. Your whole body is. You can feel it in your bones.
-
After a few minutes of caressing you, Joel murmurs, “Let's get some sleep.”
You both get under the covers. He lies on his back. You’ve never seen his face so peaceful. You rest your head and half your body on him. You rest your hand on his chest. He strokes your back. Then, he lays his other hand on top of yours.
Soon, you drift off to the sound of him lightly snoring.
----
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Raider POV: The Kiss
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So, I was writing this one when I took the detour to let Carter jack off lmao: He's only human.
Thank you so much for reading and engaging. I really appreciate your support and patience and love for these characters. Out of all my characters, it means so much to me when you engage with raider Joel because I pour a lot of myself into this one and have been writing it for >8 months.
Love you all so much! I can't respond to everything without spamming but I appreciate all of your commentary so much and often revisit it when I need inspo.
I hear you about notifs not working, i hear you about tags not working (i'm not getting a lot of my tags either). consider checking my fic notifs blog @toxicfics or the "latest fics" on my profile header once in a while to see what you might have missed.
Raider: @randomhoe @princessloveweird @mugshotqueen @anas-dreamer @eggnox @dindjarins-brown-eyed-girl @tulipsatmidnight @imaginary98 @neobanguniverse@quietlyignoringyou @gab-thelamb-onthemoon
: @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @may-machin @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading
#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller fanfic#dark!joel miller#raider!joel miller#raider!joel#raider joel#toxicanonymity ☠️#raider!joel ☠️#cw dubcon#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller fanfiction#dark fluff
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table for two | lsm
seokmin thinks recovery looks beautiful on you.
pairing: lee seokmin x reader
au: established relationship, slice of life
genre: fluff, hurt/comfort (sort of?)
type: drabble | 860 words
rating: pg-13 — minors still do not have my consent to interact.
content: gn!reader; reader’s physical appearance is not described in any way; seokmin is the best of all boys; food/beer mention + consumption; seokmin’s pov.
tw: reader is referenced to be in recovery (implied to be for an unnamed eating disorder) ! there are no depictions of disordered eating; however, seokmin thinks about things reader no longer does ! specifically, this references the absence of past distraction tactics (pushing food around plate, picking up a bite and setting it back down during conversation) ! seokmin notes that reader sits with him for over an hour after eating, rather than disappearing (reference to implied history of purging) !
a/n: this is deeply, deeply, deeply personal. i wrote this because i need comfort; and i am posting it publicly in case it can be source of comfort for someone else. it is based on my personal experience and may not be reflective of any other person’s experience. please review the tw’s and skip this drabble if you believe any part of this will make you uncomfortable or unsafe.
if you are based in the u.s., this website has resources that may be helpful for you.
multi permanent taglist. seventeen permanent taglist.
Seokmin is at the stove with a wooden spatula in hand when he feels your arms slither around his waist. The warmth of your cheek presses into the space between his shoulder blades, just like the tiny, contented sigh you breathe out. Without the sizzling pan in front of him, he might’ve given into the urge to go boneless; to melt into your hold, like marshmallow over a campfire.
Gooey may not be glamorous, but it’s the best way to describe how he feels around you.
“What are you making?” You mumble from behind him, curiosity evident despite how muffled your words are
He bites his lips to keep from grinning. Really, he doesn’t want to make it a big deal, but it is. This might be the first time you’ve ever asked him that question with interest, rather than carefully-cloaked dread. The first time you sound genuinely eager.
If his heart gets any warmer, it’ll burn his —
“Dakgalbi!” And even though you can’t see him do it, Seokmin wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis as he lilts, “With a special ingredient.”
You pull your cheek from its resting place, thankfully without removing your arms. He cranes his neck to meet your eyes over his shoulder just in time for you to snort, “Love?”
Well…
Honestly, it’s no surprise that you catch his cheesy joke before he can properly drop it. He’s cast this line at you a million times before — and that’s a conservative estimate.
Seokmin paints on an exaggerated frown, blinking his wide fake-offended eyes back at you. “My halmoni’s kimchi,” he says through a pout.
You nod appreciatively, then you kiss the pout right off his face, leaving Seokmin to wonder if you’re really talking about fermented cabbage when you sigh, “The best there is.”
The distraction you create is more than welcome, but the dish he’s neglecting starts sputtering in an ominous way that demands immediate attention. Reluctantly, he turns back around to stir. Even more reluctantly, you withdraw your arms from him; your soft footsteps pad off somewhere he can’t see.
Then, he hears a cabinet open.
Then, the distinct clink of two bowls being lifted from the shelf.
Two bowls, Seokmin notes, and he’s unable to fight off a grin this time.
Once the chicken and sweet potatoes are thoroughly cooked, you reappear at his side with two bowls at the ready. Two portions are doled out carefully to avoid spilling any sauce on the counter, then two pairs of chopsticks replace the wooden spatula in his hand.
You sit together at your small kitchen table, and it feels natural now, like this is something you’ve always done. It’s not; it’s a recent development, but there’s an ease to it all now that wasn’t there before.
Seokmin’s instincts tell him to be cool about it. To not stare lovingly at you, as much as he may want to, because that spot-lighted attention would freak him out, too. But even without watching outright, he notices the thousand little hard-fought changes.
When you pick up a large bite of chicken between your chopsticks, you don’t distract with a question or joke just to set the bite back down, undetected. You chew that bite, making some thoroughly delighted sound, and then you take another one.
You don’t push the food around in your bowl, either, but eat your fill from it. Once you do, you don’t disappear. Instead, you stay put, laughing through the rest of the hour while Seokmin eats his first and second servings. You’re present, accounted for, and best of all, happy to be here.
This isn’t the first meal you’ve spent like this — Seokmin trusts implicitly that it won’t be the last — and yet he still feels pride bubble up in his chest in a way that makes his tear ducts tingle. Again, he reminds himself to be cool about it. He clears his throat, as if it’s the gochugaru affecting him and not his admiration for you, and he takes a sip of the beer you decided pairs best with the stir-fry.
Licking the excess foam from his lips, Seokmin sets his glass down and looks up at you. The echoing sip you take is earnest, rather than performative, and it’s followed by a sigh that sounds relieved.
“I love you, you know,” he states plainly.
I’m so fucking proud of you, he implies.
“I know.” You shrug, then the nonchalance gives way to a giggle. Your shoulder knocks gently into his before you lean closer and rest your head there. “Ditto.”
Seokmin rests his cheek against the top of your head. His eyes flutter shut in the comfortable silence that follows, too full and content to even think of doing dishes.
After spending a few minutes that way, you speak again — softly, because you know he startles easily: “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow.”
“Oh?” He asks without a clue where this train of thought is heading.
“Perfect pajeon weather. We should make some, don’t you think?”
What Seokmin thinks is that recovery looks beautiful on you.
Nodding minimally to avoid shaking your head along with his, he agrees, beaming all the while. “Perfect indeed.”
#svt#seveteen#dk#dokyeom#lee seokmin#svt drabble#svt fluff#svt hurt/comfort#svt x reader#seokmin drabble#seokmin fluff#seokmin hurt/comfort#seokmin x reader#dk x reader#dokyeom x reader#jade writes#kvanity#re: table for two
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Okay but I need to know what happens when you and suna tell the twins
read part one here / part three
The urgent knocking on your door should be alarming. Should be—but knowing Atsumu and Osamu are guilty of the hammering on the other side of the wood, it’s not all that uncommon of an occurrence in your household.
The pounding refuses to cease as your hand finds the doorknob. The wood swings open and you're instantly greeted by two frowning men barging through your threshold.
“Is the baby okay?” a far too familiar voice spills.
You mentally roll your eyes at his dramatics, “Yes, Atsumu, I literally said that in the text.”
He gawks at you as if you have two heads. “Oh, I stopped reading after the first sentence.”
When Atsumu saw your name pop up on his phone, he expected a handful of things. A question about his upcoming game schedule, a cringe-worthy throwback picture from your embarrassing high school days, an invitation to dinner with you and your husband.
What he didn’t expect the text to read, was the alarmingly ominous message that glared back at him.
Had a doctor’s appointment yesterday, come over when you can. Everything’s fine, just some new info.
Luckily for Atsumu, he was already at Onigiri Miya when he opened the group chat including the four of you. Though not even thoroughly reading the text, he immediately had his brother close down shop and drive the two of them to your and Suna’s home.
Osamu trails behind him, warily scanning the environment before him; his eyes go from where you still hold the door open to the living room where Suna wordlessly sits.
A bit breathless, he proceeds with caution.
“Are you guys alright? I didn’t even get to open the text before ‘Tsumu had me by the collar and behind the wheel.”
“M’nervous, almost threw up three times on the way here,” Atsumu’s voice stumbles over his brother’s question as he catches his breath with a hand on his heaving chest.
Suna waves their dramatics off with a dismissive hand and beckons them to the couch across from him.
“Just sit,” your husband practically yawns, “it’s really not that big of a deal.”
The twins share an uneasy look before slowly making their way over to the idle couch. You finally get to close the door, joining the chaos in the living room. Suna grabs your wrist as you round the chair he occupies, pulling you towards him and securing you in between his legs.
The situation is far too casual for the anxiously rowdy brothers. Atsumu can’t stand the normalcy of it all, can’t help himself from letting the unknown eat him alive.
“Is somethin’ wrong with it!?” he blurts out in a characteristically brash tone.
You bite back a growl at him referring to your unborn child—children—as ‘it’ but you decide to let it slide given the circumstances.
You reassure him with a shake of your head, “Perfectly healthy.”
“You find out the gender?” Osamu shifts in his seat, getting himself excited at the thought of a future niece or nephew.
“Nope,” Suna pops out from behind your frame.
“Are you gonna officially ask us to be uncles?”
Their order of priorities has you chewing your cheek in disbelief.
“We’ve talked about this,” you remind them with a teasingly stern look. “The ‘uncle’ title is a privilege you need to earn, and it can be taken from you at any time. Plus, they’re not even born yet.”
Suna picks up on your particular use of pronouns as he lightly squeezes your thigh. You and your husband share a sneaky glance.
You wait for your choice of words to hit the two brothers, for them to finally begin to put the pieces together with their shared telepathy. Too busy bickering with one another (and simultaneously your husband), the subtle hint goes completely over their heads.
Atsumu nearly bursts at the seams. “So fuckin’ say it already! Before I die of high blood pressure,” he sobs in theatrics.
Wordlessly, you find yourself turning towards Suna, giving him a nod of approval to do the honors.
“Let’s just say,” your husband slumps both of you further back into the armchair, attempting to be blasé with the suspenseful reveal, “the two of you aren’t gonna be the only twins around here, anymore.”
In all of the years you’ve been friends, moments with the twins and Suna were rarely silent, given the contrasting personalities juggling throughout the group—but right now, a dropping pin could be heard in the echoes of your still living room.
Unsurprisingly, Atsumu breaks the silence first.
“Bullshit,” he poetically deadpans.
Osamu doesn't miss a beat when backing up his brother, “Yer bullshitting.”
Searching Suna’s expression for any sign of ill intent, they continue to bounce off of one another’s brewing confusion.
“There’s no way—”
“Don’t tell me yer jokin’, because that’s a really cruel joke to make.”
Like clockwork, they turn to you simultaneously, as if your official confirmation holds more weight than Suna’s word.
“Really?” Osamu’s eyes practically melt with contagious hope.
With a simple nod of your head, the two of them jump up from their seats in excitement. They embrace one another tightly, as if they played any role in the biological creation of your and Suna’s expected children.
“Oh my god! No fuckin’ way!”
Squirming out of his brother’s grasp, Atsumu practically skips his way over to where you and Suna sit. A smile as bright as the sun decorates his face. He gestures to your bump with open palms.
With a tenderness foreign to his usual energy, he carefully breathes. “Permission to touch?”
You slowly stand from Suna’s lap with a knowing grin and nod your head.
Atsumu then turns to where Rintaro now sits alone behind you. “Permission to touch yer wife?” he taunts.
Suna pretends to mull it over before merely shrugging, “I’ll allow it.”
Atsumu’s clammy hands immediately palm your stomach through your sweater. He kneels down to be at eye level with the bump before bringing his face closer to it.
“Hiiiii twins!” he giggles with delight—a specific kind of joy that could only be tailored to someone who understands how special being a twin truly is.
Osamu rolls his eyes before walking over and pulling Suna upwards and out of his chair. He pats his best friend on the back a few times, a wordless congratulations on the blessing that, he too, knows to be twins.
The two men shake their heads at where Atsumu coos into your stomach.
“We wanted you guys to be the first ones to know,” you whisper in contentment.
Suna gently pushes Atsumu’s head from in front of you, watching the blonde topple out of his squat at the sudden shove.
“Figured you’d be the most excited, for obvious reasons,” he elaborates behind a poorly hidden smirk.
“Maybe that’s why the mornin’ sickness has been so bad,” Osamu pipes up, wrapping himself around you in a one armed hug. “Our ma said she had it terrible with us.”
You can’t help but smile at the thought of an extremely pregnant Mama Miya, expecting (what she’d never know to become) two of the biggest menaces you’ll ever have the privilege of knowing.
“I was scared of one Sunarin spawn, now there’s gonna be two?” the blonde teases from the floor with a smile.
The brothers continue to thrive off of one another’s snowballing excitement.
“This is insane.”
“Right? I mean, what are the odds?”
Suna laughs under his breath. One out of thirty-three, he thinks to himself, remembering how the two of you had googled the statistics the night following your appointment.
“Tell me about it,” he quips, arms returning around your waist as he feels the sudden urge to have you closer to him, “thought I had it bad enough with you two.”
“Oh, quit bein’ a scrub already!” Osamu scolds him, though all eyes in the room are void of any real intent as they continue to awe at your bump in fascination.
“You’re gonna be a father of two now, better clean up yer act,” the words fall from his lips without any actual intimidation.
The moment is sweeter than you could’ve imagined, and perfectly fitting for the unique group that is your little hand-picked family. You think you feel tears brimming beneath your lashes—that is, until the moment is tarnished when Atsumu opens his big mouth again.
“So if they’re boys, will you name ‘em after us, too?” he innocently perks up.
Your husband’s response doesn’t miss a beat.
“Absolutely fucking not.”
#suna rintaro#suna x reader#suna rintaro x reader#suna x you#suna rintaro x you#suna fic#suna rintaro fic#suna fluff#suna rintaro fluff#dad!suna#suna haikyuu#suna rintaro haikyuu
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phantasm (remember?) — mattheo riddle x gn! hella manipulative! reader
phantasm
noun
noun: phantasm; plural noun: phantasms
LITERARY
a figment of the imagination; an illusion or apparition.
warnings: minor character death, murder, severe manipulation, gaslighting, blink-and-you-miss-it reference to self harm,❗️stand-alone/no part two❗️
is he schizophrenic, high, or haunted? you decide!
❕it’s supposed to be confusing!!! you should finish reading this and be like “what the fuck did i just read”, alr?❕
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Mattheo Riddle had always been odd. Everyone knew that.
Maybe it had something to do with his parents. One Crucio from his father too many, perhaps.
Maybe he hit his head when he was younger. That wasn’t too much of a stretch. He’d always been quite reckless.
But either way, no one could pinpoint what event caused Mattheo to see things that weren’t really there.
~~~
It first came to light when Mattheo, staying the night at his cousin’s house for a sleepover at the tender age of five, stomped over to his Aunt Narcissa to tattle.
“They pushed me down th’ stairs, Aunt Cissy!” he whined, sticking out his lower lip in a pout. “See? I even skinned my knee!”
“Who did? Draco?”
“No, Y/n!”
~~~
Mattheo couldn’t remember much about the Janus Thickey ward.
He’d spent a month there when he was six, but didn’t have a single memory of his time there. Just vague flashes that haunted his nightmares, but ones that he could never remember once he woke.
Narcissa remembered though. And so did Draco.
The Malfoys both remember visiting Mattheo in the hospital, Draco clutching Mattheo’s stuffed dragon under one arm and holding onto the string of a “Get Well Soon!” mylar balloon in his other hand, only for the pair to find Mattheo hiding under his bed and mumbling to himself, furiously scratching at his arms and crying.
The Malfoys remember.
~~~
Mattheo couldn’t remember if you had always been there, or if you just showed up one day.
There were a lot of things Mattheo couldn’t remember.
~~~
“Who can tell me what a boggart is?” Professor Moody asked, pacing the front of the room with his odd, uneven gait. An old antique armoire stood near the front of the room, a large area around it cleared of the usual clutter that filled every inch of the classroom.
Surprising absolutely nobody, Granger’s hand shot up.
Mattheo shot a look over to his cousin, rolling his eyes, while Draco smothered a laugh in response.
“A boggart is a creature that takes on the form of one’s greatest fear, sir,” Granger said in that obnoxious know-it-all tone of hers. “No one knows what their true forms are.”
“One’s greatest fear, sir,” Mattheo mocked under his breath to Draco in a purposefully bad imitation of Granger.
“Ah, Riddle. How nice of you to volunteer. Step on up, boy.” Moody’s hand came down on Mattheo’s shoulder from behind him, gripping it firmly. “Go on. Grab your wand.”
Mattheo’s face drained of color. Surely Moody wouldn’t…?
No, it’s Mad-Eye Moody. Of course he’d do something like this.
Mattheo stood on shaking legs, gulping as he approached the ominously placed armoire.
Everyone watched with rapt attention.
What was Mattheo Riddle afraid of?
The Dark Lord? Dumbledore?
Or something more benign, like spiders or small spaces?
Whatever it was, Mattheo’s fellow students were not expecting a teenager to step out of the armoire.
Maybe fourteen at the most, unassuming, wearing…Riddle’s quidditch jersey?
They weren’t a student, that was for sure. Nobody in the room recognized them.
(Except for the one poor bastard whose boggart it was.)
Professor Moody narrowed his eyes at the boggart, his gaze quickly shifting between the harmless-looking teen and the literal son of the Dark Lord, the latter of which was frozen stiff with fear, his wand threatening to slip from his quivering fingers at any moment.
The boggart tilted its head and smiled.
~~~
Is this how Potter feels, when Father’s inside his head?
Mattheo sat uncomfortably across from Professor Moody, the professor’s desk being the only thing separating them.
The professor said nothing, merely observing Mattheo. A bizarre enchanted cuckoo clock on the wall trumpeted like an elephant, signaling the hour, then returned to its steady tick tick tick.
“Mr. Riddle, do you ever hear…voices? Voices that maybe…encourage you to do bad things?”
Mattheo was sweating. How did he know about you? How?
“He’s just trying to get in your head, Mattheo,” you murmured, sitting next to him in the other armchair. “That’s all.”
Was it? Mattheo wondered.
“Y’know, I’m starting to think you’re the one that’s in my head,” he said softly. “Nobody else thinks you’re real.”
Your face soured. “You think I’m not real? That I don’t exist? Huh? He’s lying to you! He’s a liar and a manipulator!”
“Just get out of my head!” Mattheo pleaded quietly. “Please!”
You fumed, jumping up to sit on the edge of Moody’s desk. You swung your legs back and forth, an angry expression marring your features. “Matty-”
“Stop calling me that!” he snapped. “Just go away! Leave me alone!”
“But you’re my best friend, Matty,” you insisted innocently.
“We are not friends!”
You sighed dramatically as you laid down on the desk, putting the back of your hand up to your forehead—as if pretending to faint—as you did so. “Then what are we, Matty? Paramours? Estranged lovers?”
“Enemies,” he hissed, his knuckles white with how tightly he was clenching his fists.
“Well, I have always loved the enemies to lovers trope,” you said breezily, smirking at him. “Besides, you haven’t got anyone else. Admit it. I’m all you have.”
Moody watched Mattheo have his one-sided conversation with wide eyes, unsure of what was happening. “Mr. Riddle? Are you alright? Wh-who are you talking to?”
“See?” You clicked your tongue, shaking your head slowly. “He thinks you’re crazy.”
“There are many talented healers that I could contact–”
Mattheo’s gaze kept darting between you and Moody as his breathing picked up.
“Bet he wants to send you back to Janus Thickey,” you whispered, purposefully turning your voice soft and fearful, blinking back fake tears. “I don’t want to disappear again, Mattheo, please.”
“I–” Mattheo stammered, dread creeping up his spine at the thought of being alone again.
“Please?” you begged. “You know what to do. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.”
“He– what? No!”
“But he wronged you,” you whisper softly, your tone manipulative and gentle. “He deserves to suffer.”
“Stop it!” Mattheo pleaded again, reflexively drawing his wand and pointing it at you.
“He wronged you,” you repeated, eyes narrowing.
“Stop!”
“He deserves to suffer.”
“Shut up!”
“He wronged you.”
“Y/n!”
“He deserves–”
“Avada Kedavra!”
You both fell silent, your argument abruptly cut off with the resounding thunk of Moody’s body hitting the floor.
Dead.
