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ittybittyfanblog · 2 months ago

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Only You, Darling (Only You, Babe)

Summary: There were orders for your abduction. You were made to be the bait by a rival gang to get to the elusive head of Onychinus. Sylus doesn’t take it too well. Word Count: 4.8k Tags: mc x sylus, fem!reader x sylus (use of she/her pronouns), depictions of violence (it gets a little graphic), reader gets abducted and injured, strong language, protective!sylus, he’s a little unhinged here, self-indulgent! A/N: I can’t believe this game pulled me out of a three-year creative rut LMAO. I’ve been doing fanarts, now I’m writing again?? The power these pixelated men hold over me, man. Anyway, enjoy! This version of Sylus is probably a little OOC idk idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It was close to midnight, and you're being followed.

On your six, a stocky man in an unassuming dark suit has been tailing you since you left the dingy bodega a little over a mile away from your apartment for about, three? five minutes– no, maybe even longer.

Shit, you mouth silently. Sloppy. You should’ve noticed him sooner, and the two other lackeys now closing in from up ahead. They’re armed too, if the hands hidden inside their jackets were any indication.

As if things aren't looking bad enough, you’ve decided tonight would be the perfect night to go weaponless, deciding against bringing your handgun with you since it was supposed to just be a quick run to the store for supplies. Namely, the late-night cravings sort of supply.

You clutch the wrinkled paper bag containing your coveted jalapeño Cheetos tightly.

This is what greed does to you, a mocking voice echoes in your head. Since when did your inner voice of reason sound masculine and oh-so-familiar?

Exhaling quietly, you try to calm the rising beat of your heart and appear to be clueless of your surroundings. Walk at a normal pace. Look unaware of the men with the intention to… What even was this? An ambush? Good, old, regular robbery? No, it doesn’t seem like they were in it for something that insignificant. They wouldn’t even bother to be this cautious if it were.

But then, what were they here for? The dangers you were more familiar with are of the monstrous kind in the literal sense of the word; entities that you face on a daily basis as a Deepspace hunter. Not the regular threats posed by mankind – which in this particular situation, suddenly feels more foreboding.

While racking your brain for ideas on how to slip away from their sight without escalating the situation, you fail to notice a fourth person hidden behind the dumpster inside the narrow alleyway on your left until you feel the cold, hard edge of a pistol gun hit your temple.

With a shout, your hand shoots up in an attempt to yank the gun away from the hand holding it but the sudden burst of pain from the impact has left you feeling dizzy and off-kilter. The moment you throw your fists up to block your face, heavy fists strike you directly in a flurry of hits, colliding with your forearm and your unguarded ribs.

You let out a pained grunt as you stagger backwards, trying your hardest to keep yourself from falling back on your ass and ward off the next incoming attack.

A sinister laugh alerts you of the others, now surrounding you in a circle. Shit!

You hastily shift your legs into a crouching position, bracing yourself as you attempt to sidestep the one in front of you before making a run for it. You spring into action, but before you can even take another step, an arm shoots out and coils tightly around your neck like a noose. A cloth that reeks of something distinct is slapped over your mouth and nose, rendering you unable to do anything but struggle.

“Now, now– the boss wants her in one piece, John,” The stocky man, who’s apparently larger and more jacked up-close, pipes up. John tightens the limb circling your throat, preventing you from breathing, before slightly loosening his grip.

“I’d advise you from struggling too much, sweetheart. But if you insist on making this harder for yourself,” the man talking suddenly grins, revealing rows of crooked, silver teeth. “He ain’t said nothin’ about a couple of bruises.”

You give him your dirtiest glare, trying to pull away from the death grip the burly man called John had on you, but you feel your muscles slowly becoming heavier and your vision starting to blur.

Ch-chloroform?

You make a muffled shout, a scurry that earns you a heavy hit on the stomach, one last futile move to free yourself, but the inevitable effect of the potent substance starts to overpower you.

“After all, we need to make sure that the big bad boss of Onychinus actually comes for his bitch, don’t we?”

Rendered completely useless, the men start to make quick work to restrain your arms and legs in a hogtie before carrying you down the street, to a shaded corner where a large, gray van is parked.

The barn doors open, and you’re tossed in carelessly to the back, landing painfully on the cold, hard floor. An involuntary whimper escapes your lips, feeling like one big bruise; splotches of red and blue start to form like a violent watercolor on your skin.

The engine revs. Before completely losing consciousness, you think you hear a faint caw.

The car drives off the beaten path, into the night, leaving not a trace of evidence of what transpired mere minutes ago aside from a discarded brown paper bag and a deflated bag of chips.

From a distance, flying towards the hazy skyline, a mechanical bird crows a bad omen.

_____

In the dead of the night, the head of Onychinus sits as a spectator; a towering presence at the head of a table inside a private room, obscured in plain sight, in an unremarkable establishment far east of Linkon City.

Unassuming as it may be, the room’s occupants are men of great renown, both in influence and notoriety. The CEO of a chain business in Azure Square, a regional manager of a well-known bank in Linkon, the head of a weapons trade representing a faction in the N109 zone… All held significant power, all held ulterior motives.

A meeting of minds; the type held only in the secrecy of the night, gone in the break of dawn.

Sylus has half the mind to listen in on the droning exchange of fake pleasantries and plastic smiles as the men deal trades in nature that of weapons and favors. A number of hungry, beady eyes cast him furtive glances, fearful yet devout. Some cautious in the hope of earning his approval.

“–the package will be en route to the agreed-upon address by the end of the week,” a stout man in spectacles finishes off, clearing his throat. Beads of sweat start to form at the back of his neck as red eyes bore into his, assessing. Deliberating. “O-or if Richard’s able to give me the go-ahead in advance, I’ll make sure it arrives by Friday,” a gulp–then, “sir.”

All in reverence.

He hums, his switchblade dancing idly in his hand, deliberately stretching the tension that hangs heavy in the air. He delights in this power to unsettle, savoring the authority that his mere presence commands—a demand for absolute deference.

“Make it half that time, will you, Raymond?” Sylus responds amicably, not as a question. The man, Raymond, sputters.

“That won’t be pos–” Sylus tilts his head, eyes shifting into something more dangerous. “Please, I’ll try to cut the time shorter but there won’t be any assurances.”

The pale-haired man sighs in acquiescence. “I guess that will have to do.” Raymond lets out an exhale of relief, but catches his breath as Sylus continues, “Any later than Wednesday, and I’ll come to claim it personally.”

Raymond, more nerves than man, starts to blabber something in response–but stops when something black suddenly appears in a blaze of dark energy, near the shoulder of the intimidating man he’s trying to appeal to.

Sylus raises a hand, and a large crow lands on his pointer finger.

He caws, once. Twice. And shows a projection.

The inhospitably cold room suddenly went glacial.

All conversation halts to a stop as an overwhelmingly suffocating aura starts to emanate from the man–no, the being at the head of the table, making all that are in the vicinity freeze in fear.

The devil posing as the leader of Onychinus abruptly stands up, and Raymond thinks, Oh I’m going to die here.

Without a word, the man disappears in a Stygian haze.

Five minutes later, only after they felt like death was no longer looming over their heads, did anyone dare to move a muscle.

_____

Your head hurts, and your mouth tastes of rust.

Having been awake for longer than your captors were aware of – two (?) of which bickering near a barred slate of metal that you assume is the door after taking a quick peek from beneath the mess of hair concealing your face – you try to get your bearings together without arousing the suspicion of your present audience.

“–bet it’s gonna take a while ‘fore that guy arrives. You think she’s enough to get him to show his face?”

“Damned if I know. In any case, we got a pretty, li’l plaything on our hands,” a snort. “Make her worth the effort.”

Where were you? From what it looks like, you’ve been transported into a nondescript underground bunker of sorts, dank with a hint of mildew and rot in the air; a rumbling air vent on your left masking any noise that escaped your mouth when you woke up. The area is poorly lit, save for the flickering bulb hanging precariously above your head as your main source of light – good for casting shadows to hide your bruised face, bad for the pounding headache you’re pretty sure is a concussion. And with your back seemingly close to a wall, you arrive at the conclusion that there are no other entryways, no way to leave, but the guarded door in front of you.

In short, you have no idea where you are.

Fuck–this is bad, you swear to yourself internally, trying to control the rising panic swelling up your chest. You never thought your nightcap would lead to this mess. Nobody knows about your current predicament, and it’ll take more than a day before your absence raises any alarms, so right now, you’re on your own.

Think, think! What can you do?

What can you do? You have nothing on you, nothing you can use as a makeshift weapon to defend yourself with, and your hands are tightly bound behind your back by a thick, heavily twined rope with no give. The situation is slowly turning bleaker by the second, and it isn’t even your fault that you’re here in the first place! You were made a pawn, a mere bait in this messed-up dick-measuring contest between a crazy, sadistic, self-proclaimed head honcho and Onychinus’s own crazy, sadistic–

Wait a minute. Sylus.

You send a strong prayer to anyone above that’s listening, and an angry telepathic shout for good measure to the one who’s unaware of his involvement – but nonetheless the source of your ruined night – in this attempt at kidnapping a perfectly law-abiding citizen of Linkon.

Sylus, as much as I hate your unfortunate tendency to stalk me through means that, honestly? Eludes the hell out of me, I really, REALLY hope that you’ve been keeping tabs toni–

“Hey, boss! I think this one’s awake!”

Fuck. No use pretending anymore.

You hear heavy footsteps from outside the room before the corroded metal door swings open to reveal a large man, easily standing above six feet, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and an unsettling smile. His arms are covered in tattoos– overlapping, almost undecipherable. A gnarly scar runs from the side of his mouth to just above his brow bone; his right eye a cloudy gray, most likely a morbid souvenir from the sustained injury.

His functional eye zeroes in on your pitiful form, and his smile widens into a hostile grin.

“Well, well. It seems like our esteemed guest is finally ready to join in the fun,” His voice sounds like gravel, with a mocking intonation. “I hope my men weren't too rough with you on the way here.”

You let out a breath through your teeth, blinking a few times to try and rid the blurring in your vision. You have to bide your time– “Why am I here? What do you want from me?”

The man cocks his head to the side, smile still in place. “I assume you already know. But I’ll indulge you your little questions, why not?”

He crosses the space separating the two of you with just a few, languid steps before he’s in front of you. He leans forward, brushing the messy locks of hair – dried with blood – away from your face in a deceptively calm manner. “The devil needs to pay his dues, but it’s been rather difficult to get a hold of him, you see,” he sighs in exaggerated disappointment. ”I intend to collect, so I waited patiently for the right moment, for an opening. For an opportunity.

And here, the opportunity presents herself.”

You sneer, moving your head back to let your hair fall from his creepy hold. “I’ve no clue what you’re talking about, mister, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong idea.”

He barks out a laugh before gripping your chin tightly between his fingers. “You’ve got a smart mouth on you. Maybe we can find a better use for it.”

You feel it before you hear it.

“Perhaps not.”

Something vicious saturates the air, something intense and terrifying and wrong. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and some sort of primordial response deep within your brain is telling you to get away from it.

But then, the paralyzing fear melts away to something akin to hope when you realize the source of this new disturbance.

Relief washes over you when familiar ink-and-red tendrils materialize behind the man in front of you. The dark wisps dissipate like smoke as soon as it comes and in place, your savior – sporting an expression that could only be described as downright murderous – stands before you, all six feet of unadulterated rage.

Several things happened so fast, it was almost simultaneous.

A cacophony of shouts came loudest from the two men who had been on guard duty but screams also echoed from outside the room. You saw flashes of red, twin laughter, and blood spurting from the necks of the now headless guards, and then a symphony of bullets and a lot of things breaking rang across the room.

Suddenly–

Deafening silence. As if something has put an abrupt stop to the noise.

Amidst all the chaos, the scarred man in front of you had no time to make a move before savage whips of crackling energy engulfed him, leaving only his head free from the smothering darkness.

His expression betrays something wild and manic as he tries twisting around to look at the figure behind him. “You–”

Sylus pays no mind to the breathing, dead fool – lower than dirt on his feet, with the nerve to harm what is most precious to him – as he keeps his gaze solely on you; his eyes darting up and down as if taking inventory of all the bruises and scrapes you sustained from the abduction.

You meet his eyes. “You came.”

An indecipherable look passes his face, gone as quickly as it came. “A little too late. I apologize.”

You weakly huff out a chuckle, wanting to shake your head but decide against it lest it aggravates your concussion. A prickling sensation, then the rope around your wrists falls off with a quiet thud.

“Luke. Kieran.”

“Everything’s all accounted for, boss,” Kieran announces, suddenly appearing beside your right, along with Luke who’s on your left. Both look no worse for wear.

The latter gives you a sympathetic look. “Oh, man. They got you good, little crow.”

“Caught me off-guard, s’all,” you insist half-heartedly.

A sigh. “Transport her directly back to base. Attend to her critical injuries once you arrive, and keep her awake. I’ll handle the rest once I get back,” Sylus instructs the twins in a tone that brooks no argument.

They nod in sync and start making a move to carry you out, but you protest.

“Wait, you’re staying behind?” For some reason, the thought of being separated from him, even for a short amount of time, makes you feel ill. Well, worse than your current state at least.

Sanguine eyes soften when he hears the tremble in your voice. The offending man in front of you, reduced into something less threatening than a cowering dog in comparison to your rescuer, is forcibly pushed aside to make room for Sylus as he steps closer.

He crouches low so that you’re looking down on him instead of up. One large hand covers both of yours, mindfully avoiding the fresh rope burns on your wrists, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the unmarred part of your skin.

“This will be quick, sweetie. I’ll be back by your side before you know it,” he exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. “I swear to you.”

You swallow, but nodded reluctantly. “Come home soon.”

“I will.”

With that, you let yourself be carried out of the claustrophobic space you were confined to, into a larger room littered with unmoving bodies that you're frankly too tired to care about at the moment, up three (rickety) flights of stairs where you exit into what looks like the inside of an empty shipping container, before finally, finally getting out.

A gust of salty wind hits you and you ask, “Are we near the docks?”

“Yeah,” Kieran answers, carefully putting you down on the backseat of Sylus’ car. “Mephisto trailed after the van they stuffed you in before reporting back to the boss. We followed soon after.”

Luke frowns as he inserts the key in the ignition. “We weren’t aware that they had eyes on you for a while now. An oversight on our part, won’t happen again,” he assures you. “Gotta give them props for that, at least.”

Kieran, now getting in the passenger side of the vehicle, shoots him a look.

“Anyway, we’re glad we got to you before they did anything… worse,” Kieran continues, then winces in a show of mock sympathy. “Can’t say the same to that fucker back inside. Haven’t felt Sylus’ bloodlust this strong in a long while.”

You try to focus on their words, but you feel yourself nodding off as the remaining adrenaline slowly leaves your body. You know you should feel more worried about what the two were insinuating, but your mouth still tastes like you swallowed a bunch of coins and you just want a soft bed to sleep in for an entire day. Or three.

“Oi, no sleeping. Doctor’s orders,” A snapping finger in front of your face forces you awake.

You blink your tired eyes open in an attempt to stay lucid, the pulsing pain in your head becoming more prominent as soon as the threat of danger has passed.

“This is gonna be a long night,” you sigh, wishing that Sylus will keep his word and be quick about… whatever he’s planning to do with your abductor.

–––––

There hasn’t been much left of the man who proclaims to be the new head of an arms syndicate Sylus had dealt with in the past. He recalls the history of his relationship with the cartel being less than cordial, but nothing that would warrant his ire. Except for tonight.

He usually doesn’t leave a trace when doling out punishments; no, not anymore. Not in recent years. He prefers to be efficient about his killings, dissipating any evidence in thin air after reducing them into fine paste, rather than make a big show out of it. Quick and precise.

Except today… Someone had the arrogance, the absolute audacity to steal directly from the dragon’s nest.

The contents of which have always been kept in strict confidentiality. What is known, only chosen individuals bound to secrecy are privy to, and a lot of people would kill for.

But unbeknownst to anyone else but its owner, only one thing in this hoard of secrets truly matters to the dragon. One solitary treasure alone he would burn planets for – and someone has tried to steal it.

Harm. the treasure. To get to him.

It seems as if the new bloods needed a reminder of who, exactly, they’re stealing from.

One who dwells deep within the underbelly of the cities both monster and men inhabit, that even the most heinous of sinners seeking solace in the dark, are afraid of.

And what retribution tastes like to those who are foolish enough to bite more than what they can chew.

The poor soul unfortunate enough to be the first one to discover the carnage will witness that what was left of the man that had wronged the Onychinus kingpin is stuck on the walls, the floor, and the ceiling of a basement where the treasure was held captive. They will find that the man’s innards are deliberately hung in a haphazard fashion, in all corners of the room like bloody, sinewy tinsel.

And the centerpiece of this bloodbath is none other than the man’s decapitated head, forcibly attached to the hanging light in the middle of the room. A bulb crudely drilled past his cranium, while blood dripped down the floor in slow, ominous rivulets.

They will understand in dawning horror that the one responsible for this... gross butchery, has left the head swinging. That the man’s mouth will forever remain agape in an eternal scream to immortalize the exact moment he realizes the gravity of his sin.

Yes, Sylus is more than glad to remind them.

_____

You arrive a quarter past four AM.

Barely taking a step past the foyer, the twins immediately whisk you inside to perform an ‘emergency patch-up.’ Luke’s words, not yours.

“We’re your personal CNA while waiting for the head nurse to take over,” he explains cheerfully, wrapping another layer of gauze around your wrist. You hiss when Kieran dabs a cotton ball on the gash on your temple, peroxide fizzing as it comes in contact with the dried-up blood. Muttering out a “sorry!” Kieran does quick work in cleaning the injury and covering the affected area.

In no time at all, all visible wounds are bandaged and disinfected. The worst of your head wound had to be stitched up, but other than that, nothing seems to require immediate medical attention. There’s nothing left for you to do but to bear the aches that came along with the bruises – especially on your tender midriff – and to pop a tylenol for your throbbing headache.

You offer them a sincere, “Thanks. No, really.” before they leave you in Sylus’ room, after multiple reminders to “not sleep before the attending nurse arrives for the final diagnosis.”

(You think they might have enjoyed playing caretaker a little too much.)

With a lot more effort than you care to admit, you painstakingly remove your bloodstained clothes until you're down to your underwear, before draping yourself in a large, red, silk robe. A hot shower sounds heavenly to your sore muscles, but the soft mattress is calling to you more so you head straight to bed.

With nothing else to occupy yourself with, you prop your head on a mountain of pillows – to keep yourself relatively upright – and let out a sigh.