~~~
“Oh my Merlin– y-you killed someone!” Mattheo panicked, dropping his wand and grabbing fistfuls of his hair.
“Oh, no no no, Matty. I didn’t kill anyone,” you said sweetly, examining your nails apathetically. “You did.”
“I’ll tell everyone,” Mattheo threatened through his quivering lower lip. “I will. I’ll tell them it was you.”
“Who’s going to believe you?” you cooed, your voice dripping in saccharine sweetness as you leaned forward to tousle his hair.
Mattheo flinched back.
You laughed, patting his cheek as you hopped off the desk. “Come find me when you’re ready to help me with my next…project.”
“Y-you planned this?”
“Duh.” You rolled your eyes. “Catch up, love. You’re not stupid.”
With that, you stand up on tiptoe, plant a fat kiss on his cheek, and disappear out the door without another word.
Mattheo swore he could see bloody footprints marking your trail down the hall.
#harry potter#hp#fuck jkr#x reader#hp x gn reader#hp x male reader#x male reader#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle#slytherin boys#x gn reader#gn reader#x gender neutral reader#gender neutral reader
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The joys of music
Music is a wonderful means of self-expression. Being able to connect with its melodies, lyrics, and bands is something that should never be taken for granted. It's just an added bonus to be able to share this with someone.
CW: SFW, gn!reader, headcanons, fluff (excluding Caesar)
Mihawk, Caesar, Corazon
Mihawk: dark wave, post-punk, and cold wave. Examples: Twin Tribes and HAPAX
He'd find this type of music soothing. It'd probably help him relax after a long day of being surrounded by many chaotic characters and situations―letting himself get lost in the sound.
You'd find him sitting in front of the fireplace, eyes closed to fully immerse himself in the music.
After a few moments of listening with him, you'd comment on how charming it is.
Opening one of his eyes to look at you, he shifted his sight on the dancing embers.
Slowly getting up, he stood next to you, extending his hand.
Taking it with an inquisitive look, he lifted you up and held you close.
Swaying to the beats, his hand placed lightly on the small of your back and the other careesing your hand: you'd look dreamily into each other's eyes.
Placing your head on his chest, he'd hold you closely. Your souls intertwining with the melodies being played.
Caesar: cabaret metal and avant-grade metal. Examples: Tardigarde Inferno and Stolen Babies please ignore how on the nose this one is 😂
This type of music is often referred to as circus metal, and a lot of the music videos (especially from Tardigarde Inferno) are trippy, which remind me of Caesar. To me he's a walking acid trip.
Conducting experiments and research can take hours upon hours, so it was nice to have something on to boost his spirits.
The circus-like background with the added dark themes was the perfect inspiration for him to think of ways of testing out his newest brain-child on one of his many lackies.
Being enticed by the tunes dancing down the hall, you followed them to find Caesar happily leading someone into a chamber and pulling an ominous lever.
Regretting having found him in the middle of the trial and error portion, you slowly backed away from the entrance.
Unfortunately, your awkward hesitation caught his eye.
Greeting you warmly, he tried to coax you into coming over to him.
When seeing your eyes dart nervously to the chamber, he was quick to add, "Don't worry about this silly contraption! I'd never do such things to you." The softness never left his voice.
Corazon: Indie pop, progressive pop, alternative rock. Examples: The Real Tuesday Weld (linked to a specific song I think he'd love) and tallyhall
I think he'd appreciate the storytelling with these bands/genres. They hold a lot of emotion and are paired with light melodies. He'd probably also like when these are mixed with more upbeat moments.
Laying down on the grass, Rosinante cloud watched while he eased his worried thoughts.
The entrancing stories flowing through his earbuds teleported him to another reality―one where everyone would be safe from his brother's rising threat.
Enjoying the gentle breeze passing over him, his peaceful moment was abruptly put to a hault.
You startled him―seemingly popping up beside him out of thin air.
Releasing his 'silence' he asked if you needed something.
Kneeling down beside him, you told him you wanted to know what he was listening to.
Lending you one of his earbuds, his anxiety sudsided when he saw your face soften to the music.
Throwing his 'silence' up again, he enjoyed having you lay down next to him. The wind was picking up, causing the leaves above you to rustle and letting more sunlight peak through their gaps.
#why does this feel oddly personal???#i love music so much I wanna gush about it with others#one piece#one piece headcanons#one piece x you#one piece x reader#x reader#dracule mihawk x reader#mihawk#mihawk x reader#dracule mihawk#mihawk x you#caesar x reader#caesar clown#caesar one piece#rosinante corazon#corazon x reader#corazon x you#rosinante donquixote#donquixote rosinante#rosinante x reader#rosinante x you#one piece imagine
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Lavender's Blue, Lavender's Green
[One-shot]
Lewis Nixon x Enlisted!Female Reader
After you wind up injured in a freak accident, your relationship with Captain Nixon is forever altered.
Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Minor Reader Injury, Detailed Descriptions of Pain, Language, Alcohol Consumption, Weapons, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Oblique References to Nixon's Alcoholism and Infidelity, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [oral sex - m/f receiving, unprotected vaginal sex] - 18+ ONLY.
Author's Note: Self-indulgent canon divergence with little explanation ahead, read at your own risk. Some liberties were taken in describing reader's family life/personal history for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.
Word Count: 8358
-------------------------
The floorboards creaked beneath your jump boots as you followed O’Keefe into the backroom of the half-destroyed café in Thalem. You could hear the strains of a string quartet rising from the square below, and the conversation between Luz and Nixon a few rooms over. O’Keefe had shown up as a replacement during Easy’s second stay in Mourmelon-le-Grand, wide-eyed and eager to get his hands dirty. The rest of you had just been glad to make it out of Haguenau alive.
But there was something about the naïve boy that reminded you of your little brother back home, the youngest of four siblings born after you, last to join the party, the most eager to experience life when the rest of you were all jaded by the loss of your mother during his birth. Add in the fact that you too had been a replacement once, joined Easy in Aldbourne for Operation Market Garden – one of twenty-seven women selected as the first female paratroopers to join the 506th – and you had felt a certain protectiveness over the kid. Which was why you found yourself watching over him now, even in this relatively harmless town.
Another groan of wood had your eyes flicking to the floor, something about the pitch of the slats not sitting right with you, but before you could open your mouth to warn him, there was an ominous ‘crack’ beneath O’Keefe. He let out a horrific shriek as the boards beneath him began to give way and you lunged forward, snapping out your left hand to grab onto any part of him you could. Seizing him by the back of the collar of his ODs, you landed flat on your stomach with a grunt with O’Keefe dangling through the newly created hole in the floor. Your helmet tumbled from your head, bouncing off his and crashing onto the tiles below.
Your arm was aching under the strain of his body weight but as you tried to spread some of the load onto your second hand, you realized the butt of your rifle was jammed between the floor and your body, pinning your right arm against you by the strap over your shoulder. The sound of multiple sets of boots running into the room was quickly followed by several pairs of hands pressing against your calves, bracing you to keep you from following O’Keefe through the hole.
“I gotta let you go, Patty.” You grit out. “It’s not far, ok?” You assured him, able to see through the ragged gap in the wood that he was dangling only a few feet from the floor below.
His response was not what you were hoping for. “Don’t let me fall!” He cried out, looking up to you with wide, calf-like eyes. “Please don’t let me go!” He began to clutch at your arm, flailing his legs as though he wanted to climb back up.
His body swung like a pendulum, bouncing and jerking before ultimately wrenching your strained shoulder from its socket and careless words born of pain from your lips.
“Augh! Jesus Christ, you fucking meatball! It’s only two feet! Let go!” You cried out, clenching your eyes shut against the blinding pain, your grip failing as your arm started to go numb.
He continued to whimper nonsensically and thrash about as heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs followed by a set of lighter ones.
“Let go of her you fucking meatball!” You heard Perconte snap at O’Keefe from below and cracked your stinging eyes open to see that Bull had seized the boy around the waist, the thrashing finally stilling before the weight of him was released from your limb as, at last, he let go of your arm.
Relief tingled through you, though did nothing to lessen the raw ache in your shoulder. Afraid to move, afraid to inhale more than tiny sips of air lest you fan the flames of pain, you laid perfectly still with your arm outstretched toward the ground below.
“What a fucking meatball.” You heard Luz giggle from behind you as he stepped forward. “Let’s get you up.” His voice grew closer as he leaned forward.
Mortifying as it was, laying there in denial was not going to make the agony end. Taking a shaky breath, you asked quietly. “George, can you go find Doc, please?” You were hoping not to arouse the suspicions of Webster, Liebgott, and Nixon who were somewhere in the room still. At least one pair of hands was still firmly gripping your calves.
“Uh, the meatball is fine, I mean Bull might tear him a new one but…” He trailed off as you turned your head slowly to look up at him, brow furrowing as lances of pain pierced your neck and shoulder. It felt as though someone were pouring boiling water down the sleeve of your uniform.
“For me, please.” You clarified, perspiration dotting your skin under the strain of masking your discomfort.
The room fell silent, whatever Liebgott and Webster had been bickering about forgotten as Luz shoved his way past them and shot out of the room. You felt the pressure against your calves ease up before Nixon was kneeling on the floor next to you, features etched with concern. “Where are you hurt?”
“Left shoulder.” You exhaled, swallowing at the way his eyes ricocheted over your prone form.
“Think you can get up for me?” He asked, his voice enticingly soft, making your heart skip a few beats as you felt suddenly willing to try anything he might ask of you so long as he kept speaking like that.
“Maybe?”
The smile he awarded you with filled your stomach with bubbling effervescence. “Good, let’s get this out of the way first.” He carefully extracted your M1 from beneath your hip before sliding it off your good shoulder, handing it off to one of the other men in the room.
Sliding his arm around your waist, he started to lift your torso from the floor, punching the air from your lungs painfully. Gnawing on the inside of your cheek viciously you did everything you could not cry out in pain. You were not the first woman in Easy to get hurt – Esther had been hit by shrapnel from a tree in Bastogne and Pearl had been shot during Dike’s disastrous assault on Foy. Both had been awarded a purple heart. You were just a girl who’d tried to hold too much weight – there would be no medal for you, so it would be best not to make a scene.
“Shit you must be in so much pain, I’m sorry.” Nixon grumbled, seemingly at a loss as to how to get your arm out of that hole and you into a more comfortable position.
Roe’s voice downstairs broke through the haze of pain, and you clenched your teeth, willing yourself to hold on a little longer as you heard him hurry up the stairs.
“You two, out.” He said firmly to Liebgott and Webster who left without comment before his hands came to rest on your hips, pulling you backwards. “Bend ya knees for me, that’s it, good job.” He spoke calmly as he worked with Nixon to lift you up into a kneeling position well away from the hole in the floor.
As your left arm drooped, your right hand quickly moved to support it in more or less the position it had been when O’Keefe’s movements had pulled it out of place. A millimetre of movement in any direction had you whimpering pathetically in the back of your throat despite your best efforts to keep the sound sealed behind your lips.
“What’s going on?” Roe asked as he knelt in front of you, taking in the way you were supporting your arm before he started to undo your ODs and then your wool shirt beneath.
“It’s my shoulder, Doc.”
He nodded as he carefully pulled open the collar to take a look, his fingers skimming along the skin of your shoulder and the strap of your undershirt. As they honed in on the hollow where your joint ought to be, you let out a yelp and nearly keeled over backward at the searing pain, grateful as Nixon pressed a hand to your lower back to keep you upright.
“Yeah it is. It’s out of joint.” Roe confirmed the sneaking suspicion you’d had.
There had been something agonizingly familiar about the whole thing, taking you back to a hot summer day when you were ten years old, riding your father’s new horse despite his explicit instructions to wait for him to be done in the field before you tried to mount it. The horse’s black coat had shone almost purple in the sunlight of the afternoon, warm to the touch as the barely broken-in animal had suffered no more than one lap around the paddock before bucking you from its back.
The force with which you had struck the ground had dislocated your left shoulder that day, and the drive into town to see the doctor had been a torturous thirty minutes during which every jolt and bump had sent pain shooting through your body. But as soon as the doctor had put it back in place, the relief had been almost immediate.
“You can put it back, right?” You asked hoping to avoid transport somewhere like this.
“Yeah, I can.” Doc smiled softly and started digging through his satchel. “Let’s get ya some morphine first, alrigh’?”
“Wait, don’t, I’ll be useless.” You said sharply. “It’s just going to hurt when you put it back in, right?”
Roe looked to you with wide eyes, hands stilling before his expression hardened a little. “It’s gonna hurt like hell when I put it back in.” He clarified firmly and you felt Nixon’s hand twitch against your back.
“And then after that I’ll be fine.” You insisted bravely.
Nixon sighed your name, and you turned your head too fast, barely stifling a cry of pain behind trembling lips.
“Maybe you should just let Doc give you the morphine.” He said gently.
“No.” You replied stubbornly despite the fact that he was a ranking officer, turning your face back to Roe more carefully this time. “Just get it over with, please.”
Roe sighed heavily at you, muttering bitterly in French. You caught a word that sounded an awful lot like ‘mule’, but before you could question him about it, he set one hand on your bicep and the other on your forearm. A noise of pain snuck past your lips unbidden, and you clamped your free hand over your mouth as he shot you a knowing look.
“Yer gonna yowl like a goddamn alley cat, take tha morphine.”
You glared up at him stubbornly until he started to move again, bending your arm at the elbow before slowly pushing your bicep in to press along at your ribs. You let out a sob of agony against your palm, aware that the murmur of conversation downstairs had faded away, but helpless to quell your involuntary reactions to Roe’s manipulations of your limb.
You felt Nixon shift at your side, watched his knee slot between yours before he carefully cupped the back of your head to guide your face to press against his neck. Your hand fell to your lap as you burrowed into the collar of his ODs, cheek pressed against his skin, the fabric of his uniform doing a much better job of muffling the sounds of pain spilling from you. His hand sought yours between your bodies, clasping your forearm, and you gripped his tightly in return as Roe turned your left arm out from your body at a ninety-degree angle before pulling downward on your bicep.
A tremendous wail wrenched from your throat with enough force that you anticipated the taste of blood before an audible ‘clunk’ sounded from your left shoulder, resonating through your torso as your joint slid home. The tension melted from your body in an instant as the pain left you, replaced by nothing more than a dull discomfort, slumping against Nixon to take a few deep breaths. Long enough to note the hint of cedar in his aftershave before you remembered yourself.
You had found Captain Nixon handsome from the first moment you’d laid eyes on him, but as he was a married officer with an English mistress you’d also gone above and beyond to steer clear of that mess. Unfortunately, it had done little to dull your body’s natural response to his presence.
Straightening quickly, you frowned to see you’d left wet patches of tear drops on his collar, releasing his hand as though it burned you to try and brush them off.
“It’ll dry just fine.” He assured you warmly and you swallowed thickly, shuffling back a little to turn to Roe.
“Thanks Doc.” You frowned to see him pulling out a sling.
“Jus’ for a few days, can’t have it slippin’ back out.” Roe muttered and unceremoniously wrapped it under your left elbow before tying it behind your neck. “I’ll let Cap’n Speirs know yer on ligh’ duties, he’ll probably send ya up ta Major Winters as a runnah.”
You let out a sigh of relief as hopefully that meant no aid station, no getting separated from the company and lost in some replacement depot. Looking down you frowned at how open the collars of your shirt and OD jacket were and began trying to reassemble yourself one-handed.
“Here.” Nixon offered softly and carefully buttoned you back up to where you usually wore your uniform before he pushed himself to his feet, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you up as well. “Ok?” He asked and you nodded, trying not to notice the way the warmth of his body seeped through your clothes.
“Thank you, sir.” You said quietly and he nodded warmly in reply.
Grabbing his things, he gestured for you to lead the way out of the room, following close behind. As you reached the main floor, Luz held out your helmet which you took with a nod of thanks, putting it on your head before retrieving your rifle from Liebgott. You could hear Perconte continuing to give O’Keefe shit outside and you frowned deeply, making a beeline for the sound of his voice.
“Hey! I’m fucking fine, knock it off.” You barked tersely before you were beckoned over by Captain Speirs.
The sound of an explosion further up the road had your eyes fluttering open, the ruined village of Thalem dissolving into the sun-drenched back of a transport truck parked on the autobahn in Bavaria just outside the SS resort town of Berchtesgaden that 2nd Battalion was supposed to be taking. You’d been sitting here for at least twenty minutes now, the road blocked by a no-doubt man made rockslide that so far had proven impervious to everything the mortar boys had thrown at it.
Just what had pulled your thoughts back to that afternoon several weeks past you couldn’t say, though it was not the first time you had found your mind wandering there during a lull in activity. In fact, it had become harder and harder to find a time when you were not thinking about Nixon, much to your chagrin. It was not good for your health, even though his impending divorce had become very public knowledge nearly two months ago.
A palpable tension had been born between the two of you that day in Thalem, something you were certain others could sense as you’d spent two weeks at Battalion HQ, running into him more often than ever before. Averted gazes, stiffened postures, cleared throats – neither of you quite knew how to behave around each other anymore when interaction had been so natural and inconsequential before. Something had been changed that day in the café and there was no going back to the way it had been previously.
Shifting higher on the wooden bench you noted a couple of the guys in your platoon were dozing in the truck with you but everyone else seemed to have emptied out to watch impatiently as though the pressure of the entire battalion’s eyes might send the rocks cascading the rest of the way down the mountainside. The scuff of jump boots on pavement pulled your attention to the rear of the vehicle and you smiled to see O’Keefe approaching.
“Hey Patty, got tired of watching the blast boys?” You smirked and offered him a hand to pull him up, swallowing at his hesitation. “Come on, I’m fine I told you.” You chided gently.
He took it carefully and allowed you to help him into the truck and that’s when you noticed his helmet tucked under his arm, filled with wildflowers of all sorts of colours. Your breath hitched in your throat as the sight smacked of summertime at home, a dart of nostalgia and longing piercing through the layers of armor you had carefully layered over your heart to make it through this war.
His eyes followed yours and he beamed as he plonked down on the bench beside you. “There’s tons of ‘em just growing alongside the road. I thought you might like some.”
Looking to him softly you took his proffered helmet, setting it in your lap as you looked them all over, picking up a particularly vibrant purple one. “They’re beautiful, thank you.” You murmured distantly, practically transported by something so simple as wildflowers.
“Do you think that one is lavender?”
A snort from the back of the truck announced Liebgott’s return and you glanced over to see him leaning against the grill of the transport parked behind yours.
“Lavender grows in France, not Bavaria.” Webster corrected O’Keefe, tucking his notebook into his pocket before hopping up to sit on the bench across from the pair of you.
“Isn’t there that song about lavender, though? Lavender’s purple, billy billy?” Perconte squeezed in beside O’Keefe, crowding his personal space.
Ignoring their usual antics, you smiled softly to yourself, hands began to move from muscle memory as plucking the longest stemmed flower you could find before carefully winding the purple flower around it, repeating the process over and over as you started to sing.
“Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly, lavender’s green”
“Yeah, that’s it, that’s the song!” O’Keefe declared brightly.
“Shut the fuck up, meatball.” Perconte hissed through gritted teeth, elbowing him sharply so you would keep singing.
“When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen
Who told you so, dilly dilly, who told you so
‘Twas my own heart, dilly dilly, that told me so”
Unaware that your voice was carrying across the rockface of the mountainside, you were lost in the chain of flowers you were weaving from O’Keefe’s helmet, the verses coming back to you easily after years of singing them to your younger siblings.
“Call up your men, dilly dilly, put them to work
Some to the plow, dilly dilly, some to the fork
Some to make hay, dilly dilly, some to cut corn
While you and I, dilly dilly, keep ourselves warm”
A hush fell over the valley, even the mortar team ceasing their attempts to break through. It was not the first time they’d heard you sing, you knew all the verses to ‘Blood on the Risers’ and happily shouted them along with the rest of the Company, but it was the first time you’d sung in such a feminine way before. You’d found the most expedient way to integrate into Easy was to be one of the boys, yet here you were, reminding each and every one of them that you were a woman.
“Lavender’s green, dilly dilly, lavender’s blue
If you love me, dilly dilly, I will love you
Let the birds sing, dilly dilly, and the lambs play
We shall be safe, dilly dilly, out of harm’s way
I love to dance, dilly dilly, I love to sing
When I am queen, dilly dilly, you’ll be my king
Who told me so, dilly dilly, who told me so
I told myself, dilly dilly, I told me so”
As you finished the song, you curled the chain of blooms into a circle and wove it closed with several stems before turning to place it on O’Keefe’s head, blinking as it slipped down over his eyes. A chorus of harsh laughter at his expense broke out around you and you huffed in annoyance.
“Oh shoot, Patty, I put too many flowers in there, sorry about that. I’ll make you a new one.” You gently pried it off his head, setting the large crown aside before setting to work on a smaller one as the sound of a jeep could be heard coming up the road.