Tonight had been a shitshow. All you wanted was something to snack on while you binge through the last season of the show you were watching back at your apartment; you never thought a late-night run to the store just a few blocks away would result in… this. If not for Sylus’ intervention, you’re sure you'd be leaving with a lot more than a couple of scrapes. If not worse.

You're lost in your own thoughts when short, successive raps on the door catch your attention. It swings open before you have the chance to pipe out a, “come in!”

Speak of the devil.

Sylus enters the room, not a hair out of place. You notice that he’s changed into a casual, brown sweater and a pair of dark-washed jeans. His eyes meet yours, tightly-controlled expression relaxing as he crosses the room towards the side of your bed, wasting no time.

“How are you feeling?”

“Still pretty sore, but Luke and Kieran already handled the worst of my injuries,” you answer, making a move to sit up. Sylus tuts disapprovingly, gentle as he puts a hand on your chest to prevent you from moving any further. He sits gingerly on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle you. Once fully settled, he let out a deep sigh.

“You had me worried for a moment there, kitten.” He admits, a slightly rough edge to his voice as emotion seeps into it. He regards you intently, like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re here, safe.

Your hand reaches out towards his face. Without missing a beat, he leans in to nuzzle your palm, eyes closing shut. He reminds you of a big wolf, unbridled fire simmering beneath the surface, yet tame in the presence of his handler.

“I’m fine now, thanks to you,” you assure him with a lopsided smile. “Give my thanks to Mephisto, as well. Tell him he gets a pass on the stalking this time.”

Sylus opens his eyes, a hint of amusement and something else you can’t identify flickering through. “Oh, sweetie. You’ll be lucky if that bird gives you the privacy to bathe alone after tonight,” he jokes.

He’s joking. Right?

You eye him for a moment before deciding to let it go. You're too tired to argue.

Instead, you cautiously ask a question you aren’t sure you even want the answer to. “What happened after we left?”

Sylus expression doesn’t change except for the upward tick on the corner of his mouth; the same peculiar glint in his eyes coming across a little stronger. “They won’t be bothering you anymore. You don’t need to worry about anyone coming for you.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He hums. “Do you really want to know?”

You stare at him, and he stares back at you placidly.

You purse your lips and look away. “Maybe not.”

Sylus breathes out a laugh. He gently grasps your chin between his forefinger and thumb, guiding your head to meet his gaze once more. A softer look on his face, inching closer to yours.

Your heartbeat slightly picks up. In your vulnerable state, you feel a welling desire to bare your feelings to the man in front of you. You want to tell him how relieved you felt when you saw him in that cursed basement, how he was able to quell your fears with just his presence alone the moment he appeared in a familiar haze of black and red. Like your own, personal, vindictive guardian.

Instead, you close the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his.

Sylus groans quietly, a hand cupping your face as he leans closer to deepen the kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, savoring the feeling of contentment from being this close to him. You feel, more than you see, how his taut body loses the remaining tension from the events that transpired just mere hours ago, how he finally relaxes as he loses himself in you.

Very carefully, he eases you further down, cradling your head with one hand until it rests on a pillow. His lips drift to the corner of your mouth, trailing soft kisses up to the apples of your cheeks, your forehead, then to your nose.

He pulls back slightly, chuckling when you make a sound of discontent. When you open your eyes, you see him looking at you– half-lidded and tender.

In a low voice, he instructs, “Rest. You need it.”

The feeling of exhaustion pulls you in, but before you surrender to it, you remind Sylus, “I’m not that fragile, you know. You don’t have to worry too much.” You poke his cheek and he catches the offending digit to bite it affectionately. “I’ll be up and running in no time.”

He doesn't speak for a minute, considering your words. His mouth sets into a thin line before letting out a sigh.

“And if you get hurt again? What then?" He whispers so quietly, seeming as if he's talking to himself.

"I'll get hurt again, that's for sure," You tell him, matter-of-factly. "But really, that’s just an occupational hazard. I’m sure you realize."

“Love — what a terrible, little thing,” he muses, half-forlornly, half in jest. "I’d rip this cold heart out and throw it in flames if I could.”

While speaking, his hand finds its way into the tangles of your hair, gently running his fingers through the strands in a lulling manner. His lips landing on the crown of your head softly. Reverently.

You hum sleepily.

“Of course you would, Sy.”

_____

“You’ll be glad to know that the artifact you had your eye on back at the auction will be arriving this Wednesday.”

“Huh? But I thought it was already sold to someone else?”

Sylus shrugs. “I made a counteroffer.”

“You didn’t have to. I told you it was fine.”

“I know. But I also recall a certain someone telling me how much they wished they had placed a bid on it on our way back,” he pinches your cheek fondly. “Don’t worry about it, kitten. It’s yours.”

“Oh. Well– thank you,” you yawn in response, leaning your head to rest against his palm.

His thumb strokes your cheek. “Anything for you.”

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads x reader #sylus #love and deepspace fic

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jjk4isen · 2 months ago

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ꗃ 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝟏𝟎𝟎𝟎 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐍𝐎𝐖.

❝ you're not a curse, you have never been. you were my blessing and my salvation– the best thing that has ever happened to me. you cleared my skies and showed me how it was to love… and be loved. ❞

summary: when your entire village faced the king of curses' wrath, you were sure you'd be as good as food for him but life decides to weave the strings of fate and intertwine yours with the very person who tries to cut it short.

desc: 8.6k words, f!reader, sfw, angsty angst hehe, major character death, cannibalistic thoughts (sukuna is a cannibal after all), takes place in the heian era, true form sukuna, bit ooc bc we know his ass isn't capable of love, ! slightly gory parts!, this is canon bc i said so, kenjaku isn't known as kenjaku yet – he's still known as noritoshi kamo, yorozu mentioned, basically just me raw dogging the storyline during the heian era lol.

notes: this took way longer than it should but i battled like three burn out sessions to write this so lmao. also does anybody get the aot reference in the title? this might MIGHT have a part two if i can think of a good plot to mirror it. if you get the reference, you'll alr know what it's going to be titled :P

must be horrifying isn't it? being a mere human amongst sorcerers and curse users capable of destroying and killing— powerless among the powerful whose thirst for yet more power remain a bottomless pit of unquenchable desire.

in this state of the world, your life wasn't your own. it belonged to the people who were strong enough to kill you or considerate enough to spare you.

and among dangers looming throughout, one triumphs all. one whose name was even powerful enough to send curses back at just the mention of it.

ryomen sukuna. feared by curses and non curses alike. the ruthless evil entity who feeds off of humans. there is no doubt about him being the king of curses, capable of having any being in the palm of his hands.

including you.

your village faced the wrath of the king of curses himself, not a brick was intact nor a rock left unturned. and what's even worse? he didn't have any reason for his destruction. he just did it out of his sheer will.

perhaps you should consider yourself lucky to have your life spared, along with some other women and children. all the men were gone without traces — maybe for the better.

trapped in the basement of the castle’s kitchen, you await your fate to be eaten.

what was that you said before? lucky? no, you realise how horribly wrong you were. the wails and cries of terror as yet another person was dragged out of the small room was enough to ring in your ears forever.

the sudden quietness that followed soon after was enough to suffocate you.

the room was dark, wet and disgusting. it reeked of decomposed bodies and blood. nobody was fed well and even if one or two loaves of pitiful bread were thrown into the small cell, it wasn't nearly enough to feed a group of starving people.

at least the number keeps decreasing day by day.

you'd notice how the people who cried, begged or fought back were likely speeding up their deaths so you kept to yourself, waiting for your turn, even if it's just a while later.

after what you think was a couple of days came your turn. you had lost your perception of everything in this tiny suffocating room; you might as well be dead.

you heard some loud clanks of the metal door and suddenly, a harsh pull sends you essentially flying towards whoever was grabbing you.

“this is the last one” you heard a gruff voice say as a light shone inside. it felt like ages since you saw any sort of light, of warmth. in a way, you were relieved. your suffering must be finally coming to an end.

“its this one isn't it?” a low voice asks as they being a lamp closer to inspect you. your eyes were opened and after a long while, you saw again.

“why is she in such a weakly state?” the person holding the lamp grimaces at your sight. through your hazy vision, you could still make out the white hair, perfectly in place. they were beautiful.

“well that ain't my fault is it?” the big creature yanks your arm and you fall wherever it does.

suddenly shards of ice fill the room and the fire from the lamp is put out. in its place is a glowing icy caricature of the creature, holding you intact.

as terrifying as cursed techniques can be, they were also mesmerising. the beautiful fridgid sculpture leave you in awe; the rough hand holding your arm was now frozen and unmoving.

“now.” the icy person leans down, meeting your eye level, you hadn't realised the dim moonlight illuminating the ice crystals in the room “what shall we do with you?”

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

the next time you're concious enough to make out your surroundings, you find yourself in a small dimly lit room. it was heaven in comparision to the previous one.

you scrumble towards the small lamp and take in the warmth. you had no idea where you were, what happened or what would happen but for now, you were alive. barely, but alive still.

weakly, you sit on the floor— there isn't anywhere else to sit anyway. upon hugging your knees you notice an apparent bruse on your arm. the same place where you were grabbed, the memories come back slowly.

did the white haired person save you? could you maybe have a chance at life?

no, being in captivity by the king of curses himself tells you enough that you weren't going to make it out of here alive. well, it's not like you necessarily want to either. your home and the people in it were gone, some of whom you witnessed their end.

it's only fair for you to meet the same fate as them.

the sound of the door unlocking interrupts your thoughts, then in came the person with snow like hair.

“finish this” they hold out a tray of food and set it down next to you. you only lean away defensively.

without so much of another word, they make their way towards the door that is, until you decided to stop them.

“you saved me didn't you?” it had been a while since you even heard your own voice and you don't miss the way it sounded more resigned than it had ever been.

“do not be fooled. it is all in consideration for my master. finish the plate” with that they walk away, leaving you with even more questions than before.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

when the certain white haired person decides to show up, they look pleased with your health. well, it should come as a no surprise since they keep feeding you — overfeeding you in fact. and you know why.

fatten up the stock so that it's in top shape when it's time to consume it.

“follow me” they say, holding the door open.

obediently, you follow the person you owe your life to, for now anyway, and they lead you through alleys and stairways you had never seen before.

only sounds of footsteps and your exhausted huffs can be heard in the hallway filled with various markings on the wall. you don't even want to know what they mean.

“so… how do i call you?” you manage to ask, maybe if you try to get close to them, maybe they can help a second time.

don't kid yourself.

no reply comes and you feel heat rush to your cheeks from embarassment. but hey at least you tried.

your wandering eyes missed to see them stop before a certain door and you crash into them with a grunt. they must be well built because the impact did not faze them at all.

“sorry” you rub your nose that was sore from bumping your face into their back.

“i go by uraume. i am master sukuna's loyal servant. beyond this door is the garden and you are to take a walk twice a day to build up your stamina. i shall be checking on you daily.”

“why should i need to do that?”

“do as you are told. now go” they open the door for you.

beyond the door is a garden too beautiful to belong in the palace of such an abominable being. flowers of all kind adjourn each corner, flourishing in all their bloosoming glory.

the sky was as clear as can be, with the sun brightly shining as if it's wishing people a good day. the birds chirping and the gentle breeze that brushes through your hair reminds you of your home back in the village and your heart aches a little.

“thankyou” you turn back but uraume is now long gone.

gee must people be so cold around here?

you stroll along the garden, savoring your time outside in so long. how long has it been exactly? you couldn't recall. maybe you should ask uraume the next time they come around.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

only this time when uraume does show up, they don't lead you towards the garden. instead, you find yourself at the door of the king of curses’ throne room.

uraume doesn't say a word and only ushers you in.

is this doomsday? you recall the screams of fear from the people you used to share a home with. the look on their faces, their nails desperately clinging onto the prison bar while pleading for mercy — all of that for naught.

and the silence that followed.

it's possible that the well timed meals and the strolls you took in the beautiful garden was the mercy your people begged for but never got.

maybe you should be thankful you even got to have those.

“master is impatient. you should go in right this instant” uraume insists. something about their behaviour tells you if you don't do as told, you'd have a fate worse than what you could ever think of.

with all the courage you could muster, you unlock the door and take strides into it, as confident as you could make it seem.

the four armed monster looms in front of you, starting down at you as if you were only a mere bug.

perhaps you were — small and helpless, under the mercy of the predator who had seen you.

you bow politely, it seemed like it was the only appropriate thing to do.

sukuna thinks you're pathetic.

just a mere human and not worth his time. there was only a small reason as to why he hasn't had his way with you yet.

your flesh and blood.

to him, you smelled hauntingly sweet and hypnotisingly alluring. that was what drew him to your village in the first place — the hunt for the sweet scent that awakened all his senses, although he doesn't have any idea why.

sukuna is a curious being, he seeks to know the mysteries of the world — one of the reasons why he's so wise, adding to his strength.

so until he has his answers, he plans to keep you around. after that, he can enjoy your flesh however he wants.

just you standing mere feet away from him was enough to tempt him to bite you already. how would it feel to sink his teeth into your skin and have your blood flow down his throat? sukuna couldn't wait until he has the chance to do so.

“leave.” the monster only dismisses you after staring at you so intently, he might as well be staring deep into your soul.

you look up at him in confusion, why would he call you here without any particular reason?

“do your ears not work, human?” sukuna says, rather impatiently.

“lower your gaze and know your place, fool” he practically growls and you look away faster than the speed of light. one more bow and you're bolting out the door.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

your stay at the palace was a cycle of eating, sleeping and taking strolls. it was beginning to get monotonous, boring even. but its much better than facing the king of curses ever again.

you still had no idea why he called you to his throne room and honestly, you don't even want to find out why.

life wasn't so bad — the flowers were beautiful and smelled lovely, the meals were scrumptious and your sleep? well nightmares were inevitable but there were nights when you slept like a log.

and unbeknownst to you, a certain four eyed creature could be seen watching over you. no, observing you. its only right for him to observe his prey right?

it's not out of the goodness of his heart that when you whimper and cry out in your sleep because of a weak nightmare curse looming over your head, he kills it with only a tilt of his own. no, it's only because that curse deters your well being, hence your development to reach your full potential to be a perfect feast for him. nothing more.

weak human, you don't have the means to kill such a low grade curse or even see it. so why were you special? what makes you so different than the other filthy beings with no cursed techniques roaming the earth? sukuna still couldn't tell.

he's aware though — of your silent fear and unspoken resentment you have towards him. he's aware of your quivering soul whenever you sense his presence. he's aware of your desire to escape this place.

but he's also aware of how your smile becomes a little more genuine when you smell a particular flower in his garden. he's aware of how your eyes soften when you see the setting sun. he's aware of how you tried to get close to uraume and only get shut out. he's aware of you.

and that angers him to no end.

what infuriates him even more is how that pathetic servant thinks he can talk to you, and with such ease too. how dare he speak lowly of you? that's a direct insult to him isn't it?

‘you mean less than a concubine?’ sukuna scoffs at him for even comparing you to one.

so the next time he calls the council for a lecture, he doesn't even blink one of his four eyes when the said servant in question gets slashed by his formidable cursed technique.

the room grows thick with the smell of blood that was now splashed all over the carpets and tapestry hanging on the wall—a grueling task for the cleaners later.

“every tongue that rises against my prey shall fall.” the headless body of his once loyal servant serve as testimony to his words.

the palace may be big but rumours flew around: another servant ruthlessly executed by the monstrous beast. even the people under him weren't given an ounce of consideration.

is it a coincidence that it was the same person who cornered you just a day ago? you don't ponder.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

after the ruthless slaughter of your village and everything in it, it didn't take long for sukuna to find his next target.

it wasn't anything new to anybody at all that he was a bloodthirsty beast, revelling in chaos and ruin. one after another, his victims were crushed mindlessly and so easily, it made you sick how powerless other people are in comparison to him.

out of all his battles and countless destruction, one prominent opponent was the fujiwara clan.

they were an elite clan, taking pride in the strength of their squadrons. the world held its breath upon hearing of the battle, maybe they had the potential to rival the king of curses.

the outcome didn't change though. sukuna remained prevalent—bringing the sun, moon and stars at his feet. the five empty generals did not even measure upto him.

the battle must have been so agonising to the point where the authorities were willing to hold festivals in his honour, out of utter terror.

it was at this harvest festival where sukuna had encountered a certain shameless sorcerer who was on her way to be completely obsessed with him.

yorozu had only one goal: to alleviate sukuna's loneliness with her love — something she believed only she was capable of.

thus why she leeches onto him, much like a hick. perhaps sukuna doesn't see her as a threat or he deems her powerful enough, he didn't get rid of her, for now at least.

however, her dreams were short lived.

yorozu sits next to sukuna in his throne room, enticing him with gentle nudges of her exposed chest. her haori was united and her hair fell graciously past her shoulders all the way down her chest.

she only shrieks in horror as she stares at the uninterested man. “you look different… you are different!” she screams angrily.

sukuna only hums in response, deep in thought of how his little prey has been holding up. despite his festivities and celebrations, you were there in the back of his mind, like an itch that cannot be quite scratched.

she stares at him, stepping back further and further “it couldn't be…”

yorozu brings herself to her knees, looking up at sukuna desperately. “i have so much more to teach you about love and the ultimate strength and solitude that it brings!”

she rises, her eyes were erratic, anyone would be afraid of her outburst that was about to come. anyone but sukuna.

“im the one who will teach you about love. that is my purpose and my goal. now tell me, who is it that is taking away your loneliness?”

sukuna raises a brow. it's possibly the only time he indulges yorozu’s antics and also the last.

“i will find out who it is! it doesn't matter if i have to tear this palace apart” yorozu violently darts out the room in search of something, anything. to her, if it was powerful enough to move sukuna then she would have no trouble finding whatever it is.

and she doesn't. not because you're too powerful but rather because of the lack of it. you stuck out like a sore thumb with no cursed energy running through your body, weak and unarmed just strolling across the garden— like the pathetic human you are.

sukuna arrives at the scene, ever observing, ever thinking.

“that is not true love” yorozu mutters, her fists were clenched on her sides as her gaze burnt into you who was unknowing of the fury burning inside her.

“you're mistaken, sukuna. i will show you what real love looks like!” yorozu screams, making her way towards you who could only stare at her in fear, frozen in place.

it would take sukuna less than a blink of his eye to stop her but he was intrigued. what would he feel if you were to be killed? would he feel pain? anger? the beast always finds his answers so he waits.

and what was that about true love? does that woman think he was capable of it? with you, no less? she sees you, a mere human, as a threat so that must mean something.

yorozu lands on you, digging her nails into your skin, blood gushing out of it. sukuna admires the sight.

you scream in agony as she continue to scratch through you and into you with ease. a maniac expression forms on her face at your slowed breaths and now silent helpless whimpers.

but before you were completely gone, sukuna gets rid of her. you were too busy holding onto your life to tell how he did it but one blink was enough for her to be gone and another makes you realise you were caged in the arms of the four armed monster.

“interesting” you heard sukuna say, before your lashes flutter and your eyes close against your will.

sukuna holds your limp body in his arms protectively with calculated gentleness as if a slight jerk would hurt you. well, in your state, it would.

upon watching you get torn apart, sukuna realises he isn't as heartless as he deemed himself. it drives him angry. how could a being as weak as you would have the capability to move him? how could you inflict pain onto him when you're the one who's at his mercy? he scoffs at how ridiculous it is all.

but when his eyes land on you– your fragile body almost lifeless and bleeding, his only thought was towards your safety and not towards devouring you, albeit the sweet scent of your blood tempting him and calling out to him to drink it.

he stares at his hands tainted with the pretty crimson colour, glistening in the sun but it pales in comparison to the way your eyes were shut as if you were only asleep. sukuna sighs, alright then.

his reversed cursed technique flows through his body into your own, healing the deep tears and cuts. he only hopes you aren't too angry at him for waiting that long to step in.

your staggered breathing was replaced with slow even ones and your wounds disappeared as if they had never been there in the first place. a peaceful expression forms on your face and all of sukuna's eyes soften.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

the next time you awaken you find yourself in the comfort of your own room making you doubt if everything that happened was a vivid dream. and you would have believed that doubt if not for the person sitting in the corner of your room, his four arms folded into each other.

you flinch upon seeing him and sit straight up, a groan escapes you involuntarily from your sore body.

“you're awake, brat” his deep voice sends shivers down your spine.

you nod slightly, your eyes on anything besides him.

“how are you feeling?” this makes you jolt your head towards him because did he just ask about your well being? you would say you misheard but the frown and distaste on his face only confirms that he was, in fact, concerned about your condition somehow.

“im feeling alright” you say quietly, still a bit afraid of the man sitting in your room who could easily overpower you if he wanted.

“i should hope so. your weak body didn't take much to heal as easily injurable as it is” he sneers from the shadows that enveloped him.

“so it wasn't a dream?” your voice shook a little which doesn't go unnoticed.

“no. i have taken care of the matter. you may rest at ease” he rises to his feet, he looks way too big to feel safe around. you hug your blankets a little tighter. wait, when did you even have that many?

“do not fear. i do not intend to harm you.” two out of four eyes narrow at you and how scared of him you looked. sukuna doesn't like how that bothers him.

“how do i know that?” your eyes didn't meet him, rightfully so, if it was anyone else who questioned him, sukuna would waste no second getting rid of them altogether.

“it is i.” a viable answer – one that doesn't need any further explaination. sukuna maybe a merciless hard hearted being but he's also a man of his words. anyone who knows him would be aware of this fact.

“but i don't know you.”

he supposes you're right. in a way, nobody knows him. this was also why he remained so strong despite people and sorcerers alike sharpened themselves while fighting him. he did not have an opening to allow them to kill him.

“then you can start from this moment forward.”

“i don't want to.” for the first time, sukuna faces disappointment; but it's a different kind of disappointment. normally he would be discouraged at how nobody was able to stand a chance against him but now, he feels helpless. much like he was the prey and you're the predator.

“and your reason for that is?” ever so curious, he glowered at your body which had somehow become smaller amongst the sheets of blanket you're enveloped by.

“because then… then i will grow to understand you. if i do understand you then that would mean id find out you have a heart. someone with a heart would never… would never…” your voice trails away and you look horrified by the memories flooding your mind.

“so i don't want to know you.” you muster up enough courage to stare into his eyes, all of his eyes and sukuna can feel your soul tremble.

he only watched silently as you fidget under his watchful gaze. great. he's at a loss by someone who's terrified of him, how much more could you hit a blow to his pride.

without a word, he steps out of your room and he could hear you exhale. he huffs in annoyance at how tense you are in his presence. and your words. they might as well be your cursed technique attacking him with every enunciation that came from your mouth.

and they were working.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

the world was somehow shifting. you couldn't exactly pinpoint where or how but it was.

“master has assigned you a new room that would be more comfortable for your stay” uraume says, standing in front of you in a polite stance. “please allow me to guide you there.”

if this is his attempt to make you forget about all the destruction he caused, for whatever reason, it was futile. he was irredeemable.

your thoughts might have been apparant on your face because uraume continues, “master says he does not have an ulterior motive. he simply wants you to be comfortable.”

since when did that beast care about other people's comfort except for his own?

“fine then, show me” if he offered, then there's no problem in accepting. heck maybe you should be taking advantage of his hospitality and ask for whatever you desire. he has put you on death's row and wiped of everyone you knew after all.

you were led to a room that was closer to the main area of the palace, a stark contrast to the basement of the kitchen — where you started from.

pieces of beautiful art were decorating each corner, finest tapestry hanging from the walls, and the curtains? they were of the best material you had ever known. no doubt, this was a room that exceeded even your dreams.

uraume opened the closet revealing kimonos of various kinds, from silk to linen to satin— every kind was there. “i was not aware of your taste so i assorted various kinds.”

you were amazed at the room, the materials – everything but these measly riches don't bring lives back and the monster certainly wasn't capable of any empathy so the words saying he has no ulterior motive were nothing but empty to you.

“what? have i been promoted from prey to concubine now?” the word alone makes you sick to your stomach but it's the only explanation that makes sense.

“you are very wrong. master does not keep concubines. it is only an extension of his kindness.” you laugh, sukuna? kindness? please.

four eyes narrowed at your bitter laugh, sukuna stands in the doorway, each of his two arms folded in each other. he has lost count of how much disrespect he tolerates from you but strangely, it does not give him a drive to kill, only annoyance.

a brow raises when you turn around after being aware of his presence and your laugh, as mocking as it was, dropped into a frown.

seeing how speechless you are, he huffs. from out of nowhere, he conjures up a bow and an arrow to go along with it. sukuna moves stealthily, one step and he's already next to you.

the bow and arrow are shoved into your hands “i have heard you are exceptionally good with these” sukuna says, his voice was low and calculating – if you hadn't known better, you'd say it quivered a little.

he wasn't wrong though, you had to hone some sort of hunting skill for food. life wasn't kind and you learnt it the hard way. nevertheless you felt safer with some kind of weapon you were familiar with, even though they won't be of much help against a sorcerer.

“master’s very own bow and arrow” uraume interrupted, their face had an expression of shock you had never seen on them before. there was an engraving on them– the same mark that sukuna had on his body.

“why give me this?” you ask and receive no answer. not because sukuna doesn't want to answer you, he simply doesn't have a reason. he just wanted you to have it. it felt natural. he'll be damned before he ever admits that to you or even to himself.

“what if i use it on you?” you press on, clutching onto the wooden weapon tightly. “what if i wanted to fire this at you?”

“i would let you.”

it caught you by surprise. why? you want to ask but you also didn't want to hear his reason. you don't want to know him. the little barrier you had put between you both is the only thing giving you leverage against such a vicious being, you couldn't afford to have it break down.

taking a quick abrupt step back, you line the end of the arrow to the bowstring and pull on it with an expert ease, aiming it at sukuna. uraume was about to step in but sukuna waves them off. as if the most feared curse user couldn't defend himself.

he could already have you breathing your last breath in a mere second if he wanted to but of course, he doesn't. he just stands there unmoving. his lack of response to your threat made you all the more aggravated.

“aren't you going to stop me?”

“no. proceed with whatever you intend to do, i shall not stop you.” sukuna's folded arms fell to his sides, giving you an open target for his heart.

now you should be firing your arrow with no hesitation right? you have hunted down countless moving targets from as small as a bird to something as big as a deer.

and they were running while you manage to hit a bullseye – every single time. so now this unmoving big target within just a few meters would be a piece of cake. it's your chance to end the tyranny of his wicked rule and him altogether– a chance that had not been granted to anyone who stands against him.

but your hands wouldn't move. they wouldn't let go of the string to propel the arrow towards him. they were frozen in place. you would have doubted uraume’s technique being in play but no signs of ice crystals found themselves anywhere near.

sukuna waits and you wonder if he was ever this patient.

your hands tremble, slowly letting your form down. why couldn't you just do it?

“human–”

sukuna's words were cut short by a swift arrow flying towards him. he didn't make a move to avoid it.

your trembling hands were now perfectly stable holding the bow. your breathing was calm, collected even. if anyone were to see you now, they'd wonder who the beast is. empty eyes deadpan at your target.

sukuna stares back, his cheek bleeding from the graze of the arrow. unlike your soul-less face, a satisfactory smile creeps onto sukuna's. “you didn't miss, did you? you aimed here on purpose.” his hands caress the small wound in awe.

“next time i wont.”

“as i have said, i will not stop you.”

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

the new room was comfortable, all your needs were tended to and your conduct exceeded your desires. you were treated equal to a queen, if you knew how.

and uraume, sukuna's loyal servant, was now your own. they were still very distant though, not speaking more than they needed to. not like you really minded anyway.

uraume was there to observe. they were under strict orders to keep you safe and also report your daily status to sukuna. you weren't exactly aware of this part but there's no harm done so by logic, there wasn't a problem with it either.

sukuna finds the corner of his mouth twitch when uraume mentioned that you sang obnoxiously loud because you thought nobody was around. he'd have loved to hear that himself.

the amusing brief about you was however rudely interrupted by a strange person brave enough to march directly into the throne room unannounced.

“you're from the kamo clan aren't you? have you come to die a meaningful death?” sukuna's thirst for battle heightened upon seeing a sorcerer from one of the three main clans in jujutsu. maybe finally, he can have a strong opponent and enjoy the fight without having it end too early.

but the man only chuckles “no, i have come here to negotiate with the almighty king of curses himself”

sukuna frowns, now staring at him unamused “you do not have anything worth a value to me. fight or die a pathetic death.”

“i will do neither of those.” noritoshi kamo, stands face to face with sukuna without a hint of fear in his eyes and that makes sukuna curious. just what kind of offer does he have to be so bold?

“prove that you are worth my time you filthy scum” sukuna glowers at the man, getting more and more impatient by the second.

“how about that prey? how is your little prey doing?” kamo smirks and it's enough to tempt sukuna to cut through his skull but no, he refrains because anything that involves you, sukuna doesn't take it lightly.

“speak up or i’ll have you slashed.” sukuna remarks impatiently.

“it would be a shame to have her taken away from you isn't it?” the old man sneers.

the next thing he knows is his ragged breath and a sharp pain across his chest, kamo falls to his knees. sukuna’s technique had manifested a cut through his chest, although not deep enough to end him. with blood oozing out of the fresh cut and his mouth, he still has the courage to glare at the four eyed creature.

“you must not value your life” sukuna says nonchalantly, leaning against one of his hand, the grotesque sight was nothing new to him at all.

“your reign is coming to an end isn't it?” kamo laughs, although it comes out through splutters of blood. “no matter how powerful you are, you are not immortal sukuna, you still won't defeat death!”

as if sukuna is one to fear death. sukuna only sighs, revelling in the bloodied state of his intimidator.

“and your little human toy won't either” that earns a reaction from him. sukuna's eyes narrow at the pitiful man fighting for his life.

“what are you suggesting?”

“what if i tell you– that there is a way for you to be immortal? and that it's possible to find her in every lifetime?”

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

everyone who knows sukuna knows that he does not get hurt. or yet, there's nobody who's strong enough to hurt him. generation upon generation, sorcerers have teamed up to get rid of him but with no luck. not even one of them could land a hit on the ferocious being.

all the more reason for you to be speechless when he returns with a huge hole in his stomach, bleeding continuously.

it was during your stroll that you saw him staggering over to his room.

okay maybe that was a lie. maybe you'd heard that a very prominent sorcerer in the jujutsu society had challenged him. you didn't know much about that world but it was enough to worry you, even if sukuna was undefeated.

so maybe that worry brings you into a situation where he arrived just while you were taking a stroll in the garden. you definitely didn't purposely take longer to watch the birds fly back to their nest in hopes of making sure sukuna returns. definitely not.

that's also NOT why you're knocking on his door boldly.

the door opens, revealing a confused sukuna. your eyes dart down to his injury but it seems the blood had stopped, still looking nasty regardless.

you wince just by looking at it but sukuna interrupts your unwarranted examination. “eyes here human. what do you want?”

for someone who's supposed to be prey, you're bold because in the next moment, you find yourself pushing through the door and asking him to sit down.

yes. you— a mere human, barged through his room and asked him to sit. when he doesn't comply, you walk up to him, pulling on one of his hands, guiding him towards his chair and sat him down. and strangely, no hint of protest came from him – not even a grunt or a growl.

with familiar ease, you call in uraume and ask for an emergency kit. they hesitate but comply regardless.

your expert hands slowly disinfect the wound and start stitching it up, not even sparing a glance at the man who just watches you and lets you do whatever you want to him.

“where have you garnered skills to do this?” sukuna asks mid stitch and it's only then that you realised he hasn't done so much as flinch. you could imagine how painful it would've been for a normal human but apparently this counts for nothing to him.

“when you're desperate enough, you just know” the last string goes through his flesh and you tie a knot, snapping the thread off. your movements slow when you realise you're touching him– skin and all, with your own.

your eyes lock when you search for his and they stare back. this time, you don't see a vicious brute but in its place, you see the eyes of a man. and not just any man, if you allowed your thoughts to wander you'd say it was the same look of a man capable of love.

but you don't – you look away. and sukuna's could feel a slight pull in his chest.

“human.”

“i have a name”

“human.”

the disregard for your name only makes you roll your eyes in annoyance. the man only chuckles at the sight.

“you do realise i can heal myself?”

a pause. of course how could you forget? reversed cursed technique they call it? all these magical powers granted to them made no sense to you at all. you only stare at the wall dumbfounded as sukuna downright laughs at your humiliated expression.

“why didn't you stop me then?” your grumble only amuses him further.

“perhaps because i wanted you to acknowledge how foolish you are?” his tone was teasing and not a hint of malicious intent was within it. a smile creeps on your lips and sukuna could swear his heart rate accelerated.

“i could show it to you if you're curious” your wide eyes give him all the confirmation he needed. sukuna rises on his feet, the prior horrid injury long forgotten.

“you could… take off the bandages. if they aren't effective anyway since you can heal” you shrug, trying to brush off your wholly service that was in fact not required in the first place.

“i rather they stay.” his hands graze them gently and you could swear he smiled at the pitiful mounts of cotton plastered on his abdomen.

“come. allow me to show you what im capable of.” he offers you a hand, out of the many he has and his shoulder slumps in relief when you take it without any protest.

he takes you outside and leads you towards your favourite spot in the garden. you don't let yourself wonder if it's a coincidence or not.

“see that fruit?” he gestures to a ripe apple hanging on its tree – super red and just the perfect size.

“yeah want about it?” you tilt your head towards him curiously making sukuna more enthusiastic to show you his perfectly crafted technique.

an invisible slash cuts the single fruit out of the tree, making it fall. it was barely noticeable and you'd think it fell on its own if not for the perfect slices it has all while it landed in the palm of your hands.

your wide eyed gaze only delights the man responsible for it. you take one slice off and admire the precision “you did this?? no way!”

sukuna heaves his chest proudly. strangely, your adulation to his antic gives him so much more satisfaction than wiping out an entire village.

“wait till you see this” sukuna takes a step back, his lips quirking up into a tight smirk upon seeing your expectant expression.

he places his hands together and gestures up signs that were not familiar to you. “fuga « open »” his low voice chants while fire manifests into the palm of his hands. he moulds the flames skillfully as it takes the shape of an arrow – a fire arrow.

and you're left with your mouth agape, he was truly terrifying. such bright flames don't even burn him but instead falls into his command.

sukuna likes the way you stare at him in wonder and was tempted to tell you that he created this very technique in honour of you and your bold decision in grazing his cheek with your arrow but for now, he holds his tongue and lets you admire as long as you want.

when the flames burn away, you're still in a haze— staring at the man in front of you with diluted pupils: one might think you're in love.

as sukuna focuses his eyes into your own, he's certain he could see into your soul which grows a little more familiar to him everytime he sees you. no it's not how he feels the familiar terror in someone's soul when they tremble in fear of him just as he was about to take their life.

it's not the same shudder of fear he used to feel when he's around you. this time, it's inviting. he feels he could be stripped of his technique and just be a normal being if it meant he could submerge himself in it.

───────────── 🃜 🃚 🃖 🃁 🂭 🂺

sukuna used to anticipate how he would die. he wanted to meet someone who would be strong enough to give him a formidable death fit for the most evil being to tread the world. news of fresh generation of strong sorcerers would excite him.

but the moment he knew he was entranced by you, that prior excitement was now replaced by fear. not fear for his death but rather, for yours. if anything were to happen to him, who would protect you?

it doesn't help how his enemies were catching hints on his possible weakness now. it all started with that damn bastard from the kamo clan, whom sukuna swears to kill. him and everybody else that could pose as a threat to you, he swears he will kill them all.

a little part of him also starts to fear for his own end. he fears that no matter how long he lives, he might think he doesn't have enough time with you. how could he when you're here, showing the sides or the world he never knew existed? the same world you weaved with every gentle word you say, no matter how insignificant.

sukuna can't get enough of the small smiles that were appearing more frequently when he reaches out to hold your tiny hand in his big ones.

he can't get enough of your soft snores when you're asleep in his chest– no more nightmares haunting your sleep because as long as he's around, any curse would have to fight him to get to you. no curse was bold enough to do so.

and mostly, he can't get enough of your small gentle strokes across his face. your touch was feather light and curious but so so loving that even when your hands were about to be pulled away, his own grabs them and makes them stay.

sukuna has nothing at all to base it off of, but if he had to name what he's feeling right now, it would be along the lines of complete devotion to you – in other words, he suspects it's the feeling these weak humans and yozoru keep preaching about: love.

and he's not denying it– not to himself at least or he can't. during his recent battles, he observes himself ending it as quick as possible.

instead of luxuriating in the thrill of battle, he finds himself rushing to kill his opponent – to end it as quick as it was humanely possible because every second he spends away from you is a second wasted.

he was becoming more precise and ruthless now that he has something to protect.

that's why even when you ask about his murder streak and if he could lessen it, he just ruffles your hair and tells you not to worry.

any sorcerer who has gotten close enough to land their sights on you were brutally tortured until they give up on their life altogether.

however, life can be funny at times. his own fear for your well being is possibly responsible for the curse that now latches onto you, consuming and draining the life out of you and sukuna's forced to watch as you slowly became a husk of who you used to be. so really, it's not funny at all.

he feels helpless and he is. none of the cursed techniques he has could exorcise the curse blooming inside you and spreading through your veins.

he has been warned before and he didn't care. he never fathomed to ever find someone to love so he traded his soul for his fervent reign – a binding vow: any being whose soul remotely gets near his own would ruin itself without any means for its resurrection.

another condition of the vow was for him to forget about it only after it was too late. at the time the vow was made, sukuna had thought, no, he'd known he lucked out by a power at the price of such a feeble condition but now… now he knows how gut wrenchingly wrong he was.

sukuna slumps in defeat at the sight of your weak body fighting itself. all his four hands encased one of yours as he listens to your staggering breaths that slowly becomes more faint than the last.

for the first time, no matter how tainted his hands were of from the numerous people he murdered in cold blood, sukuna finds himself praying; not for salvation or forgiveness but for your suffering to be placed onto him instead.

he has just found happiness with you, and in you, had just started to learn how to love someone so much that all his wicked ways were something he wished he never did. he had been stupid and arrogant – too arrogant. he was sure the heaven and whole generations of people he killed were now laughing at him drowning in his own misery. how the tables have turned on him and humbled him.