You’d barely put the finishing touches on the smaller crown of flowers when Speirs was ordering everyone to form up into their platoons and O’Keefe had to vanish. Mortifyingly, you found yourself standing on the pavement with both circlets clasped carefully in your hand, somehow loathe to leave them in the transport truck to be trampled but also aware that you couldn’t just carry them with you.
“Captain Nixon can look after those for you, Corporal.” Major Winters voice cut through the din of soldiers tramping back and forth to collect their gear and get ready. You turned to see him grinning at you from where he stood leaning against his jeep.
Nixon, for his part, was staring at you with an unreadable look on his face – Confusion? Bewilderment? Shock? Whatever it was it made you want to duck your head shyly, an impulse which you fought hard against as you hustled over to hold out your handmade treasures.
“Thank you very much, sir.” You murmured quietly, swallowing as he hesitated a moment before taking them gingerly, as if they were made of spun glass, while Major Winters watched on with a broad grin. “Sirs.” You saluted and hurried back to your platoon, not wanting to be the cause of any further delay, but still unable to put your finger on just what Nixon’s expression had been.
As it turned out you had quite a bit of time to puzzle it over. After securing the town without incident and cheering on the select few who made it up to the Eagle’s Nest, you ended up on a patrol under Major Winters where he discovered the ruins of Herman Goering’s hunting lodge. Left on guard duty overnight with Patty, you let him ramble on about all the things he wanted to see and do now that the war in Germany was practically over while you quietly tried to decipher the enigma that was Nixon.
Straightening from your lean against the stucco wall as you heard the sound of an engine approaching down the rather rough road, you swallowed painfully to see the man himself, posture quite relaxed as he cradled an open bottle of champagne.
“What is this place?” He asked as he climbed from the vehicle, dressed only in the wool shirt and pants of his uniform.
“Herman Goering’s house, we discovered it yesterday. Had it on double guard ever since.” Major Winters replied.
You nodded in greeting as they walked past you, though Nixon’s sunglasses made it even more impossible to interpret his mood than that last time you’d seen him.
“I can vouch for that, sir.” O’Keefe interjected quickly and you tried not to wince at his endearing awkwardness.
“Oh, anxious to get off duty, O’Keefe?” Winters taunted him.
“No, there’s just so much to see and do, sir.” The boy replied honestly, and you heard Nixon scoff under his breath as Winters unlocked the door.
“Heya meatball.” Nixon grinned in greeting as he followed Winters through the door and down the stairs and that time you really did wince.
O’Keefe looked at you hopefully and you motioned with your head for him follow them, knowing full well his curiosity must be eating him alive. Listening to the wind rustling in the trees, you sighed quietly, soaking in the peace of the moment before Winters made his way back up the stairs with O’Keefe, the boy yanking you into a hug.
“Victory in Europe! The Germans surrendered!” He crowed and you stared at him, stunned speechless for a moment before you hugged him back.
Major Winters chuckled behind him before nodding to you in confirmation, making you realize the bewildered expression that must have been on your face. You pulled back to slap O’Keefe on the shoulder with a grin.
“Gotta go get the others, there is so much booze down there!” He was vibrating with excitement.
Glancing over your shoulder towards the stairs you raised your eyebrows curiously.
“Go take a look, Corporal.” Winters nodded encouragingly before climbing into his jeep with O’Keefe and pulling out.
Hitching your rifle higher on your shoulder you carefully made your way down the stairs, mind still swirling with the news, fingertips buzzing with an odd energy you weren’t quite certain what to do with. As you stepped through the open gate into the expansive wine cellar, stocked from floor to ceiling, your eyes widened, trying to take it all in.
“What’s your favorite drink?” Nixon’s question interrupted your moment of shock, and you looked over to where he stood amid countless bottles of a richly colored red wine.
“Gin.” You replied walking further into the space, sliding your helmet from your head as he made a thoughtful noise in reply before beginning to hunt through row on row of bottles. You unshouldered your rifle to set the butt on the floor, leaning the barrel against a stack of crates before setting your helmet on top of them.
Gnawing on your lip you turned back to admire the intensity with which Nixon approached his task before a small cry of triumph escaped his lips and he pulled a green bottle from the corner, holding it out to you as he approached like the conquering hero. You could not stop the grin that tugged at your lips as you took it from him, looking over the unfamiliar label.
“Genever, from Holland. The precursor to gin. It should do.” He nodded with a self-satisfied smile.
“Thank you, Captain Nixon.” You replied warmly, doubting you’d need a whole bottle to yourself but still appreciating the gesture as you slid it into the jacket pocket of your ODs.
“Can you do me a favor?” He tilted his head.
“Sir?” You stood a little straighter.
“Call me Lewis.” He requested softly, his rich brown eyes seeking yours in the dim light of the cellar.
Swallowing roughly, your heart began to beat a little faster at the intimacy of his request as your mind flitted back to his earlier arrival.
“Only if you’ll do something in return?” You asked slowly.
“What’s that?” He leaned in, the sweetness of champagne still lingering on his breath.
“Can you stop calling O’Keefe ‘meatball’?” You tensed in anticipation of his reaction, your heart plummeting through the concrete floor when he recoiled as if you’d struck him. Guilt bloomed bitterly in your chest, a new crop to go alongside the one you had planted that day in Thalem. “Every time someone says it, I’m reminded of the worst thing I ever said to him.” You rushed to explain your request, cautiously optimistic as his gaze slowly returned to your face. “It…wasn’t his fault he panicked. I never should have spoken to him that way.”
Nixon’s brows furrowed a moment in consideration of your request. “You really care for the kid, don’t you.” He sounded resigned and you found yourself blinking at him stupidly as he made his way back over to continue perusing the shelves.
Slowly, your brain began to process the slump of his shoulders, the forced nonchalance as he examined various labels and added choice bottles to a wooden crate at his feet.
Could he possibly be… No, that seemed utterly improbable… and yet…
All that aside, it seemed as though it could not hurt to clarify your relationship with O’Keefe. “Reminds me of my kid brother, sir.”
Nixon raised his head slowly, turning back to look at you. “Like a brother…” He said thoughtfully and you bobbed your head in agreement. “Well, I suppose I can stop in that case then.” He smirked and you exhaled with a warm smile.
“Thank you very much, sir.”
He raised an eyebrow and looked down his nose at you expectantly.
“Thank you very much, Lewis.” You amended, pressing your lips together as they hummed in pleasure at forming his name.
Lewis’s lips stretched into a lopsided grin as he eyed you warmly for a few moments before turning back to the task at hand, filling the crate and adding it to a growing stack by the entrance before grabbing another one to repeat the process. Shaking your head, you perched a hip onto one of the tables behind you, eyes scanning the room, reflecting on its previous owner, surprised at the sudden tightness in your throat as you remembered the fresh news of the German surrender. Clearly it was going to take some time to sink in, and frequent reminders, but the tears that were threatening to well in your eyes needed to be quashed until you could find a quiet place to unleash them as silently as possible.
Partly out of a desire to simply say his name again, and largely out of a need to distract yourself from the rising tide of your own emotions, you called out to him softly again. “Hey Lewis?”
“Hmmm?” He replied and you found yourself taking far too much pleasure in how quickly he turned back to you.
“I, uh, I was sorry to hear about your dog.” You said meaningfully, that tightness in your throat returning with a vengeance when an unveiled look of fragility overtook his features.
For the first time in nearly a month you were utterly convinced of how Lewis was feeling and more than anything you thought the man was in dire need of a hug. Before your brain even registered you were moving, your feet propelled you across the floor to wrap around arms around him, pulling him close. Almost immediately his arms slid around you tightly in return, one hand clinging to your shoulder as the other pressed some unknown bottle into your lower back, his face burrowing into your neck.
Tightening your embrace, you held him warmly, almost a mirror image of how he had held you in Thalem. You were completely oblivious to the traitorous tears that had snuck down your cheeks until Lewis was pulling back, setting the bottle of liquor aside to cradle your jaw and swipe at them with his thumbs.
“It’s a hell of a dog, but not worth you crying over.” He teased gently and you rolled your eyes, mostly in frustration at yourself, shaking your head as you sniffed.
“Is this…really all over?” You whispered in disbelief, and he pressed his forehead to yours gently as he nodded.
“We shall be safe, dilly dilly, out of harms way.” He uttered and you let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, burying your face into his shoulder as he pulled you tightly against him.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, unable to stop the flood of tears now that they had snuck past your defences, each shake of your frame somehow causing Lewis to hold you tighter as though he might prevent you from crumbling to pieces. The bottle of genever pressed between your bodies almost painfully, digging into your hip, giving you something tangible to focus on as you reined in your shuddering breaths, lifting your head slowly.
“God, I got your uniform all wet again.” You said, voice thick with the aftereffects of your breakdown and he shook his head as you wiped at his collar with your sleeve.
“It’ll dry just fine.” He repeated his assurance from the café with a smirk, and you gave him a watery laugh, wiping at your face roughly.
“Trooper, is that a bottle of Dutch-gin in your pocket or…” He grinned deviously and your jaw dropped before you smacked his shoulder playfully as a peal of laughter escaped your lips.
You shuffled back to put a proper amount of space between your bodies though you noted his one hand remained splayed upon your back. The one that had previously been at nape of your neck dropped to retrieve the bottle from your pocket. “If anyone is in need of a celebratory drink, it’s definitely you.” He murmured gently.
He tilted it towards you, and you reached forward to tug at the red ribbon as he held the bottle steady, breaking the wax seal over the cork. You let the debris fall to the ground before unsealing the cork with a promising ‘pop.’ You scoffed in playful protest as Lewis helped himself to first sip before setting the genever in your outstretched hand. Taking a swig, you blinked at the complexity of it compared to the dry gin you were accustomed to in England or back home. It burned its way down your throat into your empty stomach, igniting a warm glow from within.
A few rogue droplets had been left on your lips, but before you had the chance to swipe your tongue out to collect them, Lewis’s fingertips were tracing along the sensitive flesh. Your breath caught in your throat at the way his eyes were focused on your mouth as he worked at gathering every bit of liquid whilst also tracing the fullness of your lips before lifting his fingertips to suck them clean. Dizzy from lack of oxygen, Lewis’s proximity, and the way his eyes were now boring into yours, you swallowed tightly as his hand pressed tighter to your back, pulling you closer once more. His lips had barely brushed against yours when a host of voices sounded at the top of the staircase.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” He swore against your mouth before you darted back out of his grip, chest heaving as you shoved the cork into the bottle of genever and returned it to your pocket forcefully. You quickly began to look for something to be doing with yourself.
“I’ll start loading these into the jeep, Captain?” You asked, voice tight as a bow string and all he managed in response was a dazed nod as you quickly scooped up one of the crates filled with his choice of bottles, nodding to the newest crop of arrivals on your way up the staircase.
Taking the stairs two at a time, you set the crate into the back of the jeep Winters had left for you and O’Keefe during guard duty, trying to take deep breaths of fresh air to clear your head. Christ that had been close…close to being caught…close to kissing Lewis…You sunk your teeth into your lower lip trying to smother the broad grin that threatened to unfurl on your features. There were far too many people about now to be grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Fishing your canteen from your webbing, you took a deep sip of water before smoothing your hands over your uniform and, feeling somewhat collected, returned to the cellar to move more crates.
Lewis seemed to have regained control of his senses, not that you dared to look at him, but his directions rang out through the cellar to load most of the wine into the trucks that men has just arrived with for the enjoyment of the officers while you continued carting his personal stash up the stairs until the jeep was full to bursting. All in all, he claimed five truckloads for himself and the officers of 2nd battalion. You rode backwards in the jeep, doing your best to stabilize the crates over the rough track back into town, doing your utmost to ignore his proximity in the vehicle.
A very warm welcome awaited your return to the lavish hotel where the officers were billeted, and many hands made short work of unloading all those trucks so they might make another trip for the rest of the men. By the time you’d made your way to Lewis’s room with the last of his crates, there was barely space to move for all the alcohol stashed within. No more than a small walking path from the door to the bed, if you were being honest.
“This is the last of it, sir.” You said as you looked around for a spot to put it and he looked to you sharply.
“We talked about this…” He teased, shuffling forward to grab it from you, hoisting it over to another corner of the room but you barely heard him as your eyes fell onto the two flower crowns sitting on the window ledge beside the bed.
“You kept them?” You breathed in amazement.
He looked to you before following your gaze and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I was told to look after them for you.”
Picking your way across the floor carefully, you knelt on the bed with your boots hanging off the edge behind you, smiling softly to see they were a little dried out but truly no worse for wear. “You did an excellent job of it, Lewis.” You barely whispered his name aware the door was still open.
Setting your rifle on the floor at the foot of the bed, you put your helmet on the ledge before picking up the larger crown, rolling onto your hip and then onto your butt on the mattress in time to see him closing the door. “I’d bet money this fits you.” You smiled softly.
“Save your money, I already know.” He grinned, ducking down beneath the circlet of flowers before straightening with it perched atop his dark hair.
Your eyes widened in delight. “It fits perfectly.” Your fingers gently straightened it, unable to ignore the softness of his chocolate strands at they brushed against your fingers.
Lewis’s gaze flicked to your lips briefly before looking back to your eyes and you took a slow breath before trailing your hands down to frame his face, enjoying the slight scratch of his stubble against your palms. “Lewis…” You exhaled, and he surged forward to seal his lips against yours firmly.
He settled onto his knees before you, hands gripping your waist as you parted your legs and dropped a hand to his back to urge him closer. Needing no further invitation, he scooted forward, pressing against you as his tongue licked its way into your mouth. You weren’t quite sure who started it, but your fingers were a flurry of activity, pulling at the buttons of each others’ uniforms. All he managed to reveal was the wool shirt you wore underneath, your webbing dangling limply from your shoulders, while you found his bare chest. Growing impatient, Lewis tugged your shirt and undershirt free of your pants and ODs until he was able to slide his hand against the soft skin of your abdomen, making your lips fall back from his with a whimper.
“Damn it why are you wearing so many clothes…” He growled and you pressed your face against his hair to smother your laugh, knocking the flower crown askew.
“Some of us were on duty today.” You muttered back, nipping at the shell of his ear before pushing his shirt from his shoulders, letting your hands skate along his back.
Leaning forward, he pushed you back into the mattress, nipping and sucking his way along your jaw before he methodically began to remove your layers of clothing and webbing, starting with a ruthless tugging on your boot laces, until you were left in your army issue brassiere and underwear. To say that they left a lot to be desired in terms of style was an understatement, but the reverence in his gaze as his eyes raked over his hard-won reward soothed your ego somewhat. Plucking the crown from his head, you tossed it gently onto the windowsill before hugging his hips with your knees and rolling him onto his back intent on returning the favour, your dog tags jangling against his in a metallic collision.
As you tried to slide down to reach the laces of his boots, however, he grunted in denial, hauling you in for a hungry kiss as he pulled your pelvis snug against his, making you inhale sharply through your nose at the feel of his hard length against you. “Gotta get your pants off, Lew.” You tried to speak but he kept interrupting you with brushes of his lips or darts of his tongue into your mouth. Huffing slightly, you rocked forward against him firmly, making yourself shudder, but you managed to get his attention as his head fell back, eyes staring up at you half-lidded, jaw slack in a silent moan. “Gonna start with your boots and then I’m gonna get your pants off.”
“And then you’ll do that again…” He breathed and you nodded licking your lips as he released your hips.
You were admittedly not nearly as efficient as him, fingers made clumsy with want, but through persistence you prevailed in removing his boots, pants, and boxers, adding them to the scattered heap of clothing on the small patch of floor. Skimming your hands up his bare legs you revelled in the way he trembled slightly, sitting up to watch you impatiently as you made your way up from the floor. Halting your progress a moment, you ducked your head to lick a warm, wet stripe along the needy length of his cock where it stood proud against his lower abdomen, drawing a shaky cry of your name from his lips that convinced you to linger between his thighs a little longer.
Wrapping your fingers around him, you swirled your tongue around the tip before slowly sliding his length into your mouth, watching his cheeks flush and eyes flutter close as he wrenched at the bedding violently.
“Oh fuck, sweetheart…” He panted, his abdominal muscles flexing erratically.
Smile curling around him, you dragged your lips up his length only to sink your mouth back down onto him, covering the last bit you couldn’t manage with your fist, allowing your saliva to run freely.
“Christ you’re good at that.” There was the edge of a whine to his voice and suddenly he was pulling your mouth from him, chest heaving. “Keep that up and this’ll be over before it begins…” He muttered and sat up, gripping your hips to guide you onto the bed properly.
His lips latched onto nipple through the thin cotton of your bra before you could open your mouth to apologize, making your hips buck up against his stomach greedily as your fingers delved into his hair. Pulling the cup down he laved his tongue along the sensitive peak, before shifting his attentions to its partner, your soft sighs of pleasure filling the room. Sliding his hands to your back, he guided you up to sit before making quick work of the hook and eye closure between your shoulder blades, tossing your bra aside onto a crate of liquor before pressing you back down into the mattress with a kiss to your sternum, just above where your dog tags rested against your bare skin.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them over your hips and down your legs before they too were unceremoniously tossed aside. “Goddamn sweetheart you are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He murmured, pressing his lips against the side of your knee before he hooked it over his shoulder as he came to rest on his stomach between your legs.
“Lew I…” You started to protest, embarrassed about the fact that you hadn’t seen a shower in a few days, but the words died on your lips as his fingers ran through your slick folds.
“You’re so wet, did I make you this wet?” He murmured in awe, and you nodded slowly, his answering grin almost blinding in its intensity. “Well, best not let it go to waste.” Lewis winked before sealing his mouth over your core, sucking the very breath from your lungs as his tongue delved hungrily to find your sensitive bundle of nerves.
Throwing your arm over your mouth, you smothered a harsh curse of delight into the crook of your elbow as he slung his forearm across your hips to pin them down so he might better intensify the level of pleasure he was dealing you as his tongue plunged into your heat. His nose took over the stimulation of your clit, while the stubble on his cheeks and jaw made your inner thighs tremble. The sounds he was making between your legs were positively lewd and only heightened the swirling headiness that wrapped around you. You clung to his hair as he began to suck on your clit, making you see stars behind your clenched eyelids, every exhale an eager moan or keen smothered against your skin.
Lewis’s hand slid up along your side to cup your breast, his fingers shifting to pinch and roll at your nipple, vaulting you over the edge as you rambled his name over and over. The tension of ecstasy slowly ebbed from your body, and he lifted his head with a broad grin, swiping at his upper lip with his thumb before sucking it clean. “Someday I’m gonna do that somewhere so remote you can scream at the top of your lungs.” He nuzzled your hair, pressing his lips to your ear as you laughed breathlessly.
“You sound so certain…” You teased, but he merely raised an eyebrow in response, his palm cupping your still-sensitive core, making your eyes roll back in your head.
“I am, yes. Certain that I can make you cum with my hands, my mouth, my cock. Certain that I’d like the opportunity to do so again and again…” You forced your eyes open to look over his features slowly.
“Yeah?” You exhaled, not quite sure what you had been expecting when you fell into bed with him, just knowing it was what you had wanted above all else in that moment.
“Yeah, sweetheart, until you’re sick of me.” He kissed you gently, the salty tang of your release still on his lips.
Gripping the back of his head, you returned the kiss hungrily, shifting your hips to rock up against his length, swallowing his ragged moan as you finally fulfilled your promise to repeat that motion. “Show me.” You whispered, aching to feel him inside you.
Lewis exhaled hotly against your lips before shifting his hips back, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance before he rocked forward to slowly sink into you. He sealed his mouth over yours almost painfully as you whimpered hungrily, his own rumble of pleasure reverberating through your chest. His head fell to rest against your collarbone, his breath caressing your skin once he was fully seated inside you, unmoving.
“Lew…” You whimpered softly, digging your fingers into his shoulders, writhing against him slightly.
“I know, sweetheart just…fuck you’ll be my undoing…” He whispered before he kissed you fiercely, pulling his hips back only to thrust forward once more, earning a moan of delight from you.
Your bodies began the push and pull of carnal pleasure, moving in tandem as though this were your hundredth coupling rather than your first. Grasping your knee, Lewis hiked it higher on his hip, angling his thrusts deeper into your willing body, making you toss your head to the side as you clenched your jaw against the desire to wail in delight.
“Wish I could…hear you so fucking badly…” He grit out before grasping your chin and turning your face back so he could press his mouth to yours as he rut against you firmly, his pubic bone grinding against your clit deliciously.
Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, the vicious undertow nearly obliterating your ability to think as Lewis quickly pulled out from your convulsing warmth to release across your abdomen with an agonized groan that was admittedly less than concealed before he collapsed onto the bed at your side. The pair of you lay there, speechless, covered in a sheen of sweat, chests heaving with frantic breaths before he shifted to feather soft kisses along the side of your face, reaching for a weathered scrap of green cloth that served as an army handkerchief to wipe your skin clean.