“kuna..” your barely audible voice mades him lean closer to your face, one of his large hands coming up to caress your face delicately.

“human. save your energy” sukuna scolds but his tone was not demanding by any means. it was desperate, desperate for just one more second of you.

a faint smile ghosts your almost now deathly pale face “it's not your fault.” you manage to cough out through staggering breaths.

sukuna's world might as well stop. it was his fault, everything was his fault. from the moment he caught a whiff of your sweet sweet blood to when he looked at you as nothing but prey to the moment when you became the sole reason for his existence, it was all his doing. he has taken you and tangled you amidst the string of despair.

his head shakes in denial, no words coming out of both his two mouths. so much to say, so many ways to say it but nothing.

but you know, the four pupils staring at you take the form of hearts, and that tells you everything. it could be just an illusion you'd heard people speak of on the verge of death but it's enough for you.

your sweet blood slowly looses its essence as you close your eyes, the last light inside you leisurely fading away.

“oi human” sukuna calls but there was no response.

“answer me” a plea.

still no answer as your hand slowly goes limp in his own. there was silence and nothing. so much of nothing that was unfamiliar in the otherwise air of curiousity that always surrounded you.

“human.” sukuna's voice wavers as his hands come to cup your too peaceful face. he searches for any signs of life but he finds none. before he knew it, a drop of water landed on your clueless yet beautiful features, then another and another.

the monster was crying. not just crying – he wept.

his entire body shakes as he lets out his pain, holding onto you desperately as if that would bring you back.

“human” he dries away his own tears on your face and brushes away the hair that dared hide even a portion of it.

“you're not a curse. you have never been. you were my blessing, my salvation. you are the best thing that have ever happened to me. you cleared my skies and showed me how it was to love… and be loved.”

sukuna trembled in grief at your loss. the king of curses– reduced to a man in love.

perhaps he wasn't the cannibal here. perhaps you were the one who slowly teared him apart and consumed his very being– merging yourself into his core without him even realising it.

but one thing he knows for sure is that if he were to do it again, he'd let himself be devoured entirely by you. over and over again. to be loved is to be consumed and he's offering himself to you, flesh and bones on a silver platter.

“until next time, my love.” he leans in and places a fragile kiss onto your forehead and that's the first and last time he has a taste of you.

with the last drop of your blood running dry and the absence of the warmth that made you, you; sukuna finds his answer – the reason why your blood tasted so sweet was because he was made to crave it. something he could quench his thirst with but never getting the chance to do so; a punishment perfectly fit for him.

“your deal. i shall agree to it on a condition” sukuna glowers at kamo who only smirks with an ‘i told you so’ written all over his face. sukuna would have slashed him to bits if it weren't for the agreement he agreed to take up on.

“i shall trade my soul to become a curse only if i get reincarnated exactly a thousand years from now” sukuna proposes, no, commands. it is said that a soul is reincarnated only once every thousand years and he wants to make sure he finds you in the next lifetime. maybe then, he'll have enough time with you and if he's lucky enough, be able to love you without bounds.

“that could be arranged” kamo quirks his head in a way sukuna despises. “but she'll have no memory of you. you're proceeding with this knowledge, yes?”

sukuna only narrows his eyes and ignores his question “that is not all. erase her existence from the minds of everyone besides me. generations hence, no one shall know who she is. her name shall be removed from every mouth that speaks of my reign.”

kamo smiles lazily “your soul is not worth that much sukuna”. the man strolls freely in the room, not minding the looming presence of the king of curses. “however, a binding vow could be arranged.”

great. another binding vow. but if that means he'll meet you in a thousand years time, he'll vow as many times as required.

“the grounds of the vow is as follows: you shall be reincarnated only if there appears a vessel suitable to withstand you.” kamo proposes. “your fingers will be cut and hidden in vast areas across the world and you shall only succeed in full reincarnation if you find them and consume them, all while being suppressed by the vessel.”

sukuna frowns and kamo only laughs “do you agree to the vow knowing all the risk it carries?”

conditions and regulations were a pain but nothing could stop a man desperate enough to give up his soul twice. “very well” sukuna agrees.

and that is how the heian era and sukuna's legacy came to an end; sealing himself – and the memories of you only he carries with him – into his twenty fingers, each of which turned into cursed objects scattered far and wide like pieces of puzzle waiting until the time comes for it to fit itself together again.

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hamsternella · 3 months ago

Note

maybe headcanons of Bill Cipher being obsessed with us for being Ford's wife, but at first he feels jealous and gradually that changes as he finds we have equal things (e.g. we are blind, and that makes Bill start to want to get more intimate with us as he has with Ford because he finds that we have also been despised/put aside because of that difference), and maybe he wants to make a deal with us but we refuse out of loyalty to Ford and that makes Bill jealous- but now of Ford, not of us lmao sorry if that is confusing or too specific.

Are you going to write any Gravity Falls fanfic on the side? I've seen your poll and I'm very excited

HELLO, and no problem. Here it is, I hope you like it.

As for the fanfic, I do plan to write one. Actually, it's in drafts; I just need to correct what I have written. I don't know if I should make it long or cut it and put it in chapters.

PART TWO

Bill Cipher being obsessed with you [headcanon]

cw: fem!reader, non-con touching, possessed body, jealousy, maybe a bit of ooc(?

The reason Bill begins to feel his plan is threatened is because of you. As much as Ford has him on a pedestal, you are still the main reason for his early accomplishments. The special person who has been with him since his college discovery years.

You're not like McGucket; your judgment carries paramount weight in Ford's most decisive decisions. You're not a mentally dazzling woman, not like him, but your claws keep you firmly entrenched behind Sixer's back. Bill repudiates that—it makes no sense at all!

As if that weren't enough, the affair culminates with you being blind. Can there be anything much more repugnant than a romance fueled by misfortune? Ford is drawn to your sincere heart, and you support him unconditionally because beyond your husband's obsession, your love for him seems to break down the most terrifying walls. And how can you be afraid of something you can no longer see?

Bill feels he has the enemy breathing behind his back. For the first time he thinks he can't solve everything with a kick to the rock in the middle of the road.

The closest thing to a tantrum you get from him —unknowingly— are regular nightmares, a weak body and constant paranoia about unfamiliar sounds and sensations. Your home is suddenly a new world; frightening and strange. Because of this you become clumsy and unpredictable, and even your husband doesn't understand what it is that has you so off track.

Bill can't use his influence on your reality at all, but through Ford and other extensions, as well as fine print manipulations, he manages to reach you without arousing suspicion.

''I've told you many times, Bill,'' sighed Ford with his back turned, both hands placed on his journal. ''I don't think I can go through with this completely until I manage to find a way to help my wife.''

''Isn't this a sign that it's time to get her out of your way?''

"Excuse me?’’ The man turned his attention to the demon; his eyes laden with bitterness and desolation. ''What do you mean by that? I can't abandon my wife, Cipher—she would never do something like that to me.''

''Well,'' Bill chuckled, ''it's not like she's really done anything for you all this time. This project is our thing, Fordsy, and it shouldn't be interrupted by a little stumble that doesn't even belong to us. Or are you going to give up everything you've sacrificed for this?''

''You have understood me like no other, Bill; I admit that there is no person or creature existing on this planet who can do all that you have done for me,'' admitted Ford solemnly. ''But she's my wife—she's been around even before you, when I was nobody. When I had nothing. And even when I came to Gravity Falls and left everything behind she was always there. Bill, I... I can't, I'm sorry.''

Bill held back another complaint, beginning to notice that things were not working out the way he had wanted. Your clumsiness didn't kill Ford's patience or control, but what little sanity —if any— there was in him. It was humiliating; Bill Cipher losing to a human being, a random woman—blind, to make it worse.

The demon was beginning to withdraw in on himself, frustration rising to anger, when Ford's voice from the entrance to the room drew his gaze back. There was a different gleam in his companion's, and Cipher understood with annoyance where the conversation would end up now.

Your husband introduces you to the possible solution to all your problems: Mr. Cipher, a doctor and close friend of Stanford. A mysterious man with a booming voice that makes your hair stand on end, but at the end of the day a man of studies and degrees. Of course you were going to trust your husband's recommendation.

''What a coincidence that you happened to be passing by, sir! Thank you for offering to help me. That's very kind of you.''

Bill starts pretending to be your personal doctor in search of a miracle solution to your problems. It's not hard to avoid contact with you to hide the truth; Ford tries hard to keep the situation straight.

If the demon hated you before, now you better start praying.

Cipher understands that he needs to play along with Ford if he wants the project to stay on track, even if that means starting to help you heal while containing his desire to get rid of you.

Maybe if he possessed Stanford and took advantage of you during your naps.

Maybe.

But he knows better than that—Ford isn't stupid. Not stupid enough, at least.

It was humiliating to have to take care of what he himself had caused, but it's not as if Bill could afford any other way to get back on the project. Ford was all he had. Where was he going to get someone else capable enough? This had been fate; interrupted at the last minute by the appearance of a bad third. This was all your fault. Blind little rat—woman busybody with a sweet smile and giggly voice. Cipher understood why Sixer was where he was with you, on the one hand. On the other it was all the same: a whim that cost dearly. Who needed someone like you? What was the benefit? Sex, maybe? But Bill Cipher was a thousand times better than something so banal! Please…

Bill rolled his eye, snapping his fingers to undo the nightmare you were in. As soon as your dream was undone you let out an exclamation of surprise, jumping on the bed. You brought a hand to your face, feeling the sweat, and almost immediately moved your body to where he lay. Cipher held back surprise, finding himself genuinely intrigued.

''Doctor,'' you whispered hoarsely, ''good afternoon. I... Forgive me, I think I fell asleep—it was sudden, I don't know what came over me...''

''Did you know it was me here with you?''

The smile you gave him threw him off. A ''Well, yes, isn't it very obvious?'' kind of grimace.

''Does your husband know that you have these nightmares during our therapies?''

'Therapies' sounded fancy, but it was shorthand for the tortures Bill forced you to go through; a theater of supposed recovery to cover up his need to hurt you.

“He doesn't know, doctor. I haven't told him, if I'm honest,'' you replied. ''Please don't tell him anything.''

''It would be unethical!''

‘’Pretending to be a doctor is also unethical, sir,’’ you laughed. ''I am blind, not stupid.’’

Killing you was going to be the only solution to all of this—although from that day on nothing else ever happened.

Bill has to accept that you have a lot of tricks up your sleeve. You're not just any woman anymore; being Ford's wife had to have been warning enough for him.

You continue to not remind him of his charade and allow him to continue 'treating' you, while your husband resumes the plans for the portal.

Surprisingly, Bill seems to have found interest in something much more striking.

You.

The nightmares subside, your mood and judgment improve, and Cipher finds a strange pleasure in this new side of you: much more alert, more talkative and wittier. You have your charm.

But it's your husband who pulls the reins. Bill gets it right away.

Evenings with you aren't exactly revelatory like they are with Ford, who always has enough data and information to surprise everyone with. With you it's different; it's something much more intimate and almost forgotten by Bill. He knows so much that it would be impossible to be taken by surprise—but you manage to do it.

He is overcome with a nostalgic and unpleasant feeling, but which ironically keeps him alive as he decides to lie to Ford.

Bill doesn't want to let you go. It's strange. Maybe he got used to another glaring presence besides Sixer? Torturing you a little more in silence to keep you under his care should not be a stupid thing to do at all.

Cipher encounters another particular feeling: curiosity. He needs to know why you know what you know; and what it is, above all else, that keeps you here.

What keeps you with so much power over him, Bill Cipher.

''Are you saying that I have tricks up my sleeve? I don't get it, doctor...''

''Oh! Oh, please,'' Bill interrupted, thunderous laughter bouncing across the room. ''You know I'm no doctor; the title is ridiculous.''

''Should I call you 'Mr. Cipher' instead?''

Bill held back a sigh, rubbing his eye for a moment before orbiting around you. If you had noticed, you didn't say or do anything. Your eyes, white as opaque pearls, remained fixed on a corner of the room.

''Since when did you know I wasn't a doctor? No, better yet, since when did you know I wasn't human?''

''Well, it's not quite like that either,'' you replied under a soft laugh. ''You just revealed to me that you are not human. As for the doctor thing... Well, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think that dream therapies and transverse snoring with citrus scent induction while dipping my feet in spoiled milk is something a professional would recommend.''

Bill pretended not to be offended.

''Besides that,'' you continued, ''I know my husband very well. I know that he hides dangerous things down there, where I cannot reach by myself, just as I know everything that has been happening is not the product of chance.''

''Did you know all this time that your nightmares and fears have been my doing?''

‘’No, not really. You just confessed it to me.''

‘’Oh, come on!’’ Bill shook his fists in the air, abruptly remembering that you couldn't see him. It was strange, you seemed to know the world you inhabited even though your eyes wouldn't let you. The thought made the demon orbit around you again, returning in front of you. Opaque pearls; gaze lost in the open. "I've had a majestic revelation at this very moment! Do you want to hear it, or will your big, bold woman brain let you know in advance what I have to say?”

"I have a slight feeling you don't like me.”

“Yes or no!”

“Of course, tell me.”

"I have to assume you weren't born blind; this must be the product of an accident," Cipher began to say. "That would explain why the hell you do everything you do, and why the fuck you know where I am.”

"That's right, Mr. Cipher," you nodded. "I've had an accident, though I suppose you know that because you've infiltrated me. Either that, or my husband told you.”

"So you did know that I'm a demon?”

“You just—”

“Oh, shut up! Don't fucking say it again.”

Your coexistence with Bill becomes pleasant, despite the early revelation of his nature and his having been the cause of your misfortunes.

Cipher comes to believe that he may have been wrong; maybe you were stupid after all.

But that would be crazy! Unlike with Ford, with you the feelings are extremely nostalgic and warm. There is no trace of some kind of farce or genuine morbid interest behind your words. You believe everything you say.

Bill, who despite not sleeping or dreaming, being haunted by the memory of screams and an old distorted and flat reality, finds in your company a comfort zone that makes him delirious.

Sadly, your heart and your judgment is still tied to Sixer—as if that brainiac cared at all!

Bill begins to drive Ford crazy; he feeds him extensive knowledge, possesses him more often to enjoy the benefits, and then alters his memories, making it difficult for him to know what is truth and what is a lie.

Where he can no longer meet your needs, Bill is always there to dazzle you.

You jumped in your seat, feeling your husband's warm hands wrap around your neck. Fingers, rough from machines and dust, caressed your skin awkwardly, drawing a chuckle from you. His breath came to you from above, as if he had just sighed in delight at your reaction. When you felt him rest his hands on your shoulders, you slowly brought one of yours to caress the back of his. You felt him tremble.

''I thought you were sleeping?'' you asked with genuine interest. ''Is everything all right? All these days you've been doing the same thing.''

''Do you mind, beautiful?''

You stifled a laugh.

''No, Ford, your company would never be a bother to me... Are you smelling my hair?''

‘’I just can’t get enough of you.’’

You felt him circle your body, delineating one of the chairs near you so he could relax his body in it. You didn't last long without his hands—as soon as he resumed his seat, you felt his fingers intertwining with yours. This time it was more consistent and comfortable; not like all those days where it seemed like your husband had forgotten how to use his own body.

''Oh, dear! Seeing you with these two orbs of nerves and membrane is amazing! You look even more dazzling.''

Although the comments without any context or sense were still there.

''I'm not that great,'' you said with a small laugh. A little shy. Ford didn't used to give you so many compliments. “How's your project going?’’

‘’That thing? Good, very good. Excellent, my dear! Maybe you could see for yourself—oh, well, you can't,'' he guffawed. ''Right. Whatever! Hey, uh, can I ask you a question?''

‘’Y-Yeah, sure, honey.’’ You cleared your throat. ‘’What’s the matter?’’

''Hypothetical scenario. You're married, but you're not quite fulfilled. Suppose someone comes along who is much better than your husband,'' he explained. ''He's smart, funny, multifunctional, powerful, extra-dimensional, or very soon will be, and also very stylish!'' Silence. Moments later an exclamation. ''Do you have a favorite color? His favorite color is yellow!''

‘’I… I mean, sorry, but I actually don’t understand at all where’s the question.’’

‘’Don’t be silly! Would you leave your husband for this entity—excuse me, for this person?''

‘’What?’’

‘’The heck.’’

Another booming laugh, and though you tried to accompany it with your own, the sound that came from you was choppy and awkward. This exchange was strange.

''I can't find a reason to leave my husband for this so-called mystery person,'' you replied. ''I am supposed to have married him for a reason which should be more than enough. Ford,'' you rushed on, ''is this regarding Mr. Cipher?''

''Why?'' he asked at once. ''Why do you think of him all of a sudden? Do you feel something forbidden about him in this marriage?''

''But of course not!''

''What do you mean ‘no’?!’’

His hands let go of yours. The chair in front of you seemed to be dragged, the wood against the floor squeaking with the sudden friction. The movement had taken you by surprise.

‘’Ford?’’

''Why are you so happy? Why, huh?'' he sighed, frustrated. ''Haven't I abandoned you every night in a freezing bed, while I prefer the company of machines? Cipher has been very kind to you and kept you company!''

''Ford, what are you—wait. Wait a moment... Bill, is this you?'' You covered your mouth, terrified at the discovery. Your companion didn't respond and you simply let out a shaky breath. ''Are you possessing my husband?’’

‘’Damn, that was fast.’’

‘’That’s awful!’’

"There was full consent!" added Bill with a chuckle. "This is a man-to-man thing, my pretty little fleshbag. Something between colleagues, plain and simple. You needn't fear—Bill Cipher is taking care of everything.”

"But it's horrendous anyway!" you exclaimed with your voice splitting. "It all makes sense now... The words, the touches, the way you acted—it was all a sham! You were using my husband!”

"Oh, please, little one. Wasn't it you who dreamed of being able to touch me?”

"You, not a substitute class using Stanford's body! Have you two been doing these kinds of exchanges all along?”

"It's just that there was a change of plans!”

“A change? What—”

“I mean, I tried to kill you; but it's not that easy now,” he laughed.

You tried to calm your breathing. Your heart was beating painfully against your chest, and your whole body was trembling. This wasn't right, obviously. It was like a vivid nightmare.

“Not that I want to do it, of course.”

“Why?” you asked after a long silence.

You felt the presence of your husband's body very close to you. A pair of hands rested on your cheeks, caressing them with his fingers very softly; the touches getting lost under the trembling of your figure when you heard again a sigh of delight. Something was up.

“You know,” he whispered, “I think we could make a deal. A little, pretty one, and just for you.”

“A deal? A deal with a demon, you mean. No, thank you.”

“Oh, come on! It will be fun!”

“And it makes no sense.”

Bill turned away from you, returning to his chair to take a seat across from your body.

"What exactly is it that Ford gives you that I can't manage to satisfy? Because very soon the little project will be complete, and I will have full disposal of many wonderful tricks to take care of you, my dear," he continued. "An eternity together! We'll be able to create and tell thousands of new stories; to travel across the world and let you experience hundreds of new sensations. We'll be unstoppable! Incomparable!”

"That's not the way things work, Bill…”

"Things work because of the strongest. I will soon be the only one with that title.”

"What will happen to Ford?" you asked haltingly. "What will you do to my husband?”

"He's my co-worker, dear.”

"You're hiding something from me.”

"So what if it is? He doesn't matter here! It's our time... You're mine.”

The way your husband's voice was beginning to distort sent a shiver through your body. You loved Ford—you missed him. The idea that you had been kissing the lips of a man possessed a couple of days ago was turning your stomach. Your silence seemed to feed something inside the demon; his voice thundered, totally changed, across the room.

"A few weeks ago you said you missed the stars," added Bill. "The last time you saw them was when you were a teenager. I miss the stars too—the ones I saw with a different eye. It's not the same anymore. Nothing is, since..." Silence. You didn't dare interrupt the creature who seemed to be drowning in bitter memory. It took him a while to pull himself together; a split laugh piercing your ears like an arrow. "Oh, the misery! I thought it repulsive the way you two looked so united over something so pathetic. Anyway, what does the past matter now, what does misery matter! There's no such thing being with Bill Cipher. You'll want for nothing.”

"I refuse, Bill.”

"And I refuse too," he laughed. "See? We can play the same game, silly. I don't recommend testing my patience, though.”

The touch of palms against the warm skin of your neck took you by surprise. The roughness of those fingers you loved so much were now forbidding you to breathe; the softness of moist lips pressing against yours, taking advantage of the way you parted yours to find a sliver of air. You soon struggled against your husband's body, desperate to deny the foreign tongue that flicked unseemly and inexperienced inside you. Bill was drowning in an unfamiliar feeling that felt too good. You were soft, fragile. Your flesh was tender and warm, quivering like an animal about to die—he was going to devour it to the bone. Was this what Ford had been doing with you? You liked it?

He could kill you. He could end your life when the portal was complete; he could take advantage of Ford, as he had been doing all this time, and keep the prize all to himself. Why was it so hard? What was it you had done to him? Was Ford a victim too? The thought burned like a fierce fury at the back of his mind—jealousy once again. The need to own even the crumbs. Ford wouldn't have the right to be your victim anymore. This feeling was too good for that brainiac to understand, surely he never did.

But Bill understood everything. He was incomparable. He could dominate your life and hold the reins as well as Ford had been doing. No. Cipher was going to do better! Did you miss your husband's domination? Bill would be your ruler; he would destroy obstacles and build better ones to keep you in check. Maybe a little training and you'd become a beautiful little bag of flesh and muscle—tight, warm and obedient. And who knows if you'd end up exceeding his expectations! Who knows if a little gift occupying your orbs would give you the chance to enjoy the same star-studded sky together.

"Don't think too much," whispered Bill pantingly. "There's plenty of other things to do than something as dull as that. Don't worry your pretty little head.”

You shook your head, surrendered to crying. Your husband's hands had left your neck, but now they wrapped around your wet cheeks, offering shy caresses.

"From now on you're going to use it when I say so. Everything will be that way, and you know why?”

A crooked laugh vibrated against his chest, reaching you through his hands.

"Because now you will be my new pet. A special one! The best of them all… You could say ‘muse’, even. Isn't that beautiful, dear?”

A cold kiss. The last one.

“Aren't you, above all, beautiful too?”

#fanfic #reader insert #reader #obssesion #yandere #angst #bill cipher gravity falls #bill cipher x reader #bill cipher #gravity falls stanford #stanford pines #gravity falls

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m1ckeyb3rry · 2 months ago

Text

Series Synopsis: A series of (mostly) unrelated one shots, featuring Oliver Aiku somehow getting involved with the love lives of various Blue Lock characters — whether he wants to or not.

Chapter Synopsis: Oliver Aiku isn’t sure which entity he’s wronged to earn this kind of treatment, but somehow, in the days before the match against Blue Lock, he’s stuck watching over the team’s newest addition: Sae Itoshi, a rude midfielder who’d rather be in Spain (or in hell) than hanging out with him. Things get a little more complicated, though, when a cup of shitty coffee leads to a crush and Aiku is forced to intervene.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Sae x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 7.9k

Content Warnings: crack fic, sae my awkward goat, love at first sight, oliver aiku is such a bitch but he’s funny so it’s kind of okay, reader has to work in customer service 😓, this is really dumb please don’t judge my writing off of it, sae is 100% ooc don’t come at me i KNOWWW, split perspectives (it makes sense in the story), sae slander (from aiku), reader is a fan girl but she keeps it 𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖙, reader’s dad has cameos but he’s just chilling tbh

A/N: the people wanted sae’s version to be posted first so uhhh here we are!! LMAO it kind of got a bit long (as usual) but it’s very silly and goofy!! anyways so this is the first entry in “oliver aiku’s guide to getting girls” i hope you all stick around for the rest 🤩‼️

Oliver Aiku likes to think he’s a fairly nice guy. He visits his grandmother every weekend, he rescues kittens from gutters (okay, it only happened once, but he still did it, so it counts), and he’s good enough at being captain of the Japanese U-20s that none of his teammates really hate him, so all in all, he can’t be doing that bad of a job. Yeah, he’s pretty sure he’s a great person, a stand-up fellow, an upstanding member of society — so why the fuck is Sae Itoshi glaring at him like that?

“What?” he says, because it was fine for the first, say, twenty minutes or so, but now it’s gone from annoying to just plain concerning. “Something going on with you?”

Sae stares at him for a moment longer, and Aiku wonders if he’s trying to communicate via telepathy. That’s a skill he’s never picked up, though, so he can only wait for Sae to speak up, which, thankfully, he eventually does.

“This coffee is shit,” he says. The way he speaks is dull and blank, his lips pinched together and his brows low over his eyes. It’s kind of a shame, in Aiku’s highly professional opinion. He’d be handsome if he smiled more; or, if not handsome, at least approachable enough to not scare away every single girl that dared to even glance at him.

“It’s not my fault,” Aiku says. “Take it up with the barista or something.”

“You’re the one who brought me here, so it is your fault,” Sae says. Aiku crosses his arms, because isn’t Sae younger than him? This feels like a level of disrespect he shouldn’t tolerate, prodigy or not.

“Nuh-uh,” he says. In hindsight, it’s not the most mature response he could’ve come up with, and Sae seems to agree, snorting derisively before using a napkin to dab at a drip of coffee running down the side of his cup.

“What a captain,” he says with a sigh. “No wonder you guys need me to play for you against those Blue Lock idiots.”

Aiku should be offended, he really should be — and he is! He is, and he’s just about to muster up some scathing retort that’ll definitely leave Sae Itoshi trembling, but then Sae’s standing up with purpose, so now he’s just intrigued instead of insulted. He follows after him as Sae holds the coffee in one hand and marches towards the counter, and when he realizes what’s about to happen, he preemptively cringes.

“Don’t yell at service workers!” Aiku says. It would’ve been heroic if he had said it loud enough for Sae to hear him, but unfortunately, it’s more of a whisper than the brave shout he had intended for it to be, so he just looks kind of stupid, as if he regularly talks to himself or something.

“Hey,” Sae says to the boy at the counter. He’s young, probably no more than fifteen or sixteen, and Aiku prays that he’s not the target of Sae’s ire. “Who made this?”

The boy squints at Sae’s cup, reading the receipt, and then he smiles innocently. “That was Y/N. Did you want to talk to her?”

“Yes,” Sae says bluntly. Aiku is about to thank whichever deity was watching over him and that boy alike, but he pauses when the rest of the kid’s statement registers. Her? Her? Is Sae seriously about to yell at a girl for making bad coffee? If she’s hot, he’ll kill Sae, no doubt about it. “And tell her to make it quick. We don’t have all day, and she’s already wasted enough of our time.”

Yeah, he’s definitely going to kill him.

“Y/N,” a voice whispers. You’re untying your apron — your shift is just about over, and you’re ready to clock out, but for some reason your young coworker is peering into the kitchen nervously and gesturing for you to come with him. Normally, you’d tell him to handle things himself, but he’s new, so you decide to be responsible for once and follow after him, muttering curses to yourself as you retie your apron.

“What’s the matter? Did you spill something?” you say. He shakes his head, raising his hand and pointing at the counter, where two customers are waiting. You frown, because you’re pretty sure you already gave them their drinks, so there’s no reason for them to be standing there, unless maybe they want to reorder. “Wait. Did you call me to take their order? No way! My shift is over in thirty seconds!”

“No, no, I didn’t,” your coworker says. “They want to talk to you.”

“Me? Like me, specifically?” you say. He nods.

“Yeah, they asked for you by name and everything,” he says earnestly. “I think they’re mad, though.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, because the last thing you want to do is deal with a couple of prissy customers, especially not when you’re supposed to be heading home already. However, your coworker seems to be on the verge of tears, and some kind of sisterly affection tugs at your heartstrings, so you pat him on the shoulder and take his spot at the counter.

“Hi, this is Y/N. My coworker told me you needed to see me. How can I help you?” you say. Your voice is chipper and your smile is false, but they don’t need to know that. You’ve been working at the coffee shop for long enough that you’re practiced at pretending, and you know for a fact that your coworker is standing shyly at your side, probably astonished by the quality of your performance.

For a moment, neither man speaks, so you get to stare at them and make your own assumptions about who they are and what their backstories might be. It’s kind of like a hobby, a pastime for when things are slow or you’re generally annoyed about your job. You’ve developed it over the years, and luckily, these two are prime candidates for the game.

The one on the left is tall and broad, with dark hair and mysterious eyes. Curiously, one is a bright green, while the other is a softer violet, and there’s a few-days-old stubble growing on his square face, like a shadow running along his jaw. It gives him a rough appearance, like he owns a motorcycle and frequently wears leather jackets, but you want to believe that he’s gentle at heart. Maybe he has a fondness for baby animals or he likes to bake cookies or something along those lines.

The one on the right is shorter than his counterpart, and his hair is red like a sunset, pushed carelessly out of his haughty face. He’s wearing a sweater that matches his eyes, though the teal of the knitted fabric is much more muted, and you’re about to come up with some kind of fantastical explanation for who he might be when you realize that you know him.

He clears his throat, and you scramble to stand up straighter, internally screaming, because what are the odds that you’ve somehow managed to piss off the star player of your favorite soccer club’s youth team? You wonder what your father will think of you now. You wonder what you think of yourself now. What should you do? Should you tell him you recognize him? Ask for an autograph? Or should you play it cool and pretend like you don’t know him? What if he yells at you?

Actually, you wouldn’t mind it as much as normally do. When everyday customers start screaming at you for some perceived wrong that you’ve supposedly committed, you typically tune them out, and then you make fun of them with your coworkers in the back, but if it’s Sae Itoshi…well. you’ll certainly listen to every word he says, and when you return to the kitchen, you’ll write them down somewhere so you can remember the moment forever.

“He didn’t like his drink,” he says, pointing at the dark haired man.

“What?” the man shrieks. The pitch is higher than you would’ve expected from someone of his size, but it appears he realizes that, too, because then he’s coughing. “I mean, what? What are you talking about?”

“You were just complaining, Aiku,” Sae says. “You even made me come up here and get mad at this girl for you.”

The other man, who you guess is named Aiku, is turning a strange shade between magenta and beet-red, and you’re surprised there isn’t steam coming out of his ears. Given that you don’t really care about him that much, you’re instantly irritated again, because why would it matter if he didn’t like his drink? Still, you have to keep up appearances.

“My apologies, sir. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” you say.

“No!” Aiku says. “No, it’s — hey, Sae, you were the one who was all upset, so why are you putting it on me?”

“Hm?” Sae says, obviously uninterested in the conversation already. “I dunno. Maybe it happened like that, or maybe not.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, more than a little bewildered. “Ah, I’m new here, so I’m still learning.”

Aiku, who has returned to a more normal and human color, smiles at you kindly, and he’s about to respond, ostensibly to reassure you, but then your damned coworker pipes up: “No, she’s not.”

“Ah, sorry?” Aiku says.

“She’s not new,” your coworker says again.

“‘New’ is a subjective term,” you say mechanically, wishing that it was acceptable for you to turn around and hit him in public whenever you wanted.

“I don’t think anyone would consider you to be new when you’ve been working here for three years,” your coworker says. You can imagine the innocent, guileless expression on his face right now. You want to do something violent to it.

“Ha, ha,” you say. You think your eye might twitch, too, but if Aiku or Sae notice, then neither of them point it out. “What a knowledgeable fellow we have back here.”

“It’s alright,” Aiku says. “I didn’t mind the drink. Sae’s the one who threw a fit about it.”

“I liked it,” Sae says stubbornly. “It was fine.”

You step in before Aiku can turn magenta again, because that’s probably unhealthy for him, and you don’t want to be held liable for a customer dying on your watch when you’re not even being paid for it.

“Anyways, is that all? I’m actually done with my shift, so if you guys don’t need anything else…” you trail off, though inside you’re screaming something along the lines of Sae Itoshi, please notice me and give me your autograph and oh, if you could fall in love with me, too, that would be amazing!

Of course, you can’t verbalize anything like that, so you just smile and wave until the door slams shut behind them. Then you’re yanking your apron off and balling it up before chucking it at your coworker’s face. It hits him in the nose and slides to the ground; he gives you an offended look before picking it up.

“You’re lucky it was only an apron,” you say. “You owe me big time, you little shit.”

“Huh?” he says.

“I won’t forget this!” you warn him, stomping towards the small locker room, where your precious phone is waiting for you. “You’re a major-league jerk, okay? Don’t ever ask me to cover another shift for you again!”

“Huh?”

“What the hell was that?” Aiku snaps as soon as they’ve left the cafe, because this is totally not what he was expecting when his coach told him that he had to treat Sae nicely and make him feel welcome.

“What was what?” Sae says. He’s sipping on his coffee sedately now, even though he was complaining about it only minutes earlier.

“Since when was I the one who was upset about my coffee?” Aiku says.

“I have a bad memory,” Sae deadpans. “I guess it could’ve been either of us.”

“That was not believable in the slightest,” Aiku feels the need to inform him. Judging by Sae’s expression, it wasn’t meant to be believable, though, and Aiku sighs. “Seriously, what’s your deal? You were just going crazy and glaring at me because you thought the coffee sucked, and now you think it’s good?”

“I should’ve waited for it to cool,” Sae says. “It’s better now. I was being hasty.”

“Uh-huh,” Aiku says. “Sure. Let’s do something else tomorrow. I don’t ever want to go back there. I don’t think I can face that girl again. She was so hot, too, and now she probably thinks I’m some ungrateful asshole…”

“I want to go back,” Sae says immediately, throwing the now-empty cup into the nearest trash can. Aiku furrows his brow at him, trying to puzzle out this latest contradiction and finding himself utterly unable to. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Aiku repeats dubiously. Tomorrow he has practice, and technically so does Sae. However, they both know that Sae doesn’t need anything as ridiculous as practice in order to win against a team of eleven high-school forwards, and he’s fairly confident that his coach will tell him to accompany the bratty Itoshi instead of showing up, since the JFU is pulling out all of the stops if it means getting Sae to stay in Japan for good.

“Tomorrow,” Sae reaffirms.

I’m a nice guy, Aiku tries to remind himself. This is what nice guys do. I’m boosting team morale. Yeah. That’s all. Captain’s duties.

Still, as he chases after Sae, who apparently doesn’t know what the word ‘stroll’ means and prefers to do everything at a brisk pace more akin to a jog, he thinks that this entire ridiculous assignment feels more like a babysitter’s duties than anything.

“Are you serious?” your father says. In the background, the TV is playing a game between Re Al and Barcha, which is rather fitting.

“Deadly,” you say, untying the laces of your sneakers and putting them with the rest of your shoes. “It was actually him.”

“Sae Itoshi,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s back from Spain?”

“Seems like it,” you say, though now that he mentions it, you’re as confused as he is. Why is Sae Itoshi here instead of Madrid? You glance at the TV — Barcha has just scored, and the cameras are sweeping through the crowds, showing the excited fans cheering — and wonder if maybe he was fired or something. You doubt that that’s what happened; after all, he’s a consistent player, and the last time he was in a match, he even managed to outmaneuver that freaky striker who plays for Bastard München, so it would make zero sense for Re Al to let him go. Besides, even if they did, you’re sure there’s dozens of clubs that would be willing to take him, so there must be another reason for his presence in Japan.

“Huh,” your father says. “Well. Good for him.”

“I guess so,” you say. “If I ever see him again, I’ll ask him what he’s doing in town.”

Your father chuckles, taking a sip of his beer and giving you a thumbs up. “Yeah, you do that. Let me know what he says.”