The ferocious growl your stomach emitted in the relative silence of the room had you tense as Lewis cracked up. “Sweetheart when was the last time you ate?”
“Oh, Christ I don’t know…” You muttered, covering your face with both hands in mortification.
Laughing richly, he kissed your knuckles before forcing himself up. “Alright, ok. Food. I’m going to find you some food. And then I’m going to spend the rest of this night right here in this bed with you, so don’t you go anywhere.” He looked down at you with playful seriousness as he stepped into the pants of your ODs, ruining the effect. “Shit.” He muttered.
Giggling into your palm, you shook your head before sighing as you pulled the blankets over your bare skin, feeling the chill of the mountain air now that he’d taken his body heat away from you. “Hey Lew?”
He looked to you quickly, nearly dressed – in his own clothes this time. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
“I’ll be here.” You smiled warmly, the stretch of your lips only widened by the grin of glee he directed at you before climbing back into bed to kiss you warmly. Your poor, empty digestive system growled insistently, and he huffed against your lips.
“Alright, fine…I’ll be back with food.” Lewis kissed your cheek before sliding into his jump boots and stepping out with his laces untied in search of sustenance for you both, fully intent on not making another public appearance until the next morning.
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Band of Brothers Masterlist
Tag list: @fuckoffthanos
#lewis nixon x reader#lewis nixon imagine#lewis nixon imagines#lewis nixon#band of brothers x reader#band of brothers imagines#band of brothers imagine#band of brothers
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What’s up. I too have gotten hooked on Black Butler. After 3 years of not being in the fandom anymore. I have a fanfic idea for you.It’s a Ciel x reader so it’s going to be more on the angst side but still fluffy and funny if you look at it from an angle. It’s Ciel. C’mon.
So basically the reader is very similar to him. Being that she also has intense trauma and is extremely stoic and cold. On the other hand she’s also considered eerie and ominous looking. Soon Ciel after a while starts having feeling for the reader, he sees her as someone who understands him completely and fully. Ciel starts showing that he’s interested in being in a more intimate relationship with the reader other then just being partners. The reader of course rejects all these moves even though she also likes him, not only because he’s engaged but because she knows he’s a manipulator. After a long time of driving Sebastian insane with the pinning and rejecting, Lizzy finds out about Ciel’s feelings for the reader and confronts both of them. She’s lightly bitterly and is crying at first but she does want Ciel to be happy and is good friends with the reader (and she’s an Angel) so she doesn’t hold him back. Now the reader and Ciel are in a situation where they can show there feeling for each other freely but have no idea where to start.
Just so that you have a small reference to what I mean by a stoic and eerie looking reader I have a drawing of my Black Butler OC that you can take notes from (you don’t have to just here if you want lmfao)
Thank you, hopefully it’s not too long or complicated. You don’t have to write this if you don’t feel comfortable enough just tell me if you’re not going to write it or not. Have a good day!
Troubled Love - Ciel Phantomhive
A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long! This is a long one that I wanted to take time on and work on when I felt like I could write this to the best of my ability. First of all, your drawing is ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS!!! I’m literally in love with it! I hope this turned out ok! I also completely skipped over the part where the reader is an angel and didn’t see it until I finished this, so I hope it’s ok that I left that bit out. Let me know if you’d like me to rewrite this properly <3
Warning/s: mentions of night terrors, mentions of panic attacks (no descriptions)
You had met the Earl Phantomhive around the time his parents had passed. You had met the Phantomhive through the grapevine of the Queen’s ‘guard dogs’, and didn’t really get to know the young boy until he returned, demon butler by his side. It was then the two of you were paired for missions. The Queen saw similarities between the two of you, and thought it would be well for you to become friends with the Earl.
You see, due to your past, you weren’t the most sociable person out there. You preferred to keep to yourself, and refrained from interacting with others as much as you could. It played in your favor that most feared you, both due to your reputation with the queen as well as the way you presented yourself. It was almost as if no one could touch you.
Until you officially met Ciel. The two of you worked well together. What you lacked in skill and intelligence, he made up for, and vice versa. It also helped that Sebastian was there. In fact, the demon butler and his master took a liking to you, even going as far as inviting you to stay at the Estate when they learned that you didn’t have an official residence. You agreed hesitantly. While you were comfortable around the two, you couldn’t bear the thought of being vulnerable around them. You were traumatized at a young age, leaving you plagued with nightmares and flashbacks from time to time. Opening yourself up to Ciel was a huge step for you, one you were unsure how to handle.
Ciel, on the other hand, was ecstatic. He’d never admit it, partially due to his personality and partially due to his engagement to Lizzy, but the Earl had begun developing feelings for you. It was more than a petty middle school crush that other boys his age experienced. He had been feeling this way for quite some time now, and couldn’t quite name his emotions until he spoke of it with Sebastian. It was worth the endless teasing that lasted weeks, but Ciel had now finally realized how much he truly loved you. And now you’re going to be living with him.
Ciel was unsure of how to show his love for you without a) making it obvious, and b) letting Lizzy know. Don’t get him wrong, Ciel truly did like Lizzy and he didn’t want to do anything to hurt her, but he loved you more than her. The boy opted to spend time with you doing small things, such as reading together or just simply sitting in the same room as you as the two of you worked separately. You were hesitant of all this at first, because you were used to being alone so often, but over time you became more comfortable.
This time spent between the two of you went from silence to small chatter. Ciel would ask how your day has been, and you’d answer then return the question. It took months of living together and getting accustomed to each other’s emotions to begin discussing deeper topics. You were both severely traumatized children who never learned how to cope with said trauma. Sure, Ciel had Sebastian, but he was a demon and therefore was incapable of feeling human emotions. So he tried talking to you.
Ciel wouldn’t ever say much about the death of his family or the events that came afterwards, but he wanted to be vulnerable around you. The boy hoped that this would bring the two of you even closer, and then he’d be comfortable enough to confess his love for you. Except every time he tried to have a deep conversation, you would turn him down almost immediately. There was one week in particular when you were having vivid night terrors, causing you to get only a few hours of sleep a night. You would wake up screaming until you couldn’t anymore, and often suffered intense panic attacks afterwards. Usually Sebastian would try and help but you would only push him away, barely muttering about how you were alright and didn’t need any help.
These night terrors always woke Ciel, and after the third night he came bursting into your room in the place of Sebastian. He desperately tried to calm you down, to try and talk to you, but you refused his help. It broke his heart to see you this way, and to know that you were unwilling to accept his help hurt him even more. How could the two of you be together if you wouldn’t let him help you?
The next day during breakfast, Ciel offered to let you speak to him anytime about anything you needed. Whether it be to get something off of your chest, or just to rant about anything, he would be there for you. You weren’t sure how you felt about his offer, so you only nodded and took a bite of your food.
The Earl Phantomhive invited you on an afternoon walk after dinner. At first you hesitantly agreed, only because Sebastian would be following closely. Yet once you saw the extravagant clothing the boy was wearing, you quickly retreated back to your room and feigned illness. It took some convincing, but Ciel finally left you to ‘recover’. In reality, you curled up on the floor, leaning against the door as you silently cried to yourself.
You were so torn between your emotions. It was blatantly obvious that Ciel saw you as more than just a friend, and he wanted to take your relationship to the next level. You wondered if your own emotions were just as easy to see. You wouldn’t admit it just yet, but you were beginning to fall for Ciel yourself. Although you hadn’t opened up much to the boy, it was easy to feel comfortable and see him. The two of you shared similar pasts, and you hadn’t met anyone else that made you feel as safe and comfortable as the Earl did.
Despite your feelings for the boy, there was one major red flag following closely behind him. Ciel was a master manipulator. It was clear as day that Ciel knew just how to act to get what he wanted, knew what to say to get his way. You weren’t even sure if he had manipulated you at some point, he was that good. Oh, and he’s also engaged.
You wanted to take Ciel up on all of his romantic gestures. You wanted to go on late night walks with him, go to balls (even though neither of you particularly enjoyed them), or even just spend the evening together almost every night of the week. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to give in to the urge.
This carried on for months. Ciel would ‘discreetly’ ask you out on small dates, and you would turn him down and most commonly retreat to your room. Once you left, Ciel’s small smile would fall and he would immediately turn to Sebastian with downcast eyes.
Sebastian was the only one Ciel could confess to at this point. He couldn’t go to Izzy, obviously, and he couldn’t go to you, so he was left with his demon butler. It was a part of their bedtime routine now. Sebastian would dress Ciel for bed, asking him about his day and his plans for the next. Ciel would grumble about paperwork before quickly changing the subject to his failed attempts of asking you out. He’d seek advice from the demon before turning in for the night.
It wasn’t until six months after Ciel’s first attempt to ask you out that Lizzy was caught in the crossfire. It wasn’t intentional, and Ciel would have never said anything if he were aware of her presence.
Lizzy had planned another surprise visit and stay at the Phantomhive Manor. She had arrived later than expected due to an extreme thunderstorm causing a delay in travel. Upon arriving at the manor, she let herself in and immediately ran to where she assumed Ciel would be in his study as her maid carried in her baggage. Lizzy quickly but silently ran to Ciel’s study, throwing open the door.
“Ciel!” she squealed in the highest pitch her voice could achieve. “Supri– oh.” Lizzy frowned slightly when she noticed the empty room. It looked as though Ciel hadn’t been there in a while. Shaking her head, the girl grinned widely yet again when she could hear faint voices coming from down the hall. Upon further expectation, she realized the voices were coming from the library.
Elizabeth wasted no time in bursting into the room rather loudly, causing you and Ciel to quite literally jump out of your seats with fear. Ciel’s hand even ghosted over the firearm he had tucked into his boot.
“Ciel!” Lizzy squeals again. She runs over to the two of you, about to tackle the poor boy in a hug before realizing what was going on between the two of you.
You had to admit, this wasn’t the ideal position to see your fiance and your best friend in. It wasn't anything too terrible, but it could definitely raise some questions. You were practically laying in Ciel’s lap, your legs draped over his as your head rested against his shoulder. A book rested against your legs where Ciel was reading to you a mere moment ago. You both were dressed in your night clothes, and overall this was a very rare sight of Ciel.
Lizzy’s smile immediately dropped to a deep frown, her bright green eyes welling with tears. “Y/N? Ciel? What’s going on?”
You jumped out of Ciel’s lap and to the other side of the couch. Your heart was beating out of your chest, fear coursing through your veins. This is exactly why you never wanted to act on your feelings for Ciel, for fear of ruining not only his relationship with Lizzy, but also your own.
“Lizzy,” Ciel says quickly, standing and tossing the forgotten book onto the couch. He tried to reach out to the girl but she only took a step back and wiped at her eyes.
“I should have seen it coming,” she chokes through a broken cry. “I knew this day would come.” It takes a moment for Lizzy to calm herself down, but she wipes the last of her tears away as Ciel tries to comfort her.
“It’s ok,” she cuts him off from his senseless babbling, pushing his outstretched arms away. “I’ve known for a long time that this day would come.” Glossy green eyes met your e/c ones as she smiled softly. “I can see how much the two of you love each other,” she confesses. “And as much as I love the two of you, I can’t bear knowing I am what is keeping you from being together.” Lizzy’s gaze shifted to her fiance. “I love you Ciel. So much that I want you to be happy.” Her warm hands slowly reached for his own, giving them a gentle squeeze. “So I’m ending our engagement.” Pressing one last kiss against Ciel’s cheek, Lizzy let go.
“I can only hope the best for the two of you.” Just like that, she was gone.
You and Ciel couldn’t bear to look at each other, let alone speak. You weren’t sure how to feel. You finally had the freedom to be with the man you were learning to love, yet at what cost? Did you just lose your best friend? What do you know? Ciel was asking himself the same questions. But it didn’t take long for him to drop beside you back on the couch, slowly turning to you.
“What do we do now?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“I don’t know,” Ciel confessed. “To be honest, I think I need some time to process this.”
You nodded, then stood quickly. “Of course, I understand.” You retreated back to your bedroom as soon as possible, diving under the covers and staring at the ceiling. You were finally free to express your love for Ciel, yet unsure what the next steps were. It was going to take time to figure out your relationship status with the Earl, and what to do next, but it will be worth the wait.
#ciel#ciel phantomhive#ciel x reader#ciel phantomhive x reader#black butler x reader#kuroshitsuji#blabk cutler#black butler ciel#black butler ciel phantomhive#lizzy midford#sebastian michaelis#comfort#platonic#x reader#black butler fanfiction#black butler sebastian#black butler#ciel fantomhive#ciel phantomhive x reader comfort#ciel phamtonhive
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Is it possible to have another Grown! Yakuza! Reader and baby scarlet witch reader but this time in bungo stray dog universe. Just imagine the ADA’s reactions especially dazai, atsushi, and dazai. They know their baby scarlet witch reader as adorable and soft and just to see a possibility of what she can become right there next to her as an intimidating and cunning woman. Especially if later on they somehow find out baby scarlet witch knows a lot about wielding weapons that a normal child obviously wouldn’t know about.😂
my baby's got a gun ! — bungou stray dogs boys meets grown! yakuza! scarlet witch! reader together with baby fushiguro
jujutsu kaisen x reader x bungou stray dogs
masterlist of the series
╰➤ CW(s): possible spoilers for bungou stray dogs (subtle reference to BEAST), mentions use of weapons and violence
╰➤ PAIRING(s): platonic! bungou stray dogs x child! reader (ADA, port mafia, but it's mostly dazai, atsushi)
before you read: hi, in case you're new, you're megumi's younger half-sibling, and while you don't have cursed energy, you do have scarlet witch's powers and abilities! aside from that, as a special scarlet witch variant, you also have the ability to travel across the multiverse. how chaotic! furthermore, like your half-brother megumi, you are being cared for by gojo satoru, who also serves as your adoptive father. for more info, please see the masterlist.
the concept of the multiverse was something. to think that there are so many different universes out there—it's both fascinating and terrifying how there are variations of each and every one, including you and everyone else in your dazai-nii's universe.
you've already told dazai about a universe where odasaku was alive because of dazai's variant, but as heartbreaking as it is, it was the only universe where oda lived. however, in another universe where you are wanda maximoff instead of fushiguro [name], there is a saying that goes, "a soul for a soul," if you want to change something, you must pay a price.
changing the subject, neither dazai nor any of the armed detective agency had ever met a variant, whether yours or theirs, so they were in for a surprise of a lifetime when a red portal ripped through the seams of their reality.
dazai dashed towards the red portal, expecting you, his precious little belladonna, and ready to greet you with a hug when he sensed dread emanating from it.
the entire armed detective agency inside the office became concerned. dazai took a step back, his eyes widening along with the others who were already arming themselves and raising their guards, as two silhouettes stepped into their reality.
"... [name]-chan?" atsushi muttered quietly, his eyes softening for a moment as he was relieved to see you, but his gaze was drawn immediately to the taller and older woman standing next to you, holding your hand in hers.
dazai blinked, realizing that this dread they were all sensing was coming from the woman next to you, and my god, the ominous aura that she possessed even without doing anything, reminded him of mori ougai, and to hell, it actually felt far more atrocious than that man.
"[name]-chan, who is this?" dazai asked softly, his guard still up.
you simply smiled as you squeezed her hand, oblivious to the armed detective agency's reaction to the woman beside you, "she's me!"
there was a pindrop silence in the air at that moment. 'wait, what did you just say?!' were all of their exact reactions to your statement.
atsushi and the others stared at her from head to toe in utter disbelief, he kept looking at you and the woman next to you. even fukuzawa was taken aback by the revelation.
how is it even possible that this woman is you?
you were all so cute and sweet, while she had this cunning and almost blank expression on her face. everything about her—from her appearance to the way she carries herself, screams danger.
but the more they looked at her, the more they noticed how much she resembled you. the woman had your [color] hair and [color] eyes, but her hair was significantly longer, her eyes and cheekbones were sharper, and her lips and lids were painted a dark smokey black and maroon color.
this woman appeared cunningly evil, yet somewhat captivating with the way her poise and manner oozed with bloody confidence as she stood beside you, dressed in a black leather mini dress, leather arm-length gloves, heeled thigh-high leather boots, a dark red coat hanging over her shoulders, and expensive looking jewelries on her.
kunikida's adam's apple bobbled up and down as he visibly shifted uncomfortably on his hand, still clutching his handgun, "but, h-how?"
"how?" the woman inquired, her voice seductive and enticing. she sounded like a siren.
"i'm not going to lie, lady, but you're nothing like [name] o-over there," ranpo managed to say nervously, his emerald eyes fixed on her.
"of course i am. i really am nothing like this sweetie right here, even if we do share the same name," the woman chuckled, her shoulders shaking up and down as she peered down at you with an amused look.
"why are you here?" fukuzawa furrowed his brows at her.
your other self shrugged as she let go of your hand, instead folding her arms across her chest, "just curious as to where little me had been disappearing off to lately," she explained.
"so, you're friends with her?" tanizaki asked.
"of course, we're friends. we hang out! yakuza me is just the coolest!" you exclaimed, wrapping your tiny arms around her legs and rubbing your cheek against them affectionately like a cat.
everyone choked on their own spits at that, gasping and widening their eyes all over again from shock. did they hear that correctly?
"[name]-chan, your variant.. is a member of a yakuza?" dazai pointed at the woman.
"tch, a member?" she shook her head, closing her eyes before opening them again, her lips curving into a smirk as her eyes glowed a faint red color, "please, kind sir, i'm the head of my own organization."
"EXCUSE ME, BUT WHAT?!" atsushi found himself screaming at the woman from shock.
"you're the head?" dazai muttered, blinking slowly as he processed what she had just said.
it was no surprise your older and yakuza variant had the same vibe as the port mafia boss, but she was more cunning and atrocious, most likely because she was the scarlet witch just like you. thinking about it at the same time, if this woman's aura was already ominous enough and given that your abilities were already far superior to those of any other ability users in dazai's world, wouldn't it make sense for her, your variant, to be far stronger than you?
a yakuza's activities were no different than those of the port mafia. the yakuza was a crime syndicate. the port mafia was an underground organization. in any case, both were involved in the world of bloodshed and violence.
"yes, you heard me," your yakuza variant confirmed, tilting her head to the side, "i'm the leader of my group."
"isn't a yakuza, er, usually led by a man?" atsushi asked, nervously gulping.
"well, sweetie, the thing is, time has changed, and so has everything back at my world," your variant's sharp [color] eyes glowed red as she smiled cunningly, "tell me, do any of you have a problem with that?"
"n-no, not at all," dazai managed to smile back at her, god did he despise the vibe she was giving off. why did she had to have the same ominous aura as mori? "i"m just wondering why you're with someone like [name]-chan."
"we're good friends," your yakuza variant sighed, putting a hand on her hip, "and we hang out with each other like any good friends."
"she's right! we do a lot of things together, dazai-nii," you nodded, explaining, "we eat at expensive restaurants, we go to salons, and we also go to accessory and clothes stores."
"yeah? well, that sounds nice, little belladonna," dazai gave you a closed-eye smile.
"she also teaches me how to use a playful cloud and how to use a gun and aim with one!"
with that, dazai's remark of "that sounds nice" is thrown out the window right off the bat.
"what?" dazai's expression changed drastically.
"a playful cloud is a three-sectioned staff, kind of like a nunchuck," your yakuza variant explained, tapping her chin in thought.
"you TAUGHT her how to use one?!" atsushi took the words out of dazai's mouth in a yell, "and a LITERAL gun! what's wrong with you?!"
"of course i did. what's the problem with that?" your yakuza variant questioned, raising a brow.
"SHE'S A CHILD?!" kunikida exclaimed, echoing atsushi, "YOU SHOULDN'T BE TEACHING ANY OF THAT TO A LITERAL CHILD MA'AM."
"relax, it's for self-defense," your yakuza variant immediately countered, "it's not that bad."
"not that bad? then, aren't [name]-chan's abilities, err, chaos magic, already responsible for protecting her?" atsushi inquired.
"chaos magic isn't something we should just rely on. there will come a time when we won't be able to use it in a situation. it's only right for little me to be equipped with enough knowledge how to protect herself," your yakuza variant reasoned, motioning over you.
"yeah, that sounds real nice," dazai remarked sarcastically, already taking your hand and pulling away from your yakuza variant before picking you up and firmly holding you in his arms.
when your yakuza variant saw dazai and the rest of the armed detective agency who were still wary of her, a small frown deepened on his variant face. "i think i'll just take my leave, sweetie," she sighed before placing a hand on her hip, chuckling softly with a small smirk.
"are you sure?" you asked with a small pout.
"yes, i'm sure, sweetie," she trotted towards you, slightly narrowing her eyes at dazai when he tried to pull you away from her but still smiling at you, "and besides, in all honesty, their reactions are very similar to that ginger head and his friends whom we met earlier. i thought for sure they would warm up to me given how similar our organizations are, but oh well."
everyone's sweat dropped.
she intimidated even the port mafia?
"you met the port mafia?" fukuzawa inquired, recognising the ginger head she mentioned as the gravity manipulator.
"yes, the port mafia. their boss sure is something, as are his subordinates, and then there was this red haired woman back then too—she was really ravishing," your yakuza variant chuckled softly, everyone's eyes widening in shock when she mentioned the golden demon ability user, "but anyway, i have something to do. i've got an important meeting with my own subordinates."
"oh, okay.." you nodded in understanding.
"goodbye, sweetheart, and everyone. it was great meeting you all," she said as she raised her hand and twisted it, opening up a red portal very similar to yours, ruffled your hair and kissed the top of your head, "i'll see you soon. i promise I'll buy you more clothes, okay?"
"bye-bye!" you giggled, waving at her before letting your yakuza variant go to her red portal.
everyone who caught a glimpse of what was on the other side of the portal, your variant's world, watched breathlessly. they could see several people, or rather women dressed very similarly to her your variant, but the red portal had closed before any of them could question it. everyone had calmed down as soon as she had completely left.
"oh, thank god," dazai sighed in relief.
"seriously, how could that be you, [name]-chan? you're nothing like her!" atsushi exclaimed.
"i agree with atsushi-kun, you're cute and soft, whereas she's all intimidating and cunning," tanizaki added to atsushi's statement.
"but, is it true, can you use a three-sectioned staff and a gun?" yosano inquired, blinking profusely.
"Yeah, but my daddy banned me from using playful cloud or a gun because i snuck into the place where they keep all their weapons back at home," you explained, a small pout on your face.
"my goodness. well, at least your father's responsible..." kunikida sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in relief.
"i actually want to be like yakuza me someday," you exclaimed, making the rest of the armed detective agency start sweating again.
"[name]-chan, you listen to me good. promise me you'll never take after that woman," dazai embraced you tightly, almost dramatically, "okay?! i can't afford to have my sweet little belladonna turning into a mafioso!"
"that's really funny, dazai-nii! that's what my daddy told me too!" you couldn't help but giggle fondly, oblivious to dazai's reaction, as you remembered the exact words gojo had told you when he and the others met her, "but okay!"
"yes, that's great! that's very good of you. that's my [name]-chan!" dazai faked a sob, acting as if you were on the verge of dying or something.
as dramatic and comedic as dazai sounded and acted, he really didn't want you to end up like your ever intimidating and cunning mafioso-like variant. knowing that a version of you existed as the head of a yakuza shows the possibility of you becoming like her, and this comes from a young man who used to be an executive of the port mafia. being in an underground organization, surrounded by bloodshed and violence, was not as appealing.
for another, it would most certainly kill dazai if you turned into someone he no longer recognizes. it would break his heart.
"please keep being you, [name]-chan."
[ author's notes ! just a little trivia, a yakuza, according to my research, is quite patriarchal, and usually the women in a yakuza is simply the wife and doesn't really get involved much in the mafia-like organization business, which is why the armed detective agency, especially atsushi, are surprised that your variant is the head or boss, there are very few women in a yakuza, and for one to be a boss, they usually just take over when their husbands die—but your variant is a fushiguro after all, as well as the scarlet witch like you :) ]
#— [☆] ; chaos#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs x you#bungou stray dogs x reader#bungou stray dogs x you#bungo stray dogs imagines#bungo stray dogs headcanons#bungo stray dogs fluff#bungo stray dogs scenarios#bsd headcanons#bsd imagines#bsd x y/n#bsd x you#bsd x reader#bsd oneshot#bsd ada#dazai osamu x reader#dazai x reader#nakajima atsushi x reader#atsushi x reader#edogawa ranpo x reader#ranpo x reader#yosano x reader#kunikida doppo x reader#kunikida x reader#bsd fluff#gojo x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x bungou stray dogs#chuuya x reader
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Mandalorian Slash Fic Rec List - DinLuke Volume III: Canon AU + Other AU
Welcome to Volume III of The Mandalorian Slash! For reference, 🔐 means a restricted work and 💜 means an personal favorite. Check out the other lists here: Gen III, and Mando Slash I, II, and IV. Happy reading, and make sure to give your love to our featured authors!! -Limn <3
💜 Hand in Glove by rinwins (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Prosthesis, Gen, 1k)
“Here,” Luke says, “help me with this?”
“I’m not really a mechanic--”
“That’s fine, I just need your hand.”
Canon AU
💜 Right Side of the Sun by @vagrantblvrd (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Leia Organa, Greef Karga, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, 6k)
Karga comms Din out of the blue and asks him to come to Nevarro.
Under the Sky by @vagrantblvrd (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Leia Organa, Han Solo, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Teen, 3k)
“So,” the man currently invading Din’s personal space says, biting his bottom lip as he looks Din over. “You come here often?”
Din’s heard better, and when he says as much the man laughs, mouth pulling into a genuine smile.
all for freedom and for pleasure by @foggysirens (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, Han Solo, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Mutual Pining, Rebellion Era, Teen, 10k)
“It was you.”
The words fall from Luke’s lips before he can stop them. The Mandalorian freezes, helmeted gaze turning to focus on him.
“The Force was leading me to you.”
-
Or, in an act of desperation, the Rebellion seeks out help from a rather unlikely source, leaving Luke unsure of how to feel about the new arrival to Echo Base, but unable to deny that the Force works in mysterious ways.
Like the Dawn by @ace-din-djarin (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Leia Organa, Han Solo, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Mutual Pining, Found Family, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Teen, 15k)
Din’s words appear a few months after the attack on his village, after he had been taken in and adopted by the Mandalorians and the grief was still thick in his throat. He doesn’t know, at first, that they are there at all, until his baji’buir looks at him, her golden buy’ce tilted, and says, quietly, “I believe you have your words, ad.” She hands him a piece of shining beskar to use as a mirror, and sure enough, curled under his left ear in a slanting script, there they are. Two words: I am.
—
Just before his eyes slip closed, he sees something else overlaid on what he can actually see — a flash of silver, shining and beautiful. Something in Luke’s heart sings, for just a second, and he hears the Force whispering ‘ this one.’ He strains, trying to see more, but he can’t hold on, and drops down into unconsciousness.
—
Or: The first words your soulmate says to you are written on your skin. Luke and Din travel the galaxy before they find their match.
Branching by @alchemyalice (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Finn, Rey, Gen, 8k)
“What color is the ship?”
“White and red,” Reeves reported slowly. “Why?”
Din’s lungs rattled as he exhaled.
“I, uh.” He worked saliva into his mouth. “I think it might be a friendly.”
🔐 the albatross by TheCosmicMushroom (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Sith Luke Skywalker, Force Sensitive Din Djarin, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mild Gore, Mature, 5k)
“There, at the epicenter, he awaits.
Back-lit by ominous red—so much red—Luke Skywalker appears small, too small certainly for the devastation he’s wrought. Covered head-to-toe in black, he epitomizes the Dark Side itself. Effortlessly, he sends blaster bolts careening back to his would-be attackers with that crackling, wailing blade. Lines blurring from impossible speed, he is a wraith in the waning daylight. And before him, men break into pieces like wet flimsi.”
[An AU in which Din finds himself entrenched in the Rebellion and the Imperial Prince’s attention.]
through power, there is victory by @emilianadarling (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Sith Luke Skywalker, Power Imbalance, Psychological Horror, Teen, 8k)
Then, slipping between Stormtroopers like a living shadow, another man appears.
He’s of modest height and slim build, clad in a black cloak with the hood pulled up over his head. The energy in the room instantly changes as he steps forward, becoming weighted and charged. There’s a sense of raw deference in the way everyone watches him. When the commander from earlier steps forward and tries to speak, the man raises a gloved hand to cut him off without looking, dismissing him as easily as one of the rank and file.
Din’s stomach bottoms out.
-
In a galaxy under Emperor Vader’s rule, Din and Grogu are intercepted by Imperials.
only as strong as the warrior next to you by @emilianadarling CaroGolden (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Sith Luke Skywalker, Power Imbalance, Politics, Possessive Behavior, Imperial Prince Luke Skywalker, Depictions of Fascism, Multimedia, Ensemble Cast, Explicit, 141k, man this one, whoof)
With an indolent air, Luke rests his elbows on the railing, leaning forward to better take in the action.
Below the Mandalorian is already in motion, beskar a glinting contrast to black walls and floors. Luke’s eyes trail him as he moves, bitter and gluttonous. Watching as Din takes stock of the concrete half-walls, helmet tilting upward to survey the turrets above. Exploring terrain before the simulation is initiated, his professionalism unaffected by the tension that still lingers beneath armor.
Compartmentalization is a skill Luke learned involuntarily; a way to cope with the horror that was once his daily existence. Din, by contrast, embodies the very practice of it. That rigid separation between self and other.
The Mandalorian’s inner world is so vast, Luke could get lost in it.
-
Imperial High Prince Skywalker has taken himself a bodyguard.
Other AU
Persevere by @chocmarss (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Lighthouses, Teen, 40k)
"And you don’t need to pay me anything just because I saved your life. Anyone could’ve done it.”
“You’d be surprised at how many wouldn’t,” Luke told him with a wry smile. “My name’s Luke, by the way. So that you’d know who you just dragged into your home.”
“That implies that I should be worried,” The man —Din— pointed out, using his hip to lean against the bedpost by his feet. Luke reached forward and set the glass on the tray. “Should I?”
The sun lit up his brown hair, catching every curl that glowed red and amber. Luke met his gaze head-on. “I’m not a threat, if that’s what you’re implying.”
Luke didn't take into account how he could get tossed into the sea when he was on that mission; he didn't think he'd wake up in someone else's house.
There were a man, his baby, and his dog, you see. You'd have to understand — Luke wanted to be a part of it.
would you be so kind by furiosophie (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, Jyn Erso, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Mature, 4k)
"You ready for self-defense class in second period?” Jyn asks from where she sits with her feet up on the common table of the teacher’s lounge. “Apparently Ahsoka bullied one of the parents into doing it."
Now Luke actually comes awake, "One of the parents?"
"Yea, that one scary looking dude who never takes off his helmet what was his name--"
Oh, Luke knows exactly who that is.
handspun (i could be lonely with you) by @we-re-always-alright (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chicago, Mature, 40k)
Luke runs a yarn store out of converted coach house in a quiet part of the Clybourn Corridor. Din is trying to chase his kid and keep him from touching everything in sight. Grogu just wants to live in the softest yarns.
(A story about the vibe of a city, spoken poetry and the power of the hand knit.)
splicing (tell all the stars above) by @we-re-always-alright (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chicago, Weddings, Mature, 63k)
Luke decides the best way to get your family to approve of your partner is to drag him and his child to France for a week. Din is skeptical of most of the Skywalker family. Grogu is willing to try snails but he already doesn't like the texture of mushrooms and French cuisine loves mushrooms. Leia is having the most elaborate wedding this family has seen since the last time the Amidala family was at court with the Bourbons.
Something about weddings can bring out the best and worst in your family, can't it?
(A continuation of the story about the vibe of a city, soft spoken poetry and the power of the hand knit. The Over-the-Top Elaborate French Wedding Edition.)
making it easier for us to celebrate by @andfollowthesun (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Meet-Cute, Pre-Relationship, Gen, 6k)
There are some days when he wishes he could stay at home full-time. Like now, when Grogu plants himself in front of Din, and promptly bursts into tears.
💜 Are We Out of the Woods Yet? by @maered613 (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dinluke Halloween 2022, Mature, 14k)
There’s something following them.
Din’s sure of it.
His old instincts have kicked in ever since he heard the snap of that branch.
It’s almost lunchtime, and by now he’s memorised Skywalker’s graceful, sure gait- and all the kid’s chaotic stampeding.
There’s another in the mix.
Grogu’s Boy Scout troop is going camping, and faced with the prospect of spending 48 hours worried out of his mind or sleeping outside for a night, Din decides to get some fresh air.
Din thinks his biggest problem is going to be hiding his attraction to Grogu’s Scout leader, that is, until he hears something start to follow them through the woods.
💜 To the trust funds and the punishers by niuxuu (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Teen, 15k)
“But you can say no.”
“Why would I say no?”
As soon as the words left his mouth he realized he wanted to, he wanted to say no more than anything. But he had no reason to do that, not when everything was going according to plan; this was an accomplishment. Grogu needed this, so why was he being selfish and hoping to deny it?
or
Where Din is Grogu's foster dad and he convinces himself its just for a short while, until one day he's contacted about a couple that wants to adopt the kid and he realizes he can't imagine a life without him.
Blue Sky by @thrvrnd (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit, 35k)
Luke is trying to adapt to his new life: out of the Navy, in a new town with his newly-found sister, following the death of their long-estranged father. Then he meets a Force-sensitive kid and his single dad at a playground. Luke isn't sure about getting into a relationship with a single father. Din's not sure Luke's ready either. Can they work it out? Yeah, they can. They do. That's the story.
And in my mind, I still need a place to go by @dancynrew (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Teen, 7k)
"Ah," Luke says, blinking rapidly, ice pack dripping into his eyes, lights still flickering, air conditioner still groaning horribly. "Well. This is a disaster."
🔐 I'm still trying to figure out (the end of what I was starting to say) by Kushana (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Relationship, Mature, 7k)
Luke is still reeling from the discovery that he has somehow found himself another family – and isn’t it strange how right it feels, how easy it feels, to fall into rhythm with Din and Grogu. They have been doing it for months now, unaware of what it meant, of where it was leading, getting in sync without having to think about it.
by committee by @treescape (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Teen, 5k)
Over the years, Luke’s just about seen it all. He and Leia had spent twelve long years growing up in the Imperial Palace while Padme was Supreme Chancellor, and they’re both settling nicely into their own Senatorial careers now that their freshman terms are over. But he’s never seen anything quite like Din Djarin, who’s apparently just won the Mandalorian Senatorial race without ever actually running.
Or, Luke and Din are both Senators and serve on the same committee.
Some Glad Tomorrow by @vagrantblvrd (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Pre-Relationship, Teen, 4k)
Din’s not sure what to expect when he gets a call out of the blue. Especially when the caller turns out to be a lawyer.
💜 Up Against the Dark by @vagrantblvrd (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes, Teen, 5k)
Luke honestly doesn’t know what it says about him that he ends up in these situations.
Really.
“Strange,” the Mand’alor says, a pained note to his voice, which is fair as he literally just took a bullet for Luke. “I think it says you’re an idiot.”
somewhere only we know by @foggysirens (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Night at the Museum Fusion, Teen, 42k)
Scanning the paper, Din's eyes fall onto a listing that he had somehow missed. Right at the bottom of the page, in smudged black ink, is a listing from the natural history museum looking for a new nighttime security guard.
Now that was an interesting thought.
-
Or, Din is a struggling single father who becomes the natural history museum's new night guard. He's not expecting much out of the job other than a steady paycheque, but when the sun goes down and the exhibits start to come to life, Din needs to find a way to keep everything under control. A task easier said than done, especially when there's a certain Medieval knight who won't leave him alone.
impossible scenario by deniigiq (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Peter Parker, Crossovers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Reincarnation, Reunions, Teen, 14k)
Luke did a double-take.
“That’s a lie,” he accused. “Tell the truth or be compelled.”
“By the Force?” Ned asked hopefully.
Luke blinked at him. He pointed at the glass sliding door which revealed Obi-Wan holding Junior the cat above his head by the kitchen sink.
“By the Force,” he said.
Ned’s face fell.
(Peter accidentally flirts with a drunk Luke Skywalker in the middle of an identity crisis. He then becomes involved with a bunch of people who might actually be more chaotic than him and decides to help out the best he can.)
#dinluke#skydalorian#din djarin#luke skywalker#the mandalorian#star wars fanfiction#star wars fanfiction recommendations#star wars#lim's fic recs
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I saw you had posted about angels. Do you know anything about Angel Numbers? I see 888 and 555 a lot recently. I never saw them before moving to the east coast for school. Now they’re everywhere.
I’m not trying to upset or offend, but I’m very critical of the whole “angel numbers” concept.
Don’t get me wrong. Synchronicities can hold great meaning for a magical practitioner, and these synchronicities can involve a series of numbers that repeats in your life. I’ll even tacitly admit that these synchronicities could sometimes be a spirit’s handiwork, trying to get your attention.
The angel numbers thing oversimplifies this to an extreme. I’ve looked into it, mostly because everyone was pushing it so hard back in 2017-ish. It all just… seemed like platitudes. These folks would see the numbers, rush to the internet and google the “meaning” which was usually something like “Good things are coming,” or “you’re raising your vibration,” etc. It rarely provides actionable information.
This image was circulating on Facebook awhile back, to give you an idea of how angel numbering works in practice. The majority of these angel numbers apparently mean that your life is awesome, good things are coming, angels are all around you, and you’re very special. There’s a few that waffle around about how the person needs to “finish something” or “reconnect with spirituality.” Very broad statements, none too bad, and even the vaguely negative ones end with something upbeat like “things are getting exciting!”
I prefer systems of spirit communication (or divination) that account for the full spectrum of human experience. Imagine trying to do a Tarot reading with all the possibly-negative cards removed. You would receive an incomplete, sugarcoated picture of the situation, likely to do more harm than good.
A few sites out there do give negative (or at least less-than-positive) meanings for these numbers. The few negative “angel number” definitions I’ve seen are equal to the positive ones in their vagueness, and, again, usually give no real actionable information. All in all, the “angel number” concept often amounts to toxic positivity and spiritual bypassing. Ignoring the negative aspects won’t make them go away, you’ll miss a lot.
In my earlier Enochian reading list, I linked to a magician’s memoir of magic in the late 1980s. There’s a particularly disturbing moment described therein where repeating numbers (particularly 333) appear.
Rather than being a sign that “the ascend masters are nearby, you’re in great hands,” it was the prelude to absolute chaos. In the Enochian system of angelic magic (which the magicians in the memoir work within), the number 333 has a more sinister meaning. In fact, it’s associated with the demon Choronzon! I screenshotted part of that book - pretty ominous, eh? It’s a far cry from being in great hands! (Pardon the Wikipedia link. It may be a Wiki but it does give a good overview.)
(Sorry for the weird highlighting all over the book. I started doing it in college and never kicked the habit. It’s the best way (for me) to absorb what I read. Typically I use OpenDyslexic, too, which helps, but I changed the font so that it would be more legible for y’all.)
Goes to show you that the “meanings” of these repeating numbers are going to vary depending on what system you’re working in and what symbolism rattles around in your head. The lists and websites about “angel numbers” won’t acknowledge that, though. In fact, very few give any references as to where these meanings are coming from at all. With that in mind, why trust “angel numbers” as a concept?
I can see on Google that a could of sites are claiming that “angel numbers” is an ancient concept dating back to Pythagoras. Yeah, no. Pythagoras had nothing to do with “angel numbers.” Rather, Pythagoras is the founder of a school of numerology. While I’d consider the “angel numbers” concept to be a a (warped) form of numerology, it’s utterly unlike what Pythagoras actually taught.
In reality, of course, Pythagoras was a philosopher, mathematician, and a legit mystic. He conjured a complex system of numerology, and it endures today in some circles. It’s way different than those angel numbers, though! Have a look! This particular page, by the unbeatable Benebell Wen, focuses on using numerology to find your “life path” number, which can then be analyzed alongside other numerological values,
Notice that the meanings are compartmental, meant to be understood within a wider context. They also have both positive and negative aspects of each number listed. The negative aspects are actually negative. Life path numbers are described in terms like arrogant, bossy, argumentative, codependent, egocentric.. and yet, also with positive qualities, such as leadership skills, a nurturing mindset, a strong work ethic, a propensity to help the less fortunate, etc. Other life paths get described as artists, fighters, leaders
Pythagorus’s numerology proper gives the spirits a lot of vocabulary for communicating with you. A spirit trying to warn you of something, for example, might do it more easily with this traditional Pythagorean numerology than through angel numbers.
Above is a clip from the article on Pythagorean numerology, discussing various “life paths.” You’ve got the good, the bad and the ugly traits listed for life paths one and two. The rest of the nine paths are treated with an equal degree of balance. While this particular numerology page doesn’t provide as much info on Pythagoras himself, it’s obviously a far cry from “the microwave said 3:33, it means the ascend masters are around me,” or the usual “good things coming soon” vibe of most angel numbers.
In other words, Pythagorean numerology has little to do with angel numbers and the New Agers should probably stop saying he “discovered angel numbers” or trying to link him to them in any way. He was a mathematician in addition to his philosophical work, and he did teach that the universe could be reduced to numbers ultimately, but that’s a far cry from the angel number mythos.That site I just linked has a lot of other good information, too. I really like Benebell’s work.