You laugh, too, sitting down at the counter and eating a plate of reheated leftovers, because you know as well as your father that the idea of you ever seeing Sae Itoshi again is more than a little far-fetched. But it’s a nice thought, and anyways the chances are never zero, so for the moment, you allow yourself to imagine.

Aiku is seriously questioning if Sae Itoshi was sent to this earth — or at least to this country — as some kind of punishment for him. He’s not really sure what’s done that would invite such cosmic retribution, but maybe it’s one of those…what did that girl call them? Karmic debts? She had said something about the sins of his past life and all, though he can’t recall the specifics.

Wait. That’s wrong. He just never learnt them in the first place, so how could he remember them in the first place? He had broken up with her before she could explain her theories to him. This prompts a wince from him, which is further fueled by the way his t-shirt sticks to his back with sweat. It’s a distinctively uncomfortable feeling, and he’s contemplating complaining, even though it probably won’t do much.

“Shut up,” Sae says.

“I didn’t say anything!” Aiku protests, more than a little spooked, since he actually had been about to say something before Sae had cut him off.

“I can see you making faces at me,” Sae says. Considering Sae is walking ahead of him and to the side, Aiku’s not quite sure how he could tell anything about what sorts of faces Aiku is making, but unfortunately, he’s uncannily correct as always, so Aiku schools his expression into a smooth, neutral one that won’t beget reprimand from his companion.

“I can’t believe you insisted on going here straight after practice,” he says.

“This is the same time we went yesterday,” Sae says. He’s kind of an insufferable smart-ass, Aiku thinks to himself, though he’d never say as much to Sae’s face. After all, unlike his counterpart, he’s considerate like that, and he always has been.

“So? We didn’t have practice yesterday,” Aiku says. “You couldn’t even let me shower?”

“You take forever in the showers,” Sae says. This is rich, for Sae is notoriously obsessive with his skincare, and of the entire team, he takes far and away the longest to get ready. But, then again, Aiku supposes that idiocy is one of those illnesses which spreads further and further until all of one’s perspectives are tainted with the virus.

“I could’ve been quick,” he says. “It would’ve been better if I could’ve at least rinsed off so I didn’t look so gross. I want to impress that Y/N girl if she’s there again today.”

“You’re not her type,” Sae says dismissively. “So why bother?”

“How do you know? Are the two of you childhood buddies or something?” Aiku says. Sae glances at him, and of course he’s way too holier-than-thou to properly sneer, but the corners of his lips turn downwards to the same effect.

“Not too hard to figure out,” he says.

“Well, hold on just a moment! I got the vibe that she was totally into me yesterday!” Aiku says. He actually did not get any such vibes from the barista; the only thing she seemed into was clocking out, but he’s Oliver Aiku. If he can’t get a girl, he can’t do anything. Besides, it’s not like Sae would be able to tell one way or another — Aiku and his teammate Sendou have a theory that Sae was created in a lab as some kind of experiment to make the world’s best midfielder, because the guy really doesn’t have any knowledge or concern for anything that’s unrelated to soccer.

True to form, Sae blinks unsurely. “Really?”

“Yeah, one hundred percent,” Aiku boasts, although then he’s narrowing his eyes, because such a question is so out of Sae’s character that for a moment, he wonders if there’s been a mistake and he’s actually taken some other team member of his along for this ridiculous errand.

Messy red hair. Teal eyes. Forehead creased with a frown. No, it’s definitely Sae Itoshi, that’s for sure. Just Sae Itoshi in a mood that he’s never seen before. If they were a little closer, he’d ask him what’s the big deal now, but as it is, the question would probably go unappreciated.

“Hm,” Sae says. “Whatever. We’ll see.”

“Sure,” Aiku says slowly, reaching out to hold open the door of the cafe so he can enter behind Sae, since his lovely, amazing, wonderful, kindhearted teammate so generously left it to slam shut in his face.

What a total dick. He makes a mental note to ask the JFU for a raise, because whatever they’re giving him at the moment is definitely not enough.

“They’re back again!” your coworker says. You’re still mad at him for yesterday, so you’ve been giving him the silent treatment the entire shift. It hasn’t gone unnoticed, but his pitiful attempts at reconciliation never include an apology, so you haven’t budged yet.

He waits for you to respond, but you’re pretty sure he’s making stuff up to get you to pay attention to him, and anyways they could be in reference to anyone, so you continue to pour milk into a cup, acting like it’s an all-consuming task which you cannot possibly complete without the utmost of concentration.

“I’m being serious! Y/N, it’s Sae Itoshi and, uh, that other dude!” he says. Your hand wobbles for the briefest moment, but you conclude that he’s most likely lying, so you steady yourself and continue pouring the milk. “Fine, be that way! I’ll serve them myself!”

You can’t even say something snarky in response, because that’ll still be a win on his part, so you huff particularly loudly to no one in particular and leave it at that.

A few minutes later, he’s back, looking so contrite that if you weren’t upset with him, you’d actually be worried. Unfortunately, you very much are upset with him, so you find it on the whole to be rather hilarious and have to suppress a laugh.

He must take your amusement as a signal to talk, because he speaks eagerly and quickly, stumbling over his words and clasping his hands together in front of him.

“Y/N, Y/N, they’re insisting on seeing you, I told them you’re working right now — I’m sorry, I’m not supposed to do that, right? But I did, and now they really want to see you!” he says.

You’re still not entirely convinced, but if this is an act, then it’s a dedicated one, and you don’t think that he possesses that much dedication in all of his body, so maybe he’s actually telling the truth.

“Fine,” you say. “But if you’re lying, I swear I’m telling our manager to fire you.”

“I’m not!” he squeaks, darting back to the counter, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits for you to catch up to him.

When you reach the front, you’re surprised to see that it is in fact Sae Itoshi and…whoever that other guy is. Aiku? Yes, that sounds right. It’s Sae and Aiku, and one looks supremely inconvenienced — this would be Sae, of course — while his friend is running a hand through his sweaty hair, flashing you a grin.

You smile back at him, because that’s what you’re trained to do, and you don’t want your coworker to tattle to your manager that you’re not abiding by the cafe’s standards of customer service. Then you stare at them until one of them starts speaking, because that’s what your entire job is, and no matter how badly you want to start gushing to Sae Itoshi about how big of a fan you are, you have to remain professional.

“Is there anything I can do for you two?” you finally say. This prompts Aiku to nod, nudging Sae in the side, which earns him a dark glare.

“I want the number two, and he’ll take the number five,” Aiku says when Sae does not speak up. You want to tell him that nobody orders like that, but you’re not supposed to and it’s really not that big of a deal either way, so you just ring up the order.

“Sounds good. Would you like to pay with cash or credit?” you say.

“Credit,” Sae says, pulling out a card that probably has a monthly spending limit higher than what you make in a year. “And we’re splitting the bill, just so you know.”

What you want to say is Wow, Sae, you’re somehow even cooler in real-life! Who’s your favorite soccer player? What’s your favorite food? Do you like Spain better, or here? What you actually say is: “No problem. I’ll have those right out for you.”

“Thanks,” Aiku says. He’s kind of charming, in a sense; you can think of several friends you have that would probably swoon at the way his smile stretches across his face, but you don’t really see the appeal. Or, maybe you would normally, but at the moment, he’s standing next to Sae Itoshi, so it’s a little hard to focus on him at all.

“Yeah,” Sae says. “Thank you. Y/N.”

He’s probably just reading off of your name tag in an effort to seem more friendly and relatable and humble and all. It’s a classic PR move that he was probably taught as soon as he joined Re Al. You know about it, though, so it shouldn’t work on you. It won’t work on you. He’s just doing what he’s trained to, the same as you are.

It works on you. You run to the back and hide your face in your hands and squeal, because Sae fucking Itoshi just said your name.

“Holy fucking shit,” Aiku says.

“Are we just listing curse words now?” Sae says dryly. “Bitch, cunt, hell. There’s three more for you.”

“You like the barista!” Aiku accuses. If Sae was drinking something, he would’ve spit it out just then, but he’s not, so he just chokes on his saliva.

“No way,” he says.

“Yes, you do! How else can you explain this?” Aiku says, pitching his voice up in an imitation of Sae’s. “Yeah. Thank you. Y/N. Since when do you say thank you to people?”

“Since always? I have manners,” Sae says.

“I’ve never heard you say it,” Aiku says.

“Maybe that’s more telling about you than me,” Sae suggests. Aiku scowls at him.

“You definitely like her,” he says. “No judgment here, man. She’s pretty.”

“Whatever,” Sae says. “Even if I did like her — mind you, I don’t — she’s clearly into you.”

“Me?” Aiku says. “I was just messing with you earlier, you know. Anyways, yeah, I think she’s hot, but, like, you’ve never liked a girl before, right? So I wouldn’t get in the way of that. This is a big step.”

“You’re not getting in the way of anything. Do what you want,” Sae says.

Aiku’s already pulling out his phone and texting Sendou: big news. Lab experiment just evolved. Feels attraction and jealousy now.

“Uh-huh,” he responds absentmindedly. Sendou texts back with about fifty mind-blown emojis, and he snickers to himself, liking the message.

“Anyways, who told you I’ve never liked anyone before?” Sae says defensively. Aiku just about drops his phone, leaning forwards in interest. Could it be? Are he and Sae actually bonding? Is Sae about to tell him about his first love — who apparently is not this barista?

“I just guessed. Was I wrong?” Aiku says. He’s already trying to come up with who Sae might’ve liked — a childhood neighbor or friend? A women’s soccer player he admired? A girl he saw once in Spain but never again? Oh, that last one is particularly romantic…he’s just about accepted it as fact when Sae glares at him.

“No,” he says. Aiku’s dreams are shattered in an instant, but he can only shake his head while chuckling, both because Sae has inadvertently admitted that he actually does like that Y/N girl, and because he was an idiot for believing that ‘Sae Itoshi’ and ‘romantic’ could ever belong together in one sentence.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“What do I do?” you say. You and your coworker are back on speaking terms, mostly because you have no one else to talk to and are so desperate that you’re willing to temporarily forgive him.

“Make their drinks?” he says. You give him a dirty look as you begin mixing up their orders.

“Not about that. I’m such a huge fan of Sae’s, and this is the second time I’m making a drink for him. It’s kind of like fate, don’t you think? Should I try to talk to him or something?” you say.

“Do you want to?” your coworker says. It’s a slower time of day, so he has nothing to do but sit and watch you — at least, nothing immediate. There’s certainly things he could be doing, but you’re not about to chide him when you’re the reason he’s slacking off.

“Obviously! But what am I supposed to even say? I’ll sound like a creep if I just start acting like a fan-girl!” you say.

“That’s true,” your coworker says. “You kind of sound like one even now…”

“Ugh, if you’re not going to be helpful, then go organize the storeroom or something!”

“What about her makes you like her?” Aiku presses.

“Are we still on this?” Sae says, as if they’ve been talking about it for hours. “I don’t like her.”

“It’s not like you talked to her for a while…was it really just her looks?” Aiku says. “Damn. Didn’t think you were the shallow type.”

“I am not the shallow type!” Sae says.

“That sounds like something that a shallow person would say,” Aiku teases.

“Shut up,” Sae says. Aiku doesn’t have enough fingers or toes to count how many times Sae’s said that particular phrase to him. Maybe if he counted all of the fingers and all of the toes of every single person in the world, he would get kind of close to what that number might be. “I’m not shallow, I don’t like her, and she’s obviously way more interested in talking to you than me, so get off my back.”

Aiku whistles. “Someone’s jealous.”

“I’m telling the JFU that you were the one who sent me back to Spain,” Sae informs him bluntly. Aiku isn’t sure if that’s a joke or a legitimate threat. It’s hard to tell with Sae sometimes.

“Are you serious?” Aiku says.

“Deadly,” Sae says.

Yep, Aiku decides. He’s serious.

“If only that Aiku dude wasn’t there,” you lament, setting the first drink in the pick-up area and calling out Aiku’s name before returning to finish Sae’s drink. “It’d be way easier to talk to Sae without someone there to judge everything I’m saying.”

“Do you think he’d even care?” your coworker says. You shrug.

“No idea. It’s intimidating to talk to guys around their friends, though. You’re a guy yourself, so you wouldn’t get it,” you say.

“Are they even friends?” your coworker says. “Doesn’t seem like they get along that well.”

In unison, the two of you turn so you can look at the duo, who are sitting at a table right within your line of sight. As your coworker said, they don’t look like they’re friends in the slightest. Aiku is sipping on his drink with a smirk, and Sae looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, doing anything else, than be sitting there with his not-friend.

“The point still stands,” you say.

“Guess so,” your coworker says. Just then, Sae Itoshi happens to glance over, making direct eye contact with you. Your eyebrows raise, and your face warms as you realize you’ve been caught. Aiku turns to follow Sae’s line of sight as you weigh your options. Should you pretend like you weren’t doing anything? Should you wave?

You decide to just smile again before returning to the drink you were supposed to be working on. Your coworker, who saw the entire exchange, cannot stop laughing.

“It’s over for you,” he says. “He definitely thinks you’re a creepy fan-girl now. You can kiss that autograph goodbye.”

“You’re lucky I’m too lazy to remake this drink,” you say. “Because otherwise, I’d spill it on you.”

“That’s against company policy,” he says.

“By accident, of course,” you say with a malicious grin.

“That’s against company policy, too!”

“Look, she just smiled at you. I bet she was looking at you the entire time,” Sae says coolly. “You should ask for her number. You already said you think she’s beautiful.”

“I said she’s hot. I’m not all poetic and shit like that,” Aiku says. “And I wouldn’t do that. It’s against the bro code.”

“We’re not ‘bros’, so you can put that out of your head,” Sae says.

“What if I help you get her number?” Aiku says. Sae tries very hard to maintain his nonchalant look, but Aiku can tell that his curiosity has been piqued. “Will you consider me a bro then? At the minimum, will you tell the JFU that I’ve done a great job at showing you around and making you feel welcome?”

Please please please please please I really need a fucking raise Sae I’m broke please please please —

“Sure,” Sae says.

“Sure?” Aiku says. “Yes! Okay, this will be easy.”

Sae scoffs. “Yeah, okay. If that’s what you think.”

“Believe me,” Aiku says. “You’re in the presence of a master.”

Sae doesn’t even dignify that with a response beyond the most disgusted look Aiku has ever seen on anyone, Sae or not. He’d say something, but he’s pretty sure he deserves it at least a little, and anyways a possible raise is way more important to him than being right, so he keeps his mouth shut, simply giving Sae a double-thumbs-up. He’s going to ace this new assignment, and then maybe he’ll actually be paid what he’s worth instead of pennies on the dime.

You’re about to call out Sae’s name when you realize that for some reason, both Aiku and Sae are standing there and waiting for you. You furrow your brow, because it’s both a menacing and a comical sight — the hulking Aiku, who looks like he’s about to go punch a criminal on television before flipping his hair and telling the ladies that there’s enough of him to go around, and the slender Sae Itoshi, who you can’t imagine doing anything but slamming a winning pass to one of his teammates, invariably leading to a soccer ball in his opponent’s net.

“Uh, hello,” you say.

“Hello,” Aiku says.

“Hi,” Sae says.

“I have your drink,” you say to Sae.

“I know,” he says, taking it from your hand. Of course — why else would they be here? They must’ve seen you finishing up the drink and rightly assumed that it was theirs.

“Right,” you say. Neither of them go to leave, and now you wonder if they just don’t understand social cues or something like that. “Did you guys want to order something else? My coworker would be happy to take you at the counter.”

“No,” Sae says.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Well, I hope you enjoy your drinks.”

“We will,” Sae says with the utmost of confidence. Aiku groans and then thumps him on the back. You have a feeling you probably don’t want to know what the significance of the gesture is, but then you realize that this is probably the only chance you’ll get to have a proper conversation with Sae Itoshi, so you shove your concerns aside.

“Wait! If it doesn’t bother you too much, can I ask you a question?” you say. It’s an incredibly awkward way of going about it, but given how awkward this entire interaction has been, you don’t think it’s a huge deal.

“Go ahead,” Aiku says. You weren’t asking him, but you guess the permission covers them both, so you square your shoulders and face Sae Itoshi, who seems entirely confused that you’re looking at him instead of Aiku. You’re not sure why he would be, since between the two of them he’s the celebrity, but maybe there’s some weird dynamic going on that you’re unaware of.

It doesn’t matter to you, though. You only have one thing to ask. You’ll never cross paths with Sae again, will you? So it’s fine. You can act a little embarrassing, and anyways, you barely make above minimum wage, so if your manager gets too upset and fires you for ‘unprofessional conduct’ or something, it won’t be a huge loss. It’ll be worth it, even, considering this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance and your coworker is busy reorganizing the storeroom like you told him to, so he’s not around to spy on you and report back to your stodgy old manager.

Taking a deep breath, you open your mouth and begin to speak.

Aiku hadn’t dared to even dream of the possibility that the barista might already like Sae, too. Why would she? Sae had just been all weird and rude to her in the couple of times that they had spoken, so all in all she’d have to be somewhat of a masochist, or a Re Al fan (which was essentially the same thing, given the losing streak that Re Al had been on for the last month or so), to be into him. But sometimes miracles did happen and baristas were masochists, because the girl was turning to Sae with shimmering eyes and a hopeful expression and it was all going to go so well—

“What are you even doing in Japan in the first place?”

Did he hear her right? Sae is bewildered as well, but Y/N isn’t acting like she’s just asked the most ridiculous question she could’ve possibly asked. What is Sae doing in Japan? Well, he happens to be a citizen of the nation, so there’s one explanation…Aiku wants to facepalm, because now his plans have been ruined and Sae’s confidence has probably been crushed.

“Pardon?” Sae says. Aiku had told him not to act so cranky and old-man-ish when he approaches the girl, but honestly, at this point, there’s no helping him, so he doesn’t even bother with a correction.

“Why are you in Japan?” she says again, all bright and innocent and cheery. It somehow feels like she’s been faking things so far, and that this is the real her, which she’s been holding back up until this point. Aiku isn’t so sure if that’s a good thing; privately, he believes it would’ve been better if she kept holding back just a little bit longer. Long enough for her to reject Sae — who still claims he’s not into her and is just trying to ‘be friendly’, as if friendliness is something he’s well known for — and then move on with her day.

“My passport expired?” Sae says, phrasing it more like a question. “So I had to come back and get it renewed?”

His voice ticks up at the end of every sentence unsurely. It’s almost cute, like he’s a little baby chick. Aiku’s fond of chicks, so he decides he’ll step in. Just this once.

“He’s visiting from Spain to play for the Japanese U-20 team in an upcoming exhibition match,” he explains.