Ironically, as I’m writing this, I see that the clock says 3:33 am, but I doubt I’ll post it until later today. I recognize synchronicities are real and may even be messages from specific spirits, but I don’t believe this angel number concept is the best paradigm for approaching them. There’s nothing challenging about it, nothing to get your blood flowing, no liminal push, no impetus to grow. Just “expect the highest good,” and “your vibration is rising,” etc.
Again, I hope this doesn’t offend too many people.
I’m not trying to be mean or insult people who actually do like the angel numbers concept. I just really dislike it, for the reasons I’ve given. If you’re fond of it, it’s just something we’ll have to agree to disagree about. I gotta admit, I question the discernment involved. I don’t think indulging in the concept makes you a bad person or anything like that.
After all, you’re not exactly harming another person by fiddling with these angel numbers. I’m just saying that from my perspective (which was requested), angel numbers can sometimes promote toxic positivity and spiritual bypassing. And I do think there’s better paradigms for learning numerology out there. I’m sure there’s books on numerology in various cultures that give actual details unlike angel number memes.
Most of my numerology studies (smallish, my main interests are elsewhere) came form books that weren’t about numerology, but had a section or two about it.
If anyone else has any thoughts, feel free to reblog with them…
Anyways, my personal favorite angel number is 420 I guess. 🤣
#witchcraft#witchblr#angel#angel numbers#angels#witch#enochian#spiritual bypassing#toxic positivity#synchronicity#eliza.txt#magic
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You, forever (Chapter X: Dance Macabre)
Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x g/n reader
Summary: The Clergy takes something from Copia, but he refuses to let go.
Warnings/tags: descriptions of corpses, death, blood and violence. Biblical references and Satanism. Angst. Around 8K words.
A/N: The end is here. I want to dedicate this chapter to King Satan. None of this would have been possible without Him.
PREV CHAPTER HERE
"The fifth angel sounded, and I saw a star fall from heaven unto the earth. To him was given the key of the bottomless pit. He opened it and there arose smoke and the sun and the air were darkened. There came out of the smoke locusts upon the earth."
Breathe.
The sky remains calm. Ominous gray clouds obscure the firmament, rendering it black. Copia’s eyes gradually lift from the old, decayed remains of marble tiles and rubble on the floor, examining the area until they inevitably fall on you.
Breathe again.
Copia’s heart jumps inside his ribcage, stopping scarcely for a moment before resuming a measured, heavy pace. His organ throbs and whines painfully, beating slowly. The sensation it’s terribly burdensome, as if his heart alone weighed more than his entire body. Mouth agape, he battles to inhale but even if the air enters his lungs, there’s no substance in it.
The entire world has come to an abrupt stop. No birds or cicadas dare to sing, not even the wind whistles in his ears. Copia is unsure if he’s still alive and breathing, or if he has ceased existing too. His fingers twitch, not quite moving, but desperately yearning to reach out.
You are standing in front of him. As beautiful as the last day he saw you, laying in bed and sleeping soundly. Copia remembers that morning previous to his trip, before the word crumbled at his feet. He recalls your tousled hair in the pillows, the way the dim light fell on your exposed body and how the sheets and blankets swirled around your figure. Copia remembers the little smile on your tender lips, the way your eyelashes fluttered when you acknowledged his departure.
That morning, the sky was equally dark as today, rain threatening to fall at any given moment. Now, even if the air is humid and saturated with dew, Copia fears no storm. The ground could break into a thousand pieces, turning into nothing but fire and lava, and he would nevertheless try to reach out, to hold you even if dread and guilt anchor his feet.
Suffocating as it is, Copia is sure he’d rather experience forever this solid weight his heart carries than to lose you again. It would be a hungry beast to feed, a dreary peace coated in blood and sacrifice. But worth it, so worth it.
It’s been months, years, an eternity since he saw you standing for the last time…And now, now Copia’s right hand lifts, fingers shaking and yearning to take yours. Yet, he doesn’t dare to. His feet are glued to the ground.
Frozen in place, Copia can only stare at the way Goore’s hands hold your waist and wrist, firm grip restraining you in place. There’s a black blindfold obstructing your vision, and the hair falls on your forehead in a way he’s convinced you must hate.
Yes, you used to despise that. His memories may have faded now, to the point he’s no longer certain what is reality and what a dream, barely a product of his imagination and mind tricks. Copia no longer remembers his past, the days and nights have become a blurry, mushed mess in his jaded brain. However, he’s sure of this.
If it’s about you, then he naturally knows it. He feels it in his guts, in his heart.
In front of him, you remain both hauntingly beautiful and sinister, much like the phantasmagorical version of you he has kept alive all this time inside his mind.
“For you,” Goore announces, definitely shattering the deep silence. The tree tops move with the wind, practically in slow motion. “Right back from the bottomless pit.”
One step, then another. Copia’s legs vacillate, weakening at the sight of you oscillating limply in Goore’s arms. Your hand moves by degrees, in a very artificial and articulated way, almost as if there were invisible strings holding you together by the joints. He breathes through his teeth, raw air freezing his insides.
And yet, he moves. There’s no strength, no soul behind his flesh, only muscle memory keeping him upward. Copia’s hand extends again, fingers narrowly brushing the hair on your forehead before something hastily strikes at his face.
The effort to move out of the way makes his heart race. At least, now he’s sure he’s alive. Goore’s laugh pierces the silence, demolishing it into a thousand pieces as a low growl dies in your throat.
Copia swallows, but there’s no saliva in his mouth. His tongue is dry, and something wet is scurrying down his cheek. The realization hits him like a train.
It’s blood. He’s bleeding, from a shallow cut on his forehead.
Oh, impious father, why must he keep suffering? Hasn’t he given enough? Hasn’t he sacrificed everything, everyone in this spiteful earthly realm? He only wanted one thing, and that was to live with you, to love you. Was it too much? Was it so greedy of him, to desire your love?
Is he so wicked, so cursed that not even Satan himself would grant him his one, true desire?
It’s hard to accept it, to face the truth. You have attacked him, mercilessly tried to claw his eyes out of his face. Copia could cry, but his throat is closed and his soul is tired, empty. His lip merely quivers, before he regains control.
Behind his back, he perceives the muffled growling of the Ghouls. The tails are flickering and wiping the air, in a visible demonstration of their uneasiness. Copia gestures for them to calm down, but the growl persists, only becoming a dull rumble he chooses to ignore.
Mary’s chuckles are completely different. This time, their hands nudge you away, making you trip on a pile of debris. Your body doesn’t hit the ground, only because they grip both of your wrists before the fall, keeping your nails away from their face.
“Careful,” Mary advises, blowing a few strands of hair out of their eyes. “Their wrath knows no difference between a friend and a foe.”
“What have you done to them?”
As much as his soul hurts, there is no anger reflected in his voice. Copia is terribly numb, too exhausted to even consider devoting his energy on someone like Goore. If he’s about to plumber to the ground and allow nature to consume him to the very core, then he wants to use his last vital force to hug you and be with you under the moonlight.
“Me? I opened the pit that kept their soul trapped in the underworld. Just like you asked me to.”
“This is not…” Copia begins, but the words taste bitter, like poison. He debates whether or not to say them, pondering if it’s better to spit them out and release them to contaminate the ground or swallow them and hope to die from their venom. “This is not… the person I used to know.”
No. You, the one he fell for, would have never hurt him. You were kind, lovely, so full of warmth. Copia detects bits of you in the creature he has in front of his eyes, notes the resemblance, but there are also striking differences. It feels as if he is looking at you through a thick, colored glass or a distorted mirror.
You’re the same and yet, you’re a stranger. He can’t overlook the way his muscles spam and tremble when he takes a step back, head shaking. Oh, how afraid he is, how strongly the anguish tears into his throat. He’s terrified, frightened of you and of himself, of the things he has done and the blood on his hands and clothes.
The fear in his small pupils is evident. Goore sees it even in the gloomy night, smells it permeating the air. Their lips stretch again, a wide grin on their face. “Man, don’t be like that,” they say, fingers digging into your cheeks. A growl escapes through your teeth, but you remain in place.
When Copia doesn’t move, Mary continues. “You heard that? He doesn’t want you anymore,” they mock, turning your head in the other’s direction. Only a low gasp exits his lips. “You can’t rely on a man’s loyalty, believe me. Been there, done that.”
Finally, his words elicit a reaction. “That’s not…!” Copia complains. To ever think about leaving you or, Lord forbid, you discarding him makes his blood burn, then freeze. You can’t. He loves you. He needs you. You have promised to stay together eternally, to rot and burn forever united. “You must have made a mistake. Something is wrong, I know it!”
Rejoicing in Copia’s internal turmoil, Goore merely huffs in response. Their eyes are wide open, pupils blown inside the light irises. The gaze is intense, malevolent even. If there’s a spawn of the deepest circles of Hell on earth, then it’s Goore.
Maybe it’s not Death the one who didn’t want them. Maybe even Satan preferred to keep them far away.
“Well, you made me speed up the process way too much. Human resurrection is not as simple as one might think.” A long pause. Mary’s fingers uncurl from your wrists, pushing you away. Your legs tremble and give up, barely regaining your footing before reaching the ground. “Why, though? Death doesn’t take everything away, only the soul. The flesh and bones remain, just like the memories stored in the brain. If you give them a little push, a spark of life, they start moving like flesh puppets.”
Yes, that sounds right. Most of Goore’s projects were just flesh puppets made to satisfy whatever selfish desire they had. It quickly became a boring hobby, a stale one. Mary wanted more. So, they got more. “But yours? This one has a vigorous, tortured soul. That’s why it’s fucked up. I told you to only bring the body back.”
“You’d say it’d work.”
“It works. They need some adaptation time to reconnect the soul, body and memories.” Or so, Mary hopes. All their past projects were incomplete, way too complicated to be allowed inside the Ministry. You’re different, a masterpiece, a beautiful creation. “If you still want them, here they are. Hell, I’ll make them behave for you.”
A deep breath is all it takes. When Goore concentrates, it’s almost as if the cords holding you in place suddenly tensed up. Like a puppet with no visible strings, your back straightens and both feet get planted firmly on the dirt. A twitch of their fingers makes you twirl and dance round and round under the ghastly moonlight.
It’s awful.
“See? Are they not more beautiful now?"
No. It's terribly awful. Copia stares, eyes wide open, air frozen in his throat. His guts hurt, and he feels about to puke. “Stop!” he yells, moving forward. His fingers touch you for the first time, and there’s a spark there. He feels shivers down his spine, the bile rising to his mouth.
Oh, Satan, if he’s been a good servant, then he only pleads one thing: let this be a nightmare. Copia is suddenly small, so scared, both happy to finally hold you but terrified of this reality. He has you back, but something is terribly wrong, he can tell. The realization of what he has done, how he has turned you into this, condemned you to this monstrosity, hits like a train. He could cry, sob and wail for days to come.
But he doesn't. “Just leave them and go. We are done here.”
“As you wish,” Mary says, starting to walk. They stop before crossing the old Ministry’s gate, head tilted to one side making the long bangs fall on their eyes. “If you put them back in places they used to like, their memories will come back quicker and maybe they’ll regain some of their humanity. Don’t remove the blindfold yet, the resurrected don’t like it. There’s a reason why Nihil had to wear those stupid sunglasses during the rituals.”
“Maybe, you say?” The leather gloves make a loud noise over the silence when he clenches his fists tight, knuckles turning pale under the cold material. “I sacrificed everything I ever had to the Old One, and all you can give me is a maybe?”
Under his breath, Papa Emeritus IV curses. Why? Why is this happening to him? He was chosen. He’s Papa now.
It’s not fair. Life has never been fair to him. Maybe Imperator was right all this time. If you want something, you don’t ask for it, you don’t pray and hope to get it.
No. You conquer, you destroy, you take it by force. That’s how she lived, no fear, no guilt, no shame. And Satan liked it, Copia is sure. He rejoiced in the suffering she caused, fed off the atrocities and sacrifices she offered. Satan is a cruel mouth to feed in the Ministry, a curse that weighs on top of all of them, all the time.
In this world, either you bleed, or others do it. There’s no magical benediction, no way to free the soul from curses. They are all slaves to someone. Perhaps Terzo was also right. There should be no God, and no Satan.
There should be only men, only himself.
Blown pupils burning holes on Papa’s face, Goore speaks up one last time. “What can I say? Suffering for the Lord is not an easy thing.”
Copia allows himself to fall to his knees when Mary crosses the gates and disappears into the darkness. Behind his back, the ghouls mutter between each other, words in a language he can’t recognize. If they are laughing or mocking him, he doesn’t care.
In his arms, now on the ground next to him, your body twitches. Copia takes hold of your wrists, pulls them until your head comes to rest on his chest. The tickle of your hair on his cheek reminds him of old, better times. It’s a bitter comfort, a loving touch to his starved skin.
“Amore, it’s okay,” he whispers over your hair. “You’re home now. I’m here with you.”
There’s no reply. Holding you closer, Copia lets his eyelids fall as he slowly rocks his body back and forth, humming an old song. When your skin begins to retain part of his heat, he feels a smile forming on his lips. The humming grows louder, melody vibrating in his vocal cords.
Oh, how happy he is. Copia’s mouth opens to let out a joyful chuckle, but only sobs come out of it. The tears fall on your hair, clinging to the strands like dew drops.
“It was commanded to them that they should hurt only those men which have not the seal of God in their foreheads. In those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.”
In the abbey, although now run down by the passage of time and the unforgiving fire, there is a garden.
Long time ago, Papa Emeritus I took it as his job to build an educational area where Siblings could study and research herbs and plants used to treat diseases or to create deadly poisons. The exotic species were guarded by gargoyles and surrounded with beautiful painted tiles, a gift he received from a Bishop resident in northern Italy.
When Papa Emeritus I died, the maintenance of the garden fell on the Siblings. Shortly after, diverse rumors began to be spread, whispered in a hushed voice on the hallways. Some Siblings were convinced the soul of the old Papa was still roaming around, carefully tending to the plants and haunting anybody who dared to disrupt the peaceful and educational nature of the garden.
If the rumors are true, Copia doesn’t know it. The whole yard is nothing but a burned, withering mountain of weeds and dry leaves. There’s no ghost tormenting him, not heavy weight pounding down his shoulders and no promises of revenge coming from Primo.
It’s almost disappointing. Sitting under a tree, Copia wishes Primo could be here. The old man used to be the least bothersome of them all, and also the one who dedicated himself to the church the most. If only he could be near, willing to impart his wisdom for a bit of time, he’d be grateful.
Some kind of ancient rite, a special herb conjunction or even a spell could help him sleep for a whole night, without falling prey to the terrible horrors of his dreams. Copia endures the way his eyelids weigh down, desperate to offer some relief to his weary eyes. His sight is blurry, sclera bloodshot.
Copia is tired, so tired all the time.
There’s no respite for his old soul. He can’t rest, for as long as your situation remains uncertain. Copia knows deep in his heart that you must ache so badly. Still, on long days and eternal nights, he merely wishes to hold onto your body and wrap his arms around you, whispering sweet nothings into your skin. If love could heal and relieve any ailment, if it could become a vital motor of life, then you would live perpetually in peace.
What a selfish idea. And yet, love is such a selfish, cruel thing to impose on others. The crushing weight of it, the brutal nature of desire and hope… Copia is aware of how abrasive his longing is, of how much his love will follow you like a restless shadow. He recognizes, deep down, that he is constantly asking so much. He’s begging for things no one else ever gave him, for him was not even worth the idea of it.
And you didn’t care about it. You never minded his flaws or his ugliness. Instead, you embraced every little detail with the tenderness of a lover.
Love: brutal, wonderful, cruel and tender, both a blessing and a curse. Since that first moment you asked for a dance, he hasn’t experienced peace.
There’s no peace for you either. He understands how being trapped in this existence must hurt you. Still, when the idea of ending it enters his mind, he feels repulsed. No matter how much his hands hover over your neck, wishing to squeeze it until you stop moving, he doesn’t.
No, you must stay by him, love him beyond death. You will come back to him, forever his. During interminable nights, you two will dance under the moonlight and eternal sky. The flames of his desire and adoration will burn as bright as the stars, but not as much as your gaze when your eyes meet his.
You’re his fate. Copia will do anything to make sure no one will ever touch you again. Nothing will happen. Not anymore. He’s not weak, he has found strength and power hidden deep within his guts.
Copia died, the same day he lost you, and now he’s been reborn. Just like Christ.
A whole new figure.
A whole new person.
You’re a whole new person too. Two lovers, different than they used to be but still reaching out to each other, swimming eternally in damnation.
And damned, that you are. In the dark, the earth trembles and crumbles. A deep pit, no bottom to be seen, opens its mouth to devour you whole.
Falling. You are falling away from the light, the warmth. Consumed by the shadows and the cold, your fingers reach for the sky, for whatever vestige of light that your eyes can see.
It’s useless. Heaven has darkened, and wisps of smoke curl around your body, engulfing every inch. It’s freezing, everywhere. The frigid air burns in your lungs, bites at the exposed skin of your cheeks rendering it numb. Gradually, all your muscles become numb, rigid.
Stiff, falling into nothingness, you try to focus on the last ray of sunshine in the distance. Through tear coated lashes, your pupils stare until the smoke completely obscures your vision.
Something wet is on your face. Maybe it’s tears, blood. Or maybe it has begun to rain.
Descending, you close your eyes. There’s nothing to observe anymore. No sound, either. Deep in silence, you wish something would save you. What’s happening? Where’s Copia? Why isn’t he here, with you, holding your hand?
Is this… the end? Just like that? It’s not like falling asleep. No, it’s like drowning in liquid darkness, thick fluid filling your mouth and nose and permeating your lungs.
It burns, so hard. The pain doesn’t feel right. It’s not raw, real pain. No, it’s more like a vague memory, as if you were merely remembering past sensations.
Death, won’t you spare me over until another year?
Someone hauls you out of the dark pond. A frozen hand on your own. Moving your fingers, yanking your wrist. Someone is handling you, pulling, holding. A hand, long fingers, cold skin. Someone is there. Something is there.
Then…
Light, air, it’s too little, too much. Your eyes are open, but you can’t see. There’s dirt on them, something coating them. Blind, you reach out. Your ears ring, loud, so loud. It hurts, and this time the pain is right, raw, pure, vivid. You wish you could go back to where you were before, comfortably numb, lost away.
Who…
Who are you?
Everything is overly bright, too loud. There are voices, too many of them, screaming until your ears ring. Pressing on them doesn’t help. Your nails dig in your scalp, and now there’s warm, fresh blood dripping down your forehead too.
What happened?
Where are you?
Who are you?
Memory broken into pieces, shattered beyond recognition, you try to move but your body doesn’t respond. The voices keep screaming. Or maybe that’s just you.
“The sixth angel sounded, and I heard a voice from the four horns of the golden altar which is before God, saying to the sixth angel which had the trumpet, “Loose the four angels which are bound in the great river Euphrates”. And the four angels were loosed, which were prepared to slay the third part of men. By these three was the third part of men killed, by the fire, and by the smoke, and by the brimstone, which issued out of their mouths.”
“Have you ever heard of the Codex Gigas, my girl?”
The Nameless Ghoulette stands still, long fingernails going over the edge of the desk. Copia perceives the body heat radiating from her, senses the strong outburst of intense energy that she releases.
“It’s an old tale,” she responds, clicking her tongue. “But humans like to change stories as they please, so I wouldn't know much.”
Slowly, Copia nods. The myths around Codex Gigas, known as “The Devil’s bible”, are various. “Legend says it was written during the 13th century in a Benedictine monastery in Bohemia, by a condemned monk seeking absolution. He admitted having committed numerous sins, including fornication, gluttony, envy and bestiality.”
“A spicy one,” she adds, a smile on her face. The gesture is partially obscured by the black mask, but there’s an unmistakable gleam in her pupils.
The amusement she provides is contagious. Copia allows himself to let out a few hollow chuckles, too. “That’s not what the Abbot thought. They sentenced the monk to be walled up alive, but before the punishment was completed he begged for mercy,” he explains. “They ordered him to make a book that would include all the world’s knowledge, and to do it in a single night.”
The task was impossible. In the secret underground library, Copia’s eyes absentmindedly examine the pages on top of the desk. The manuscript is ancient, faded by the inclemency of time. Next to him, the Ghoulette’s fingers continue drawing lines on the desk, nails following the swirling pattern of wood. “The monk made a deal with Satan. He surrendered his soul in exchange for the book.”
“Our Father is too kind. What use would He have for an old human soul?”
Kindness. If Copia ever had to describe Satan in a way, he’d never employ that word. Kindness is a human emotion, a trace of something He could never comprehend. Much like the infernal creature next to him, the Old One might behave and speak like a human, present himself as he wishes, but he’d never understand the whole spectrum of human emotions.
No, Satan isn’t kind or cruel. Copia used to believe he knew so much about the Lord, about the principles and history of their religion. Maybe a part of him, that intrinsic mortal part of himself, was so afraid of the unknown he clung to whatever could offer him respite. The idea of being watched over, guided, protected by Him…
That idea made Copia feel safe, wanted, needed. Now…
Now he no longer experiences such stupid feelings. “I don’t believe Satan asked for an old soul either,” he carries on, sucking in a deep breath. “I think he wanted the book to be written, shared between humans.”
“He took it as a personal project, then? Was He giving a message to humans?”
The silence in the room is profound when Copia nods, pupils observing the flickering flames of a torch. It’s cold between these walls, incredibly so. Deep in the underground tunnels, he barely remembers the sensation of the sun on his skin, the warmth coming from it.
As cold and dark as it is, Copia would rather spend most of his time there than to adventure to the upper levels, where you are kept under the watchful eye of the Nameless Ghouls. He left some of them caring for you, being unable to face the task himself without his stomach churning and hands trembling.
No, it was too hard, extremely nerve-racking. He’s a coward. Copia knows it, and yet…
Yet he’s only human, weak and flawed. No one could blame him, though. Even the Ghouls appear uneasy to spend time in your presence, flickering their tails and baring their teeth when you make a sudden move. It makes them tense, to be in front of someone who resembles a human but it’s anything but it.
An insistent tapping on the desk plumbers Copia back to the present. “It has all the world’s knowledge, from above and below. It’s a treasure to many, a curse to even more people.”
Everything has a price; Copia has learnt it long ago. Wherever that book went, chaos and blood followed. “The manuscript is now at the National Library of Sweden in Stockholm,” he continues, waving a hand and staring back at the walls. “But it’s not complete. Ten whole pages are missing, and no one knows what they say.”
From the corner of his eyes, Copia manages to catch a glimpse of the fleeting glint on the infernal creature’s eyes. The opaque glass does nothing to hide it. She’s interested in his story, probably more interested than any other ghoul would be.
It’s not a surprise. Ghoulettes are, after all, more ambitious, smarter and unruly.
The words are measured when he speaks up again. “No one but Sister Imperator and me,” he declares, moving the stack of papers closer to the demon. Her fangs glisten under the golden light when her mouth opens, a grin on the lips. “These are the missing pages. They were hidden under the Ministry, behind a secret passage. I don’t know how they came to be here, or who brought them, but whoever that was is now gone and forgotten.”
Gradually, the Ghoulette steps closer. Copia senses the faint whistle of her breathing under the mask, and endures the unmistakable heat of her body. She smells like burnt wood and smoke, a mix of sweet briar and incense coating her clothes. The sharp nails trace the pages, written in neat calligraphy. All the letters are the same size and style, still clear over the yellowish paper.
Copia’s hand darts out to prevent her from tearing the thin paper, but he halts before making contact. Ghoulettes are scarier and more dangerous than their male counterparts. They don’t react well to any aggression.
No. In general, Ghoulettes don’t react well to any man. Since the beginning of the times, they have chosen to aid women. During centuries, only priestesses were able to summon and strike a deal with Nameless Ghoulettes. It was a major surprise when pathetic, poor little Cardinal Copia was the one who without precedence managed to summon not one, but three.
Imperator was immensely proud. She bragged about it to Nihil for days. "I told you my boy is special," she said. "He's the one we were searching for, Papa."
Contrary to his own fears, the creature doesn’t shred it. The pages crack under the soft pressure, but remain intact. “What are they about?” she asks.
“How to summon Satan, the coming of the Antichrist…”
“Beware of the storms that gather in the sky,” the text said. “For the thunder will bloom and the birds will caw. Listen to the moonlit star, the one who exclaims: ‘I see no day, only the cold night that will fall, summoned by your own hand.’”
The story matches that one The Clergy used to repeat. A secretive nun, carrying the old man’s bastard child. Copia heard it a thousand times, without completely understanding all the implications of it. To many, it was just an old scary tale to tell in the dark, some wishful thinking.
And yet…
The crows were incredibly loud the night Goore was born, their file said.
“The Earth will shake and break, and death all around will rise, lifting old hopes from shallow, troubled graves. The estranged son will return, unleashed from the bottomless pit.”
Everything matches. The first time Copia read it; he didn’t pay much attention to it. Now, after everything he has gone through, after studying Goore’s old files and witnessing the raw nature of their power…
Now Copia’s eyes are wide open. Why would Satan choose someone like Goore as The One? He can’t grasp it. Goore is everything The Clergy feared and despised, everything himself tried to avoid. He was devoted, a believer… He gave up everything for this cause, for the Ghost project and the church.
Goore never had to give up anything. Goore only took and brought devastation. But...
“Straight out of Hell, the Antichrist will walk the earth.”
Maybe Copia never truly understood his own Lord. For all one knows, he is and has always been wholly Fatherless, alone.
And perhaps that’s the way it should be.
There is something else in the pages, something no one should ever witness. It’s dangerous in the wrong hands, revolutionary in good ones. And his, his are meant to hold these pages. “The last pages are the more interesting ones. They share the forbidden, necessary knowledge to become Him.”
In a swift movement, the Ghoulette’s nails press harder. Copia looks at her, notes the way her fangs are bared and her pupils are blown behind the opaque glass. “Become Him, you say?”
“Did you know Satan is a given name? Much like Emeritus, it’s only a title. It means adversary,” a pause. “The Satan we serve had this power bestowed upon, at the beginning of the times. But you know how it is with empires. They must fall, one day.”
“That’s a risky thing to affirm, especially to a servant.”
“I always thought Ghoulettes had a bit more independence, but I might be mistaken.”
The Ghoulette thinks, for long seconds. There is a loud rumble coming from her throat. “You are crazy,” she says, at last. “Completely mad, absolutely unhinged. Yet, now I see why my sisters heed your call. You have His fire. I’m curious.”
It’s time. He’s been pondering over it a lot, wondering what his next steps should be. To find himself suddenly lost, no Imperator or Saltarian to tell him what to do and no Dark Father to ask for guidance, Copia has been severely lost. Now, he’s seen the light.
With you back at his side, he can do anything. Even if you don’t completely come back as you were, he can march straight to Hell and recover whatever vestige of your soul might be still lost there.
It all makes sense now. He’s the number one, you’re his number two, and there’s so much work to do. “Are you and your sisters in the mood for some hunting? I think we have to send one last gift to our Father. As a farewell, si?”
“You know us well, Papa.” The Ghoulette leans in closer, a feral look in her eyes, pupils a slit. “Give us the command.”
In her ears, Papa whispers the words he has long wanted to tell. His white eye glimmers in the gloomy room while issuing the command and, with a click of his tongue, all the nefarious Ghoulettes are set loose on earth, to feast and to conquer.
There can only be one architect of the new world, and that is him.
“The rest of mankind who were not killed by these plagues still did not repent of the work of their hands; they did not stop worshiping demons, and idols of gold, silver, bronze, stone and wood—idols that cannot see or hear or walk. Nor did they repent of their murders, their magic arts, their sexual immorality or their thefts.”
They pass the old ministries' ruins first. Speeding through the tombstones and the raised roots, they run to the left, then right. The starless sky remains calm, motionless and frozen in time, like the rest of the forest.
The smell of rotten flesh is what gets to them, first. It’s a murky and complex fragrance, a mix of sulfur and old blood, of decay and putrefaction. In the distance, the faint grunts and wails become a dull rumble, barely audible over the raging sound of blood pumping in their veins.
It’s natural to run, pushing vigorously until the burn on their legs makes it painful to continue moving. Wherever their feet touch, the ground trembles and shatters open, bones and remaining tissue filling with the impulse of life. Maggots and flies swamp the place, sticking to their hair and clothes, crawling in the dirt and brimming over the air.
Despite their efforts, the flesh puppets don’t last. It makes sense. Necromancy is a fine art, much like playing guitar. You can’t simply grab an old, broken, forgotten instrument from the trash and make it sing. No, you require time to repair it, tune it and make it feel right underneath your fingertips. Just like that, you can’t take a decayed corpse and infuse vital energy and a soul back into it.
And fuck, you definitely can’t do it while running for your life.
A sudden, loud noise forces Goore to duck, rendering them immobile. Their legs tremble, muscles spamming after all the effort. Heaving for air, they pant as their back hits the trunk of an ancient tree. Not too far off, probably near the remnants of the abandoned chapel, the monsters feast and tear the flesh off the undead, their growls echoing into the night.
The smell is always the worst part. Sniffing the air, Goore detects the distant tinge of blood and rain. It’s odd, the sky is clouded but calm, and rain hasn’t fallen in ages. It’s almost as if it is waiting, waiting for something to come, for the hammer to ultimately fall.
The bittersweet stink of Death follows them through the woods and the cemetery. They continue running, escaping in vain. There’s no way they can outrun beasts from Hell, but the rush from this chase fills their body with a thrill.
Yes.
Goore only feels truly alive when he’s about to die.
The path deep in the shadows calls their name. Mary follows it, heavy combat boots crushing the dead leaves. The smell grows more pungent, distinctive, before the glint of a black mask becomes evident in his side vision.
Oh, there she is.
One of them, at least. The other two are apparently still hiding in the shadows, waiting to pounce and sink their claws and teeth in skin and muscle tissue. Goore’s boots sink into a mix of mud and leaves, fingers reaching up to remove a few branches off their hair.
Is this it, then?
The Ghoulette’s head tilts to one side by degrees, movement blurry and paused. There’s a loud crackling sound coming from her, a deep growl circling around them. Goore stares, and it resembles the feeling of watching a movie that’s slightly corrupted, all missing frames and delayed noises. In the distance, he hears a final wail, and it’s not hard to sense the last one of their flesh puppets has fallen.
Well, it was fun while it lasted, at least.
“Are we delaying this any further, or…?” They ask, voice vaguely coated with mockery. “Are you supposed to deliver a message?”
No one answers. Those round glasses on the visor glint, mask slowly regaining its original position before tilting to the other side. Mary’s skin shivers when something blows air over the exposed skin of his neck and hell, there is the other one.
Right next to them.
The razor sharp claws dig over their leather jacket, making it creak. The strength is not enough to pierce the thick material, but Goore nevertheless feels the bite. From up close, the glint in the creature’s eyes is almost blinding. Her pupils remain nothing but slits, thin and long, inside the irises. He notices it even through the dark glass.
“No message for you,” a voice says. It comes from within the forest.
Silence grows more deafening in the woods. Not even the bugs dare to disturb it. The only sound comes from their wild, beating heart and from the rush of hot blood, so loud in their ears. “I’m a bit disappointed,” their voice is a growl, a low rumble through gritted teeth. “He could at least curse me, at the end.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll curse you enough.”
Everything goes dark. It’s only a few seconds, a blink it’s all it takes. When Mary opens their eyes again, they are staring right into the clouded sky. The tree tops obscure their vision, leaves falling in slow motion before swirling in the wind. The ground is damp under their back, and something wet trickles down their forehead.
Blood. It tastes like blood when they lick their lips to clean it off. A drumming sound fills his ears, rhythmic and rapid. Mary inhales, snatches a shallow breath before enduring the burning cold of the air. The indistinct murmur of the demons comes from their right, words almost unintelligible.
Fuck. They are awake, but soon it will change. These creatures are hungry for blood and despair, insatiable. Goore fears no death, not anymore, yet the pain stabs their nerves right to the core. Once again, their body grows cold, muscles tense and skin too tight.
“Should we play with it first?”
“Papa said to have fun.”
Mary blinks once, then twice. Each time their eyes open, there’s the same gloomy sky and the tree tops. Their head hangs to one side, body completely limp in the hands of the demons. The stench of blood is extremely pungent, and their clothes are completely soaked in it.
Fuck. The world moves around them in a hazy bliss, almost like a dream they can’t completely wake up from. Midnight has passed long hours ago, and now it’s the devil’s time, the hour for them to rise again and bathe in the perverted lust of gore.
If the glimmering fangs and shiny eyes of a demon it’s the last thing they see, that’s okay. They feel no guilt, no shame. Heart hammering in their ribcage, wild adrenaline pumping along the blood, Goore smiles one last time. They only wonder how long it’ll be until they are reborn in morbidity, just like before.
Until then, they’ll remain as nothing but another bloody corpse, forgotten and buried under an upside-down cross.
“The seventh angel sounded his trumpet, and there were loud voices in heaven, which said: “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign for ever and ever.” And the temple of God was opened in heaven, and there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament: and there were lightning, and voices, and thunderings, and an earthquake, and great hail.”
“Amore, careful there, please.”
This place… Copia recalls it as if it was yesterday. He had been ordained Papa, there was a party in his honor and he felt overwhelmed, shaken. Imperator urged him to prance around and talk to people, something he dreaded. He hid underground, in his sheltered place away from prying ears and judgmental eyes.
You were beautiful, as always, but even more wonderful that night. Copia feels his throat tighten at the remembrance, caresses the memory inside of his mind with barely the tip of his fingers. He doesn’t want to stain it, doesn’t wish for it to shatter under the weight of his actions.
Oh, how ethereal you looked, how soft your voice was when you asked him to dance with you. He recalls the fragrance of your perfume, the softness of your hair on his cheek when he leaned his face on the top of your head. How gentle your embrace was, that time. How grateful he felt to be alive, to be able to experience all the wonder of your love, the tenderness of your touch.
Tonight, among the same walls, Copia feels like crying. If it’s out of happiness from having you back or pure despair for all these past months, he doesn’t know it.
“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate"
“Careful here too, my dear,” Copia guides you through the door, eyes buried on the ancient inscriptions that sit at the top of the old stone. Your hands are stiff, and your body moves practically in slow motion, not quite following the same rhythm you used to have.
It’s okay, he understands how tired you must be, how much your muscles and heart ache. Copia’s fingers scarcely trace over your wrists and back of the hands, supporting you as if you were about to break into a thousand pieces with the slight pressure.
Oh, how careful he is, how attentive. He shushes softly, whispering sweet nothings into the air as he escorts you through the place. The black blindfold blocks your sight, but your head follows the sound of his voice and he can almost picture the adoring look in your pupils, the gentleness of your gaze.
If the blindfold is there to shield you from overstimulation or to protect himself from the hate it might fill your stare, he doesn’t recognize it either.
It doesn’t matter. Copia stops in the middle of the ample room, next to the old fountain. His arms embrace you, and you melt into his hold. Copia’s heart stops, restarts at a measured pace, both heavy and pained. You melt into him, between his arms, as if you have never belonged anywhere else.
Silently, he accepts it. Stiff and frightened, his breath hitches when your hand raises, slow as if someone was gradually pulling from the strings that hold you together.
When your nails hardly caress one strand of his hair, Copia feels like crying again. No, not crying. Breaking down, sobbing, wailing, screaming into the night. He's tired, so fatigued and wounded, but your touch is so affectionate, lovingly. It feels like a dream. Even if it's nothing but muscle memory, you cling onto him just like you did that night, so many years ago.
The world seemed so small back then.
Copia allows you to card your fingers through his hair like a young boy tasting love for the first time. To the entire world, he might be the terrible and ruthless Papa Emeritus the IV, a merciless murderer, but not to you. To you, he’s sentimental and vulnerable, nothing but an enamored fool.
Not a single sound breaks the calming silence. Standing in the middle of the room, he looks at you with full attention for the first time in forever. You have become a strange and beautiful companion, skin still ghastly but slowly recovering a glimpse of life. Immobile, your face bears a languid expression and your breathing is so fast your chest rises and falls with a tumultuous respiration.
Copia wants to soothe you, to give you the whole world if you desire so. “I’ll ask you something, just like what you asked that night after I became Papa," he whispers, instead. "Can I be the first person to dance with you, now that you have returned to me? ”
There’s no reply. No verbal, at least. Unhurriedly, your arm lifts up in his direction, extended hand hanging in the air that separates both of you. Copia's mouth remains agape, eyes wide open. If you are a serpent of temptation, the snake offering him the apple of sin, then he’s Eve’s trembling hand blindly reaching for you.
He takes it and knows there’s no turning back. Your hands are cold, but he can’t let go. No, there’s no moment to let go. He’s been calling for you for so long, just like he’d call forever. Copia’s face falls on your shoulders, lips trembling as he presses a light kiss over the soft material of your clothes. He chokes on the whimpers his mouth refuses to let out, eyes closing and brows furrowing. His lids stay pressed tight, lashes coating in tears.
A hand on your waist and another holding your wrist, Copia begins to move slowly. It’s like that first time he danced with you, soon after the release of Prequelle. He was incredibly nervous back then, so scared of you. A part of him feels the same now, nothing but old Cardinal Copia clinging to an unknown Sibling of Sin, wishing for the night to never end.
The air is frozen inside his lungs when your hand moves to his shoulder. Most of your body is still limp, so Copia holds close, guiding you around the place. Eyes closed, he bears most of your weight, experiencing the renewed ardor of a lover. His breath hitches when your cold lips travel along his cheek in the resemblance of a kiss.
Oh, no. He feels like sobbing again, lower lip quivering as he murmurs on your habits. “You are mine,” he declares, placing another kiss. “You and I are one forever.”
Underground, hiding from a world on fire, Copia has never felt more at peace. He is awake in your coiling spirit, illuminated in blood and fire.
It's natural for his hands to tighten on your body. The dancing becomes faster, flowing on the old marble floor. Copia senses how your fingers slowly curl on his clothes too, feet barely gaining a bit more of traction. He hums a song, the same song you hummed for him that time, the same one he used to sing to you on long nights before sleeping to help you relax, or after interminable nights of loving you under the moonlight.
The melody is carried by the air and resonates on the walls before getting lost in the long halls. There’s no one else there, no ghouls or demons, no Satan or human that could ever interrupt this moment. Forever, he’ll dance with you forever, cling to you forever, be with you forever…
There’s a sting in the way your lips graze over his cheek again, barely brushing his own when his head turns around. The bells chime in the distance, coming from a now forgotten chapel. If this is the last time before the end, he just wants to be with you all night.
Below the surface, locked in a loving embrace and following the faint melody of his humming, you two waltz in circles.
“Copia?" You call. There's something wrong, because the sound seems to be coming from far away, anywhere but your vocal cords. It's too rough, full of static.
Throat dry, Copia struggles to find his own voice too. The anguish claws at his neck, but it doesn't matter. You don't give him time to answer anyway.
"I think it’s going to rain soon.”
Those words. He remembers them. Those words haunted him for days and night. You told him that, the night you confessed to him how scared you were for his safety, how much you feared for yourself too. Oh, he should have heed your words, should have listened to you.
No, instead he disregarded your worries, ignored your warning. He won't do that, never again.
"Yes, amore," he mutters, this time. "The wind has changed."
The silence falls upon both of you, once again. He doesn't mind it. It’s okay. No one will hurt you again. No one will bring you any harm. Copia will make sure of it. There’s no one else who could oppose him or challenge him.
No.
He’s God now.
Outside, the first drops of rain hit the ground. Soon, it hails.
“The lawless one opposes and exalts himself above every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, declaring himself to be God …”
2 Thessalonians 2:3–12
The end.
BONUS CHAPTER
#ghost band#ghost band fanfiction#papa emeritus iv#papa emeritus iv x reader#cardinal copia x reader#evil cardinal copia#antichrist copia#ghost band angst#my writing#my fics#you forever fic
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all dressed up
standalone or night walks 4
1.3k | dark!Joel x fem!reader | night walks master list
Warnings: nsfw 18+, SA technically, dub-con unsafe PIV, in public, mild degradation? idk, filth. no outbreak, neighbor
As you approach the drink wall of the convenience store, a man catches your eye with a sharp leather jacket over a bare chest. He’s in the snack aisle which is exactly where he belongs. You try not to let your eyes linger. While you're standing there at the cooler, he comes around and seems to be looking at you. You glance in his direction with a shy little smile and do a double take. He's wearing PJ pants. You finally look up past his chest and your face gets hot - it’s Joel Miller, the creepy older neighbor you've been trying not to fuck. He's not shirtless, but his neckline is crazy low.
"Well, look at us all dressed up," he says.
You check each other out for a moment before you say, “Nice jacket.”
“Nice dress,” he responds in a low, horny pitch as he moseys closer. He’s absolutely railing you with his eyes.
You’re facing the drink cooler and don’t turn in his direction. He crowds you from behind and lays a tan, veiny hand on your hip. You don't move.
He drops his snack behind you. “Uh oh,” he says ominously, then crouches down to pick it up.
He stays down there longer than necessary and inhales loudly. As he stands again, his palm skims your calf all the way up to your inner thigh, lifting the hem of your casual dress just slightly with a short, low whistle. All your blood rushes to your loins. He cups your ass cheek then gets even closer, stepping one foot in between yours. His cheek touches your hair. “Look good in black,” he murmurs into the back of your ear, referring to your panties. He puts both his hands on your hips, one of them holding his purple snack bag.
He gently presses his burgeoning arousal into you with a soft "Mm" and further hardens against your ass. You stand frozen, a pool forming in your panties.