“Oh, wow,” she says. “But I thought you said you would rather give up on soccer or play with German college kids than ever play soccer for Japan?”

Aiku raises an eyebrow. He wasn’t aware of such sentiments, and though he’s not exactly shocked, he can’t help feeling a bit miffed. When he glances over at Sae, there’s not a trace of remorse on his face, and so he wrinkles his nose.

Forget the raise and the baby-chick-esque mannerisms alike. He’s done helping this ungrateful, no-good, lame-as-hell, girl-repelling loser for free. If Sae wants any further assistance, he’ll have to beg for it.

“How did you know I said that?” Sae says. You clap your hand over your mouth when you realize you’ve exposed yourself.

“I, um, I was just guessing!” you say.

“Guessing?” he repeats. You swear, because that’s actually a worse explanation than the original one, and then you hang your head, because if the cat’s out of the bag, then there’s no way you can put it back in.

“It’s a quote from one of your interviews,” you mumble.

“What?” It’s Aiku, who immediately frowns when he realizes he’s butted in. Sae gives him an odd look out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m a big fan of yours,” you say. “The last game you played in, when you stole the ball from that Bastard München striker, was amazing! To tell you the truth, I’ve been trying to figure out why you’re in the area instead of back in Madrid. It’s a little unbelievable, you see.”

“Ah,” Sae says, and for some reason he looks uncomfortable. “Well. Yeah. It was just the issues with my passport and all. I decided to play for the U-20s because I was offered a good deal, but it’s right back to Madrid for me after that.”

“That makes sense,” you say. It’s awkward again, but in a different way. You don’t know what to say. You don’t think he does either. His drink is probably cold now, and you’re surprised that Aiku’s eyes aren’t stuck in the back of his head, given how frequently he’s been rolling them. “Can I have your autograph?”

“No,” Sae says immediately. You’re a little taken aback, and to be honest, he looks kind of horrified himself, but you know better than to nag, so you only nod at him.

“No worries—” you begin before you’re cut off by a grumbling Aiku.

“He’ll give you his number instead. Here,” Aiku says, listing off a series of digits too rapidly for you to remember. “He’ll write it down, for you, right, Sae?”

And then, to your utter disbelief, Sae Itoshi is pulling out a pen and a piece of paper from who knows where, and he’s humming in agreement.

“Right,” he says, and then he’s handing you a note with his phone number written on it in neat print and his signature in flowing cursive. “You can call me later. If you want. Y/N.”

The way he speaks is stilted and low, but you don’t mind it. Tucking the piece of paper into your apron pocket, you beam at him.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll call you. I still have more things to ask you, so it’s good that you gave me this.”

“Yes,” Sae says. “Yes, you can do that if you’d like.”

Then he and Aiku are leaving the coffee shop, their drinks in hand, and you’re standing there in awe, wondering if that actually just happened or if it was nothing but a particularly vivid flight of fancy.

If it’s the latter, then you almost hope it’s one you don’t ever escape from.

“You’re welcome,” Aiku says as they leave the cafe.

“I didn’t say thank you, you lukewarm oaf,” Sae says. Aiku shrugs. He’s hard to ruffle, after all. It’s the reason why he stepped in and rescued Sae from that little mistake of his. He just couldn’t bear the thought of his dear junior losing the girl of his dreams because of a slip of his tongue, even if aforementioned junior is the insufferable smart-ass type.

Well, the thought of the money he’ll make if Sae speaks of him highly to the JFU doesn’t hurt, either, but that’s less altruistic, so he prefers to stick to the first explanation.

“I bet you feel it, though,” Aiku says.

“Shut up,” Sae says.

It’s a good thing babies are born every minute. Otherwise, given how frequently Sae says that particular phrase, Aiku really might run out of things to count on.

You’ve typed the number on the piece of paper into your phone, and now you’re staring at it blankly, wondering if you should press the green call button. What if it was a prank? What if it wasn’t? Because then you’ll have to actually talk to Sae Itoshi, and you’re not so sure you can do that.

In a fit of inspiration, you slam your index finger against your screen and hold your phone up to your ear. It rings a couple of times, each subsequent one worsening the pit in your stomach, but then it stops ringing entirely, which can only mean one thing: Sae, if this really is his number, has answered.

“Hello?” you say.

“Hello?” he responds. “Y/N?”

“Yes!” you say. “It’s me. Y/N. Like you said.”

“Cool,” he says. “It’s Sae. Which I guess you knew, since you called me.”

“The confirmation was nice,” you say, internally sighing in relief. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. It’s mannerly but also a little sarcastic, albeit not in a mean way. You don’t mind it much. “You said you had to ask me some things?”

The two of you spend the next few minutes in a setting kind of like an interview, in that you drill him with questions and he answers them all patiently. He’s kind about it, humoring you even though he doesn’t have to, and he never threatens to hang up, which you do appreciate.

“Would you mind if I ask a question, too?” he says when you’ve taken a break to drink some water.

“Go ahead! Although I’m not as interesting as you are,” you say.

“I think you’re probably way more interesting,” he admits. “Anyways. Are you free next weekend?”

“Uh, I think I have a shift on Saturday, but to be honest, my coworker owes me, so he can cover it. Why?” you say.

“The exhibition game that I’m playing with the U-20s for. You should come watch,” he says.

“Oh! Sure, where should I get tickets? I’d have gotten them already if I knew you were playing,” you say.

“I’m allowed to invite someone,” he says. “Friends or family. So I’m inviting you.”

“Don’t you have actual friends that you can invite?” you say before gasping. “Sorry! Sorry, that was super insensitive and rude of me. Of course I’m honored to come, I’m just confused about why I’m the one you’re inviting. Me. I’ve literally made coffee for you twice, and that’s about it.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he says before pausing. “Um, look, Aiku told me to say this, so if it’s uncomfortable, then blame him…but I think you’re, er, beautiful?”

Your mind short-circuits. “Huh?”

“I don’t know! He’s the one who has experience, I’m just taking his advice!” Sae says, his tone souring immediately afterwards. “Trust me, it’s not like I want to. There’s many things I’d rather do than follow Oliver Aiku’s advice, but at the moment, it’s the best I can do.”

“Beautiful,” you repeat. It’s such an elegant adjective. You’ve been called pretty before, and there’s been a fair share of guys who have considered you to be hot, but beautiful…it’s nice. It’s really nice.

“Yeah,” Sae finally says. “Basically.”

“I’ll be there,” you say. There’s something like a scream bubbling in your throat, but you fight it back, knowing that it’s of the utmost importance that you maintain a relaxed demeanor.

“Great,” Sae says. “See you.”

“See you,” you say, and then you hang up before he can say anything further, because you’re already on the verge of combustion and you don’t think you can handle anything more.

Throwing your phone across the room, you give in and scream. There’s thundering footsteps, and then your father is throwing the door to your bedroom open, whipping his head around wildly.

“Is everything alright? Why are you screaming?” he says, heaving for breath, probably because he just sprinted from his spot on the couch to your bedroom in record time.

“Sae Itoshi!” you say.

“Yes?” he says, the rate of his inhales and exhales lowering as he realizes there’s no active threat to your life or property. “What about him?”

“He told me I’m beautiful and invited me to watch his game next weekend,” you say, knowing that this is going to make your father — a fellow Re Al fan — freak out.

You wait, counting down as he processes the news, unable to contain your exuberant grin, knowing exactly what’s coming. Three, two, one—

“What?”

#sae x reader #sae x y/n #sae x you #itoshi sae #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #modern au #oliver aiku’s guide to getting girls #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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mrsnancywheeler · 11 months ago

Text

midnight rain // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: finnick had pulled the plug on your relationship long ago, when he could no longer keep from you what he'd been forced into. but after you've returned victorious from your games, he knows you need him as the nightmares come for you each time you close your eyes.

chapter two

sequel

warnings: descriptions of gore, violence, character death, hurt/comfort, allusions to trafficking, secrets, inaccurate timeline, finnick might be ooc idk I'm not good at telling lmao, part one ??, unedited, ANGST, fluff, no use of y/n, pet names like angel and my love, the title will make more sense when I get all my ideas out in the possible next part, so long, I'm so sorry

2.9k words

Waking up in his arms is what saved you, every night when you were thrown back into that arena shivering in the cold, the warmth of him wrapped around you would guide you back to safety.

Safety.

Did you even have that? Comments made in passing by former victors and my Finnick’s attitude made your stomach turn. What truly lay ahead for you post the games? You couldn't focus on that yet though, right now you'd just have the muster up the courage to finish up the grand Victory Tour. Your reward for losing your humanity, for the blood staining your hands.

Finnick grumbled into your shoulder as he began waking from his own so-called rest, which you could only imagine became more torturous as time went on. Or not, maybe you'd become more numb to it as the present forced itself onto you rather than the ghosts of the past. Sunlight streamed down on his bronze skin, he nearly shimmered. It was as if the gods knew he deserved to be blessed with something for all the tribulations he faced.

“I'm supposed to be the one watching you sleep." His saccharine voice filled your senses like honey, the sound of sleep adding a rasp, in the mornings he was like honey and toast.

“Sorry I couldn't resist your charms and I didn't want to disturb your rest, golden boy." You smiled as he raised his eyebrows at you.

“Your rest is much more important, it's your Victory Tour. You've got people to face and impress, be the Capitol’s Princess." He said it with a smile you could melt for, but behind his tone you could sense bitterness. Unsaid words he wasn't ready to reveal to you, something that had broken you apart one, and then led him back to you, into his warmth.

“Finnick-" It was a hidden tone that terrified you. What had he been keeping locked behind those honey-dripping, sweet-talking lips for so long? When would he hand you the golden encrusted key to his secrets?

“Come on you need to get dressed, angel. You have impressions to make.” He didn't want to talk about it, he knew when you were trying to pry and wasn't ready to reveal what he kept hidden. You did need to get ready though, today was District 7, the allies you'd had to betray. Just the thought of it made you want to retreat further into the warmth of the bed, the blankets, of his arms but he was unwrapping himself from you without another word.

Maybe if he couldn't tell you were trying to make him reveal things he would be slower and gentler about preparing you for what lay ahead, but he didn't want to stare into your pleading eyes and spill his secrets. Which is why he'd torn himself from your love in the first place.

"Stay on the script, you did what you had to do to survive. Charm, but it's not the families you're doing it for, it's them.” Them, the Capitol, eagerly awaiting your filmed performance. You nodded as Finnick wrapped his robe around himself. He made no eye contact as he left the train car and you felt yourself running cold. You were alone again, with your thoughts, soon your Capitol assigned team of designers would be here to dress you up like a paper doll.

You were frail and delicate, but lethal when it came down to it. Your tears were iconic for fragile femininity, but manipulation to win against those with stronger senses. An image you still needed to abide by, even if you'd rather lay down and fall into your head for eternity, punishing yourself for it all.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

There he stood, face firm as he readied the hatchet to slice straight through your brain.

“Birch, you don't really want me dead. We don't have to turn on each other, we can talk about it." You reasoned, tears brimming your eyelids.

“Why? Like how you were planning to talk to him about it too?" Birch nodded to the lifeless body nearby.

“He attacked me!" You defended, that would be the argument. The sweet tribute who had such a big heart, but did what she needed to survive.

“Because he knew you were trying to use him, sorry we couldn't all fall for your charms. All of us have homes, families to go back to. Of course I don't want you dead, but they need me.” He was pleading too and if you looked hard enough you could swear he was about to cry. Before you could say another word the hatchet flew from his hand and you dodged it just in time. Birch began sprinting towards you. If he got his arms around you there was no doubt he could snap your neck in a split second. His strength was one of the reasons he was such a good pick to ally with.

You were unsteady on your feet as you ran away, fumbling for something to throw, to block his advances. The hatchet had lodged itself into the ground not far from you, he knew you were going for it and the adrenaline was speeding him up. You grabbed it, stumbling forward as soons as it was within your grasp, turning forward. He was so close and paused a second. You'd be more dangerous close by then at a distance now, he'd helped you practice throwing different weapons in training which you were decent at. Decent enough to be a threat, decent enough that he regretted it, decent enough that you regretted it too, using his kindness to win against him.

But this was all too slow, he needed to either win or lose. So he gave up on the reason and barreled forward. You barely had enough time to think as you pounded forward as well, slicing into him, not deep enough to kill, but enough to injure, for him to stumble back a second. You didn't have time to take a second and thrusted the hatchet straight into his chest, definitely deep enough to kill. The sight of the blood trickling down his bottom lip as he fell backward blurred your vision. She was still left, you didn't have time to feel guilty yet you did.

“Mom, Laurel-” He choked out before he went completely stiff and the cannon rang out. Flashes of his mom and his little, 10 year old sister, shivering and shaking by her mother and his image stared with cold eyes at you. Giving your grand speech about his bravery and next thing you knew you were screaming.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“Hey, hey it's okay. You're not there, you're right here. I've got you." Warm hands shook your shoulders as you woke with sobs wracking through your body.

That's the problem you thought your mind was racing awake, he had people to take care of you had selfishly picked your family over his, over all of there's.

“I know, I know, I've got you." Finnick enveloped you within his arms as you let your tears streak down his shoulder.

“How am I supposed to look at them, Finnick? How am I supposed to congratulate them for their child’s bravery when I took their babies away from them?” Your voice was creaky and louder than you'd expected.

He pulled you off his shoulder, facing you, his sea green eyes pouring into yours. “With a smile, this isn't about them, or for them. This is for Snow, you're still playing the game. I can't tell you it gets better, but you have to remember he's watching and you need to follow his rules." You nodded robotically, the old Finnick would have comforted you more. But, this Finnick was still recovering too and he was doing his job as a mentor. Keeping you safe from the vultures and their outrage if you didn't play the Capitol’s Princess good enough.

“Can you stay?" You whispered, even though he always did.

“Of course, angel." He pressed his warm lips to your forehead, engulfing you within his arms. You lay with him knowing if you fell back asleep with images of her family would echo within your soul, haunting your dreams. Finnick would ground you back, his comfort would stop you from screaming in the real world, keep your protected, but not the flashes of what you'd done. “You need to sleep, you have to do it all again tomorrow."

“I know." You wiped down a stray tear streaking down your face. He looked serene in the moonlight glow even if his eyes spoke a different tale. One of worry, one wondering how much longer until the waterfall poured himself out to you. “Finnick, I know things aren't the same between us, they haven't been, and I don't know if you even want them to be. But please, please don't ever leave me. I need you, to keep me from just floating completely away. To remind me why I won."

Your choppy voice broke his heart even more, he didn't know how much longer he could do this to you. He wanted to be as he had been for you, but the chains bore too heavy right now. There was too much on your plate to add more brutality to it.

“I would never even consider it, angel. I felt selfish for it, but you keep me grounded too. I'm sorry I'm doing this to you." His voice was softer than usual, wasn't as teasing, it was so pure, so lost.

“You're not selfish, Finnick. I know you've always just wanted to keep me safe, even if I don't know from what and you can tell me in your own time. I'll wait for you to come back to me."

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. You were so sweet, so in need of his protection. He couldn't let them do to you as they did to him, but there was nothing he could do to protect you except keep it away as long as possible.

“You need to try and rest, sweet girl." You hummed in response, knowing that wouldn't happen.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“Just you and me then." Her voice was always so rich, accented and friendly but strong. It was like dark chocolate, with a hint of caramel and raspberries. But now, it was exhausted. You'd trusted her more then anyone else, related to her even if your tactics were different. Even when the men had tried to split up as if it was District against District. Really they'd just been trying to get the two “weaker" girls out of the way so they could fight it out amongst themselves. Marlowe had been much too smart for that though. She'd fled from Birch the moment she sensed his demeanor change.

You'd both silently hoped the other would be dead, so that it wouldn't come to this. You and Marlowe fighting for your lives, your families, all as a silly little dance, a pageant for the rich.

“Just you and me." You repeated back, voice so soft it could be caught in the wind and drift away, feathery.

“I'd say we should just split up and wait to see who dies out first, but we both know you're much more popular than I am." She smirked with sadness twinging her features.

“They like you, Marlowe. You're fierce."

She laughed harshly, “So are you, but you've balanced it out. Anyways I'm sure if we did do that they'd send something out for us. It's all for the show, isn't it?" Marlowe wouldn't cry but you could feel the exasperation, the anger, the tears that would never spill in her wavering voice. “Isn't it?" She shouted into the sky. You could tell she was giving up in a sense, not scared of angering the Capitol. But that didn't mean she wasn't still a threat, if anything her wrath made her more of a danger in the moment. So as she started into the sky you made a run for it, grabbing the spear left by Conway. Oh, Conway.

There was no time to dwell on Conway or Birch. Right now you need to focus on your plan, gaining the upper hand. You needed to be in the water. Which wouldn't be hard, this was a marshland after all. Spear in hand you ran as fast as you could, enough distance would give you enough time to think of a more solid plan. Marlowe shouted your name, but you ran until your legs tumbled into the warm water, sweat ran down your face as the mugginess clung to your skin. You whipped around to where her footsteps headed towards you, gripping for dear life onto that spear.

“Was this your plan all along? That's what Birch always said, you'd play the part of a darling, of a ready to cry her heart out sweetheart just to stab us all in the back, especially with that training score.” She shook her head, dismayed. " But I get it, I really do. This is what they do, pin us against each other. If you wanted me to die you would have thrown that at me, but you haven't. But I can still win this thing.” The tears were burbling up again and before you could throw the spear into her she'd tackled you from the side.

Your lungs filled with the muddy water and you gasped for air that wasn't there. How ironic it would be, you ran for the water to have the upper hand and it would be the end of you. Your grasp had loosened on the spear and you desperately tried to find it in the water. Your arms failed, you kicked forward, but Marlowe was just as strong as Birch would have been. For a second you were able to lift your face out of the water and take a gasp of air before her hands plunger you back into uncomfortably warm water.

You saw images of Finnick, how disappointed he would be in you. How heart wrenchingly broken he would be to know he pushed you away to ‘protect you’ and there you were dead in the dirty marsh water. You wanted him back desperately, for him to trust you again, let you back within the walls of his mind. Suddenly your hands finally wrapped around the spear you'd been desperately searching for. With all the energy you had left in you, eyes searching through the murky water you aimed as much as you could.

Suddenly her rough fingers holding you down loosened and you forced yourself up, gasping for air. Hands still on the handle of the spear and you felt the warmth of a thicker liquid falling down on you. Straight from her neck, you'd gone straight through her throat. The cannon rang out, a voice proclaimed you the victor of the annual Hunger Games, but all you could do was bawl. Mumbled apologies, she didn't deserve this, nobody did.