He turns the snack bag over in his hand, still at your hip, and you look down at it. Takis Fuego. He runs two flattened fingers down your stomach, then creeps dangerously low and starts making small circles. "How 'bout I get somethin' less spicy?"
He haphazardly discards the Takis on the nearest shelf. When he gets back in your space, you become aware of a man watching, and you clear your throat.
"Everything okay over here?" The man asks and you softly elbow Joel to back up, but he doesn't.
You turn and say, “Uh. . . .Yeah, thanks.”
“You sure he isn’t bothering you?"
Your cheeks burn.
Joel answers, “What’d she say, man?”
“Thought she might want a little space, that’s all.”
“Want some space, pumpkin’?”
“Thanks for asking,” you tell the man. “I should get going,” you say to Joel.
You step away and grab a cold drink. What you really need is a cold shower.
Joel puts his hands in his jacket pockets and splays them out as he says, "if that's what ya want" and walks backward then turns to grab another snack on his way to the checkout. You linger so you don’t have to be behind him in line.
-
It’s a sketchy parking lot - just the gas station and liquor store. Unsavory characters loiter in the front near the pumps, so you parked in the back. It was deserted in your corner, but now Joel’s parked near you, closer than necessary. You aren't surprised to find him leaning with his side against your driver's side door. He's taken off the jacket. Arms crossed, hands jammed under his absurd biceps, a considerable bulge in his PJ pants. God damn, he's hot. Why does he have to be so hot?
"Knew I wasn't botherin' ya," he says smugly.
You sigh, unlock your car, and put your bag in the back seat. As soon as you close the back door and step forward, his arm and pecs flex, and in one swift motion, he pushes himself up with his hand planted on your door, pivots over you, and cages you against your car. He lays his hips into yours and your breath hitches. He grinds his rock-hard package right into your crotch and arousal shoots through your core to your breasts. His pants nor your cotton dress leave much unfelt.
"Bet ya woulda taken it right against the cooler," he says, looking from your mouth to your chest and back. His neck looks so strong.
He lowers his bare chest against you, buries his face in your neck, beard scratching your delicate skin, and sucks thirstily. A massive hand runs up the side of your thigh. He lightly drags his lips from your neck, up your chin, and over your lips, where he hesitates without kissing you. To your horror, your mouth latches onto his and won't let go. You accept his tongue hungrily and a soft grunt escapes the back of your throat. “Mmmm,” he says into your mouth. Your body begs to be filled.
He wraps an arm under yours and rests his hand between your shoulder blades, then pulls you off your car and into him. His other hand goes under your dress and engulfs your soaked panties.
-
"Damn," he says "what're we waitin' for." He takes your keys from your hand and puts them on top of your car.
Your cheeks burn and you look around. "This is-"
"Shhhh," he says into your cheek. He covers your lips with his for a few seconds, rubbing your clit just right. Then says, "We can do whatever we want."
He manhandles you over to his ride, opens the side door, and bends you over the seat. He pulls your dress up and your panties down, then pushes two thick fingers inside you and you gasp softly.
"Hell yeah,” he says as he feels you. “Couldn't be more ready, could ya?" You hate it when he's right. He pulls his waistband down, nestles his girthy cock at your entrance, and puts a hand on your lower back. Then he pushes the tip inside. "Here ya go, baby."
His stiff girth parts your insides, and with a burst of power, he bottoms out. It takes your breath away. He whispers, “fuck yeah” and retreats, then slams into you full-force to the hilt with a loud sigh.
"Know you love this cock," he says as he finds a rhythm. "Take it real good, too."
He slides a hand under your chest and gropes a breast as he pounds you, breathing hard and grunting. The tension builds deep in your gut. His cock feels so right inside you. You wish it wouldn't, but it does. You begin to move to meet his hips. Fuck, he feels good. You give up trying not to moan.
"Attagirl,” he says. “Bad to the bone."
You push back in rhythm as he rails you with his hands braced on your hips.
"Love this pussy,” he pants. Tight ‘n wet. . . starvin’ for me.”
His cockhead hits the right spot one more time, and you begin to unravel and clench around him with a moan you fail to hold in.
"Let it out baby," he pants as he pummels you through your waves of release. "loud as you wan-," he cuts himself off with a groan and his strong hands slam your ass into his hips. Then he pulses enormously inside you, and God, it feels good. You shouldn't like it, but it's so hot. You shut your eyes, afraid to see if anyone's watching.
“Knew you were bad, but damn,” he says as he catches his breath and you slide forward to let his length fall out.
As the rush fades, shame sets in. He's so vile. So self-satisfied. Even a random bystander could see what a menace he was. How does he prowl around like this doing whatever he wants, and getting away with it?
He offers you a smoke, but you tell him you have to go. And you tell yourself you should really stay away from him.
-
I feel like this relates to a couple of requests.
NW: @tehweeana @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339 @cutesyscreenname
All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione
Holler if I left you odd or you wanna be on (NW or all)
#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#night walks!joel#neighbor!joel#creepy!joel#pervy!joel#perv!joel miller#dark!joel miller#dark!joel#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal smut#toxicanonymity ☠️#nightwalks☠️#content label
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SINGING BOX Wednesday Addams x GN!Reader
🌲 a date with your girlfriend in the forest + wednesday not quite understanding how radios work
📻 warnings: brief mention of dead animals
Birds chirp and leaves rustle, as you and Wednesday make your way through the forest. You're pretty deep into the sea of trees, having been walking for a bit more than half an hour, and the further you walk the darker your surroundings become, the amount of trees growing dense and their leaves thick. It's beautiful, like the kind of forest in fairy-tales and aesthetic movies.
Wednesday is also enjoying the atmosphere, the ominous cracks of twigs and the almost howls of the forest breathing, the occasional animal skull, and the deep smell of the lively nature.
The two of you are on your way to some sort of... cave? You're not completely sure, Wednesday was pretty vague when explaining the expedition to you, and also gave you very little time to question it.
But even with very little preparation on your part, you've found that the travel is peaceful. It's just you, Wednesday, and the forest. You've both been mostly silent for a lot of the walk, but a comfortable silence that neither of you have any objections to.
"Here we are." Your girlfriend says as the two of you arrive at some sort of hole in the ground.
Wednesday drops your hand that she was holding for some of the walk, and kneels down to pull various items out of her bag.
You assess the cave-like-hole in front of you, and notice that it's not just a normal hole, but it tunnels down and curves until you can't see what's beyond the turn. There's no signs of human interference anywhere around you, but there is deep scratches carved into the rough stone of the bottom and walls of the cave.
"Nice." You comment at the now clear signs of some sort of aggressive creature who's clearly visited this hole at some point.
Wednesday nods, "Indeed. Now, wait up here, I'll be a minute."
You shrug, and sit down, dangling your legs on the edge of the hole.
Wednesday jumps down into the cave with her various items, half of which you've never seen in your life.
Trying to busy yourself until Wednesday calls on you to assist, you grab your bag, looking for something to do. Digging through the random items floating around in there, you find your radio. It's old, and the antenna is bent awkwardly, but last time you used it it worked just fine.
You flip the switch, and adjust the knobs to find any channels. You try all the ones you listen to when at home, but all you get is white noise. So then you try more local channels, like a Jericho news channel, and a Nevermore student-led radio show.
Jericho news is fruitless, but this time you can almost make out what the people are saying, which is a good sign.
The student radio show is more successful. You can understand most of what people are saying, and settle for this.
They're playing some sort of pop-rock song you've never heard before when Wednesday emerges.
She silently stands below where your sitting and holds up something sharp and oval-shaped. You take it carefully, and hold it up to your face trying to examine it.
Wednesday climbs back out and refers to a book you'd brought with you, silently comparing the thing she found with anything similar-looking, trying to find out what it is.
For a moment you both silently try to identify it, until;
"Your box's prisoners are screaming."
For a moment you frown, trying to figure out what she means, until you turn your head to your radio.
It's gone slightly out of tune from the station you'd set it to, and the voices are especially loud at this particular point in the song. So she's right, it does sound like the singer is screaming (rather painfully) through the white noise.
You reach out and turn the knobs, adjusting them until the former clearness returns and the song no longer sounds almost untillegable.
"A shame, It was much better before." Wednesday comments.
You turn back around laughing slightly, smiling at her.
You look at each other for a tender moment, your gaze full of love, and her eyes growing soft. And then she's sliding back down into the cave, back to her searching and examining.
#wednesday addams x reader#wednesday addams x you#wednesday addams x gn reader#wednesday x y/n#wednesday x reader#wednesday x you#reader insert#wednesday series x reader#╰─www.my-writing.com─╯
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say "night-ie night" and kiss me
Chapter I of Dream a Little Dream of Me
Summary: You keep on visiting a strange town, one you’ve never been to before. You wanted to know more, to know more why you were here and why you kept coming back, so you decide to do some exploring. Maybe you could start with the castle on the outskirts of the town.
Pairing: Morpheus | Dream of the Endless x Reader
Word count: 1,3k
Warnings: none
Notes: This is me trying my hand at writing something with very little dialogue, relying on heavy descriptions. I don’t really know if this is a good strategy, but I ended up liking it a lot so decided to keep it like that. The descriptions are heavily based on Vincent Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’ and ‘Starry Night Over the Rhône’, and also the song ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me’, performed by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong.
I really hope you, dear reader, enjoy this story, and if you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I'll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated.
Reader's gender not specified
Next part | Masterlist | Read on AO3
The breeze was soft on your skin. Warm and cold at the same time, enveloping you like a loving embrace. Above your head, the stars shone brightly against the dark blue profound sky, paired with the chirping of a few birds perched on a tree somewhere nearby.
You had never been here before. That is before a few weeks back when you started coming here on the regular. The problem is: you had no idea where ‘here’ was. Every night you’d come here, to this small town bathed in starlight, and wander around aimlessly, no actual destination in mind. Small houses littered the cobble stoned streets, a tidy church near a café as your point of reference. Once you even traveled far enough to find yourself at the side of a river, the street lights reflected on the surface along with the stars. A couple wearing hats, holding hands and standing near two sailing boats, smiled and waved at you as if they had known you your entire life.
It honestly felt like someone transported you into one of Van Gogh’s paintings. You once even passed by a vendor selling sunflowers. Most of the people seemed to recognize you, but you had no clue what their names were. Most seemed friendly enough, a few looked like they were a second away from ripping all your possessions from your hands, and some, although less frequently, stared at you with sneers of disdain, as if they were proud to know something you didn’t.
Today was no different.
The lovely lady at the café near the church waved at you, her bright smile putting you at ease. You walked down the street, sending the old man at the bar a quick wave, prompting a friendly wink back your way. You might not truly understand where you were, but you’ve come to appreciate it. A constant in a life full of uncertainty was a nice change for once.
When you reached the school, most kids turning in their seats to eye you curiously through the windows, you decided to take a different route. Walking through a maze of alleyways and larger streets, seeing less and less people each corner you turned, eventually led you to a deserted road, no houses bordering the hillside.
Strange.
Glancing upwards to the top of the slope had you feeling something new, a mixture of dread and curiosity. A tall, dark and ominous structure, shaped like a castle, stood high and mighty before you, almost like it was overlooking the city. How come you had never noticed it before in all your visits? You balanced your options, curiosity overcoming the dread, and started the track up the hill, the stars as your sole companions.
You walked, and walked, and walked. Something didn’t seem particularly right. Glancing down at your feet, you noticed the stones under them, differently from what happened around town, were all the same. A sense of nausea had you looking up again, only to notice the castle seemed to be the same distance as before. That was impossible, however, as you had walked for several long minutes. Staring straight ahead you tried walking, running even, but the more effort you made, the further away the castle seemed to get.
Suddenly the wind picked up, a swoosh of air coming from above, like a flutter of wings. No, it wasn’t the wind. A raven was flying over your head, past you and towards the castle that stood tall in the dark.
That feeling of dread returned tenfold, making you turn on your heels and start running down the same way you came. You ran, overexerting your lungs, legs burning as adrenaline pumped in your veins. The sound of your sneakers hitting the stone pavement was the only sound you could hear along with your rapid breathing and the thumping of your heart right in your ears. You didn’t stop until you were back inside the café, in the safety of what was known to you. Well, relatively known.
“Oh, dear.” the friendly lady, who happened to be the owner of the establishment, turned to you when you came to a halt in the middle of the place, hands holding your knees as you tried to regain your breath, a concerned expression crossing her eyes “Are you quite alright?”
When you didn’t answer right away, still shaken from your encounter with the mysterious castle, she led you to one of the tables, sitting you down on a wooden chair.
“I’ll bring you some water to calm your nerves, what do you say?” she smiled, trying to send a wave of calmness your way “Or perhaps you’d like some coffee? I have just brewed some. On the house.”
You smiled at her kindness.
“A coffee would be nice, please.”
She went out back to retrieve your drink and left you alone with your racing heart, its beating yet to slow down. The hairs on your arms and on the back of your neck stood up, and the looming sense that someone was watching you consumed you whole. Looking around the café you were met with the same people who you always saw when walking by: a couple out on a date, an elderly woman with a small dog on her lap, a man in a hat who looked like he hadn’t slept in days, a man dressed in all black… wait, that was new.
You looked back towards the man and sure enough, he was staring right at you. Pale complexion and light eyes, the man was dressed in black clothes, a long overcoat completing the look. His sharp jaw and high cheekbones made him look powerful, almost regal in a sense, and dare you say… beautiful. The only thing about him that softened his features was his dark, messy hair. He seemed like someone important, imponent, but for some reason he didn’t scare you. You almost felt… peaceful in his presence.
Your thoughts about the man were cut short when a large ceramic cup filled to the brim was placed in front of you.
“Here you go, dear. A nice cup of fresh coffee should do you some good.”
“Thank you.” she started walking away when you called her, catching her attention “Hey, uh, excuse me?”
She nodded for you to continue.
“What is that castle at the edge of town?”
“What castle, dear?” she asked, confusion lacing her tone.
“The tall dark one at the top of a hill.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if assessing to see if you weren’t playing tricks on her.
“There is nothing around the city other than mountains on one side and the river on the other.” she smiled again “Why don’t you drink your coffee, dear, before it gets cold. I’m sure you’ll feel better afterwards.”
As she walked away once again you were left to wonder. Had you imagined it? No, you were pretty sure you had seen a castle. And a raven. You couldn’t possibly have imagined that, now… could you?
Taking a sip of your coffee, you almost spat it right back out. It tasted awful, it tasted like… nothing. It was hot, sure, but it had absolutely no taste whatsoever. You took another larger sip, at the risk of burning both your tongue and your throat, and still nothing. You couldn’t taste anything. Bringing the cup under your nose you frowned. It smelled like coffee, strongly so. If it smelled like coffee, looked like coffee and was warm like coffee, why didn’t it taste like coffee?
Raising your head, you were about to call the owner again to ask about the tasteless coffee when you noticed the same man from earlier still looking at you. His eyes were mischievous, his lips only barely tilted up in what seemed like the world's tiniest smirk.
Narrowing your eyes at him you went to stand up and confront him, ask him why he wouldn’t quit his staring. Your abruptness made his face harden again, a hand raising under his chin. You only managed to take one shaky step in his direction before, with a snap of his fingers and something uttered under his breath, you were sitting up with a startled gasp on your bed.
Dream.
It was all just a dream.
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what the fuck is the Wire Mother book. Sociology has lore now?
oh boy okay
so you remember the Divergent books? the YA boom of the early 2010's? The Wire Mother was one of those series. they turned the Harlow's monkey experiments into dystopia factions.
yeah. i know. bear with me
The first book, The Wire Mother (2010) is pretty standard YA dystopia fare. There's this girl named Leo Groves (the Leo's short for Leonore) who lives in the court of the Cloth Mother, a city where people live in comfort and camaraderie and a general vibe of hold hands around the campfire and sing, except for the people who die at random. This is accepted with unsettling what-can-you-do calm from the main characters. (Eventually, it's revealed that's happening because only a 1/5th of the food served in the city is real, so most of the people are dropping dead of starvation but their bodies are quickly hurried away as to not kill the vibe, so no one worries all that much about it).
Which could have been cool speculative fiction! A handy story about desensitization to violence or complacency or something. Unfortunately, this was 2010 YA, so the concept is quickly kicked under the bed in favor of. yeah. A love triangle. Leo, being a special little narratively significant thing, finds her way to the mysterious other city on the other side of her hometown, the court of the Wire Mother. And when she's there, she meets a boy. Coil 54810.
Coil goddamn 54810.
That brooding son of a bitch. His last name is 54810 because the concept of last names and family doesn't exist in the court of the Wire Mother, only functionality, so 54810 is just the number of Coils there's been in the city. He's not a clone or anything, it's just the amount of people who've had that name. It's like being named Jeremy 54810. Killer of plot pacing. Swoopy of hair. He would have deserved to be named Jeremy.
God, anyway, I'm talking a lot about this. Anyway: The Wire Mother is exactly as good as the average YA dystopia book from the time period. It has some high points (the Cloth and Wire mother are cool ominously looming entities, and the main antagonist Jane-Mary has a level of batshit mad science energy to her that makes her the most fun villain in the series) and some low points (the forced Romeo and Juliet references. the forced romance. It is so clear that Benjamin St. Jobs, the other guy in the love triangle, doesn't stand a chance, but we have to keep who-will-it-be-ing for so long anyway. And Coil's a dick), but it mostly just balances out.
There were three more books in the series. There was supposed to be four, but. Well
Anyway. Book Two, The Wire Mother: Hounds' Toll (2012), actually kind of slapped. It went to more tragic and horror-influenced places than the original book. One thing I'll give Angela Lee (the author) credit for: I don't think this was a sequel for the sake of having a sequel. I think that the series was always supposed to be a pentalogy.
Some of the stuff in this book has still stuck with me to this day- I have to hold myself back from adding ominously ringing church bells in so many of my projects. Also, it really filled out Leo Groves as a protagonist- I could take or leave her in the first book, but I started to genuinely like her by the second. And the stuff they do with Stellarose Ardent, her best friend turned rival... God, I could make a whole post about Stellarose Ardent.
this book series is good, readers thought. surely the third book will be as good if not better
THE THIRD BOOK WAS HELL. The Wire Mother: Ordained Voltage (2013)...I think it did everything wrong. There was a reason that there was a two year break between the first two books, and book three being out only a year after Hounds' Toll really shows.
It's incredibly rushed. Leo barely gets to do anything. Stellarose is killed off in the most unsatisfying way possible. And while it seemed like Book Two had neatly put the love triangle to bed, no! It claws its way out of its grave!! To torment me specifically!
The only good thing we got out of this car wreck is Anesthesia 3, lab rat girl and apocalypse maiden extraordinaire. I adore her. She's got real Fish Inside A Birdcage vibes. Everything else, though? Horrors.
But readers held out hope. At least the characters ended up trapped in an interesting setting at the end of book three. The merciless, multi-layered prison of Tithonus, the central antagonist of the series. It seemed like that was a good set-up for a prison escape storyline. Those have to be entertaining, right?
Somehow, some way, no. Book Four, The Wire Mother: Endless Sentence (2014) is not just bad. I could forgive bad. But it is bad, and it is boring.
so boring that I'm not even going to waste my words on it. It's a school night. I'm not staying up to describe that thing. The only interesting thing about it is how it could manage to be boring while being an homage to the fucking Stanford Prison experiments.
And that was the end of a lot of people's hopes for the Wire Mother series. Only one good book out of four isn't a great track record, you know? A lot of readers were willing to put Hounds' Toll down as a one-off.
Then, in November of 2014, the preview for Book Five, The Wire Mother: Quantum Claws came out. It was three chapters long. And people lost their shit.
First of all, it was good. Maybe as good as Hounds' Toll. Maybe better.
But more than that, it was a break from the relatively grounded, safe, company standard dystopia of the series. Because this bad boy was going to be about time travel. Tithonus, in his evil plans to live forever, had built a time machine and activated it just at the right moment when the plucky heroes were about to kill him once and for all.
Which seems like something that would be a train wreck, right? If this author can't handle the easy-to-please tropes of prison breaks and romance, what business does she have trying to handle a time travel story without completely fucking up the series?
And maybe that would have been true. But the first three chapters were insanely promising. They were refreshing, original- they got time travel. We were able to get characters like Stellarose and Jane-Mary and Turpentine back after the story cast them aside so soon. And it promised to really examine what Leo Groves meant for the book's world. So, hopes rose again.
Unfortunately, we'll never know if it would have been good or bad. The fifth book was never published. We don't know why. It was just promised, for months and months, and then. Poof. The updates stopped. It was gone.
And it haunts me. If you haven't stopped reading by now, you can probably tell that. The fandom was like a fraction of the size of the Divergent fandom, and I don't know anyone IRL who's read these things. I don't even know if I can or should recommend them.
But sometimes something doesn't have to be a literary masterpiece to burrow into your brain and not let go, I guess ASJSJS
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