Pictures of her mother and father glaring into you for taking away their only baby as you announced your loyalty to the righteousness of Panem. You weren't screaming yourself awake.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Finnick hasn't fallen back to sleep, but your sniffles and the feeling of your hot tears on his arms made him glad he hadn't. That he could be here for you when you woke up once again, needing to know there would be no more death. Other things like ahead, but there would be no more arena.

“Angel, it's okay. Let it out, I'm here for you." He spoke with so much confidence that your drowsy self simply nodded as you cried and tucked yourself into his arms even more.

“Finnick?" You mumbled out through your groggy mind and tear filled throat.

“Yes, my love?" Even when your vision was blurred he looked ethereal, a god send in your time of need.

“Can you just tell me something happy, just whisk me away, please?" Finnick kissed the top of your head.

“Of course." The begging way you said it, pumped his veins with guilt. He's been too harsh, too much of a realist. Which wasn't how your relationship operates, he couldn't just talk to you like a mentor when you'd always meant so much more than that.

“Angel, after we get through this we're going to live in a beautiful house overlooking the beach. I'll annoy you but dragging you out to fish-” He began before you interrupted him.

“You could never annoy me, Finnick." You said softly and he pressed his finger to your lips.

“Shhhh, just listen and rest. I'll annoy you and boss you around it, as you like to say. I'll collect sea glass to make you beautiful things, we'll dance in the sand, and every second I'll think about your hands in mind, your soft hair wrapped in my fingers, your lips on mine. We’ll be so drunk on our own pleasure all of this will be a figment of your imagination, I'll cook for you, and we'll get dressed up to go nowhere before we just end up swimming the night away." Maybe he was lying maybe if Snow had his way it would break you like it had broken him, but maybe with your kindhearted way you'd simply build him back up and your bond would be stronger than ever.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Sorry this is so long, but I left out so much I was thinking about. Especially about the games so maybe there'll be a part two if y'all want. Thanks for reading, likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated.

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x y/n #thg finnick #thg x reader #finnick odair angst #finnick odair x reader angst #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x reader fluff #thg #the hunger games #thg x y/n

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mystictimemachinedream · 3 months ago

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Irrevocably Yours

a/n: I always wanted to make a yandere x yandere fic. I feel like it didn't come off as dark as it could have been lmao.

Cw: Yandere x Yandere(which means usual talks about killing, love potions, confinement, etc), Yandere!Levi, Yandere!MC(but you're trying to do better), Double Penetration, Rough Sex, Levi having two dicks, some dub-con(there's protests at first but MC actually wants him), Fem!MC, kinda ooc.

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It was becoming too much—how you felt, the way your emotions churned inside you like a storm you couldn’t control. You were trying so hard not to give in to your usual behavior, to be normal, to keep it together. But the obsessive thoughts, the relentless impulse to take, to control, to own, were beginning to creep up, growing stronger with each passing day.

You’d managed to keep that side of yourself under wraps—relatively speaking—by focusing on anything and everything else. You buried yourself in distractions, anything to keep your mind off the darker urges. That was why you avoided relationships, why you pushed away any romantic feelings.

But that wasn’t enough anymore, because you were in love. Completely and utterly in love. The target of your affection was Leviathan, the shy, awkward, but endearing otaku. You hadn’t meant for it to happen; you’d kept your walls tall and unyielding, only offering detached friendship to the demon, just like you did with his brothers. But somehow, that detached friendship had morphed into an actual friendship.

You reasoned with yourself that it was okay to have a friend, as long as it didn’t become more. Friendship was harmless, right? You could handle that.

Wrong.

You quickly went from being just another normie to becoming his Henry, and with that came a shift you hadn’t anticipated. He started dragging you into his room more often, refusing to let you leave with those big, sad eyes and that lovely blush on his face. He’d ask you to stay just a bit longer, his voice tinged with a plea you found impossible to resist. Maybe your mistake was relenting so often, convincing yourself that you were doing it for the sake of your friendship, feeding into the denial that you weren’t crossing a line.

It was during one of those many nights spent gaming together that the truth hit you—like a bucket of ice-cold water. You were infatuated with him. The realization came when you found yourself wondering how you could keep him isolated, how you could ensure that no one else could be around him but you. The thought startled you, made you question everything. You were trying to be good, to do better. You couldn’t possibly be infatuated. That wasn’t you, not anymore. So you decided you needed to distance yourself from him, just a bit, so you could get over whatever it was you were feeling. It should have been easy, right?

Wrong again.

You didn’t anticipate Leviathan’s persistence. You thought of him as too shy, too easily flustered to chase after anyone, least of all you. But he never gave up. He whined in your ear, his voice desperate and needy, tugging on your clothes like a child afraid of being left alone. He even went as far as staying in your room with you, refusing to leave your side. It was so out of character, so unlike the Leviathan you thought you knew, that it rendered you speechless every single time. (And maybe, just maybe, another mistake you made was not paying closer attention to the hidden obsession lurking in his eyes, the way they darkened with something deeper, something more dangerous.)

Seeing such persistence warmed your heart, though. It showed you that he was willing to fight for you, to keep you close no matter what. Infatuation quickly turned into love—so completely in love. But just because you were in love didn’t necessarily mean it had to be obsessive or controlling, right? It could be a pure love, right?

Completely and utterly wrong. (And you wondered, in those rare moments of clarity, was anything you decided ever the right choice?)

The thoughts about being the only one around him consumed you. The maddening jealousy you felt when you heard him talk to his friends online, the burning urge to destroy all of his Ruri-chan merchandise—because how dare he love anything else but you?!—the overwhelming need to check all his electronics to make sure there was no one else… it all started to eat away at you.

All you could think of was him: Leviathan, Leviathan, Leviathan.

But still, you tried. You tried your best to fight it, because you were trying to do better. To be good. You wanted to love him in a pure, wholesome way. You didn’t want your love to be so obsessive, so twisted. But it was getting harder and harder to suppress the urges. (But were you really even trying hard enough, or were you just kidding yourself?)

It took all your willpower not to give in, but even with that, there were small things you did without his knowledge—like taking articles of his clothing, savoring the way they smelled of him. You took harmless peeks here and there at his computer and even his phone (and it wasn’t like he made it hard to figure out his passwords when he put it in right in front of you). Occasionally, you’d discourage him from going outside, convincing him it was safer, better to stay in. But it was all harmless, at least that’s what you wanted to believe, because at least you hadn’t snuck in a love potion to make him yours. (Not yet, at least.)

Still, you knew deep down that you couldn’t continue like this. The thought of hurting Leviathan twisted your heart—but you would, without hesitation, if he ever so much as looked at someone else. HE WAS YOURS. The intensity of your love for him made it clear that you needed to try again to put some distance between you, even if it meant spending time with one of his brothers instead. (It was almost laughable how desperate they were for your attention.)

That decision is what led you to your current predicament. It was your fault, yes, but your intentions were pure—at least, that’s what you told yourself. (Or was it that you were just too afraid to surrender completely?)

“I can’t,” you repeated firmly, holding your ground as you rejected Leviathan’s invitation to hang out. “I have plans with Beel.”

“P-Plans?” he echoed, his voice thick with disbelief, as though the word itself was foreign to him. His tone softened into a desperate plea. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Beel will understand if you cancel.”

The way he looked at you—so sweet, so hopeful—almost broke your resolve. But you knew you had to stay strong. “I already said I can’t. I’ll hang out with you afterwards.”

With one last, fleeting glance in his direction, you turned and walked away. If you had only looked back, you would have seen the dark, ominous scowl that had settled on his face.

When you returned from your outing with Beelzebub, who was sweet but unbearably boring, you found yourself debating whether to go see Leviathan. But you decided against it, reminding yourself of the need to maintain your distance, no matter how much it hurt. You clung to that conviction even as you ignored the constant stream of message notifications chiming from your D.D.D while you got ready for bed.

And maybe—just maybe—if you hadn’t been so completely lost in sleep, you would have noticed Leviathan standing silently at the foot of your bed, his demon form fully revealed, with slitted, orange-glowing eyes fixed intently on your figure.

This pattern continued for an entire week. You spent time with one brother after another, each day rejecting Leviathan’s invitations with an ache in your heart. But then, something strange started happening. Random pieces of your clothing—mostly your panties—began to disappear. Objects like your notebooks, chapstick, hair ties, and even pillows vanished without a trace. By that point, you knew it wasn’t just your imagination.

It made you want to scream. Someone actually had the audacity to take your things—and how dare they covet you when you belonged to Levi! The thought burned in your mind, making it nearly impossible to focus as Satan tried to engage you in conversation at the cat café. The soft meows and gentle purring of the cats around you did nothing to soothe the growing anger bubbling inside. Every time you saw a playful swish of a tail or felt a soft nuzzle, your thoughts drifted back to the house, to the annoyance you were going to have to deal with. You knew you’d have to investigate more thoroughly the moment you returned.

Once the two of you finally arrived back at the house, you were on a mission. Barely muttering a goodbye to Satan, you made a beeline for your room, your heart pounding with anticipation. The hallways blurred as you stormed through them, your mind solely focused on getting answers, to check and see if anything else went missing. Reaching your door, you flung it open with a force that made the hinges creak. But the sight that greeted you stopped you in your tracks.

Leviathan was sitting on your bed, his posture casual yet somehow possessive, as if he owned not just the bed but the entire space around him. His presence filled the room, and for a moment, you faltered, the anger you had felt earlier mixing with surprise and something else you couldn’t quite name (was it excitement?). You closed the door behind you, the click of the latch sounding louder than it should have in the stillness.

“Levi?” you questioned, your voice wavering slightly. The intensity of his gaze when he finally looked up at you made your breath catch. His usually soft and shy demeanor was replaced with something far more focused, almost predatory.

“Did you have fun with Satan?” he asked bluntly, his voice low and steady. The stillness of his figure, the way he didn’t move a muscle, made you instantly cautious. It was like he was waiting for something—for a slip, a crack in your composure.

“I did,” you lied easily, though the words tasted bitter on your tongue. The truth was, you had hated every second of your time with Satan, and it wasn’t just because of him. You loathed going out with any of Leviathan’s brothers.

Leviathan tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he observed you. It felt like he could see right through your lie, peeling back layers to uncover the truth you were trying to hide. The intensity of his scrutiny almost made you shiver. But then, as quickly as the tension had arisen, it dissipated. Leviathan looked away, his fingers beginning to fidget with his D.D.D. The shift in his demeanor was almost surreal.

“W-would you like to come to my room? We haven’t s-spent time together,” he asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. When he looked at you again, his eyes were no longer sharp and probing but soft and vulnerable.

You hesitated, weighing your options. It should be fine to go with him this one time. You told yourself you’d make it quick—just a few minutes in his room, and then you’d leave. The sudden foreboding feeling you had should had deterred you yet you chose to ignore it (or maybe you just didn’t want to see the signs right in front of you).

“Sure.” A word that sealed your fate.

As you walked with him through the dimly lit hallway, the anxiety grew stronger, tightening its grip on your chest with every step. Leviathan was close enough that you could feel the occasional brush of his arm against yours, and each touch sent a jolt through your body, heightening your unease. The closer you got to his room, the heavier the air felt, as if the walls themselves were closing in on you. You wondered if you would be able to bolt if things spiraled out of control, your mind already calculating the distance to the door and the speed you’d need to escape.

When you both stood in front of his door, the tension in the air was palpable, a suffocating presence that made your skin crawl. It was almost ominous when he opened the door and gestured for you to step inside, the sound of the door creaking open like a warning you were too stubborn to heed. As you walked in, your eyes darted around the room, searching for anything out of place, but everything looked the same. His usual setup, the familiar clutter of manga and figurines… So why were you feeling like th—oh.

Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze landed on his desk. Those were your items scattered across it, some new things that you hadn’t even realized were missing yet. And there, in his tub, nestled among his many sheets and body pillows, were your clothes, panties and pillows, arranged almost reverently.

You stood there, paralyzed by shock, even as you heard the door close behind you, the sound of the lock sliding into place echoing loudly in your ears.

“Levi, that’s… my stuff, my clothes,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper, but you knew he heard you. He was standing so close behind you now that you could feel the heat of his body radiating against your back, making you shiver involuntarily.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” he asked, his voice low and eerily calm, completely ignoring your statement as if it were irrelevant. His breath tickled your ear, sending another shiver down your spine.

This wasn’t what you expected. Leviathan wasn’t supposed to be like you, caught in the same struggle, battling the same obsession. The thought made your heart race. That wasn’t good—you didn’t want to be pulled further into obsession, into depravity. You wanted to be normal, to be better, to be good. You chanted those words to yourself like a prayer, a desperate attempt to cling to sanity, even as you finally turned to look at him.

He was looking at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch, his eyes locked onto yours as if you were the only thing that existed in his world.

But you couldn’t give in. You were determined to have a wholesome, pure romance with him. You had to resist, had to keep things from spiraling out of control.

“Don’t make me ask you again,” he growled, his voice dropping an octave as he grabbed your chin with a firm hand, his hold almost bruising in its intensity (and his aggressiveness shouldn’t have been so arousing to you).

“Things were getting too… intense. I just wanted a bit of space so things could mellow down between us,” you answered hesitantly, your words stumbling over themselves as you tried to make him understand. But even as you spoke, you could feel the flimsiness of your excuse, the way it barely held together under the weight of the truth.

“Intense?” He grinned, a smile that was more a baring of teeth than anything else, with an almost maniacal edge to it. His eyes gleamed with a knowing light, as if he could see right through you, as if he knew all the things you’d done behind his back, all the secrets you thought you’d kept hidden.

But you stubbornly kept your mouth shut. You could do this—you could talk him down, make him see reason. You would keep your distance and regain control (liar, liar, liar. All you did was lie).

“I know you want me. At first, I couldn’t believe it because why would you want me? But then, you started taking some of my clothes.” He looked deeply pleased as he let go of your chin, bending down to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as he spoke. “I could even feel your envy, your jealousy when I’d game with my friends or when I gave too much attention to anything else that wasn’t you.”

You sucked in a breath as he slowly nipped at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent a jolt of sensation through your body, heat pooling in your core despite yourself.

“I thought things were going well,” he paused, his voice darkening as he continued, “but then you started spending time with my brothers. You were ignoring my messages and invitations to come to my room.” As those words left his lips, the nipping grew harsher until he bit down on your neck deep enough to leave a mark but not enough to draw blood. The sudden sharp pain made you yelp and squirm in his grasp, but his hold was unrelenting.

He snarled at your attempts to break free, the sound vibrating against your skin, and you froze again, your body betraying you as a wave of desire crashed over you. You wanted to give in so badly—you wanted him to be yours. You wanted to be his. This side of him was so unexpected but definitely not unwelcome.

“I need you to explain yourself. Now.” His grip tightened as he fisted his hand in your hair and yanked it back harshly, forcing you to meet his gaze.

You licked your lips, trying to steady your breathing. “Levi, this just isn’t… healthy. I’m trying to do better.”

He scoffed, as if your answer was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “We want to be with each other. Does anything else matter?”

His words were tempting, far too tempting. But you wanted your love to last, to be built on a solid foundation (but really, you were just a fucking coward).

“It does matter. How about you let me go back to my room so we can think about this?” you suggested, your voice trembling slightly. The grip on your hair tightened, pulling at your scalp, and you winced in pain (but you wanted him to be even more aggressive, to show you how much he loved you).

“You, better than anyone, should know that you aren’t going anywhere. If I have to tie you up, then I will.” He released your hair with a sudden force and pushed you down onto the floor. The impact was harsh, and you barely managed to catch yourself with your hands before your head could hit the hard surface. He stood over you, a blank expression on his face as he watched you struggle to steady yourself.

“L-Levi, just calm down. We can talk about this,” you pleaded softly, your voice trembling as he dropped to his knees, caging you in his arms against the cold, hard floor. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, mingling with the coolness of the floor beneath you. If he kept pushing, you knew you would give in.

“For someone who wants me just as badly, you’re protesting too much.” His voice was low, dangerously calm, as he leaned his forehead against yours. His breath ghosted over your lips. “But don’t worry, I’ll fuck the fight out of you. And if that doesn’t work, well, I don’t mind using other methods if it means keeping you with me.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help the way your body reacted. Heat pooled between your thighs, your panties already soaked through. You almost moaned at the sheer threat in his voice, and you wondered just how much rougher he’d get if you kept resisting. Would he lose control entirely? (You hoped he would.)

“Levi, please. We can’t,” you whined weakly, your resolve wavering as his lips brushed against yours. You somehow managed to turn your head away, but the gesture felt futile. The air around you shifted as he pulled back, his energy darkening. When you glanced up at him, his demon form was already out—scales glistening under the dim light, coral horns out, his tail swaying predatorily, and his glowing orange eyes fixated on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“Fine, I guess we’ll do this the hard way,” he growled in your ear. The words sent your mind spiraling, and before you could fully process what was happening, everything became a blur of heat and sensation.

You gasped, eyes widening as his hand slid under your skirt with purpose, fingers expertly finding your soaked core. He moaned—a deep, guttural sound that sent a thrill through your body—when he felt how wet you were even through the thin fabric of your panties. It was the only confirmation he needed, the last bit of proof that you truly wanted him, needed him, despite your feeble protests.

With a heated urgency, his hands tore away your panties and skirt, ripping through the delicate fabric like it was nothing. Your shirt and bra followed, shredded under his impatient touch, leaving your skin exposed to the cool air and his hungry gaze. He didn’t waste a second, pulling you into a smoldering kiss that was all heat and desperation. Just like that, your resolve shattered, crumbling beneath the weight of your desire. You returned the kiss with equal fervor because you wanted—no, you needed—him so badly it ached.

He smirked against your lips when he felt you go pliant in his arms, the tension leaving your body as you surrendered to him. His mouth broke away from yours, only to descend upon your chest, his hot breath trailing over your skin as he left a path of bruising bite marks in his wake. Each nip sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through you, drawing breathless moans from your lips.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as he zeroed in on one of your nipples, his mouth hot and eager. He sucked on the small nub, his tongue swirling around it before his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh, sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core. Meanwhile, his thick fingers pumped into your wet, warm cunt—two at first, then three, and finally four, stretching you open with a pace that was fast and merciless. The sensation was overwhelming, the roughness almost too much to bear, but you craved it. You needed more.

He didn’t give you a moment to adjust, didn’t let you catch your breath as he fucked you with his fingers, driving them in deep with each thrust. His thumb found your swollen clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles that had you crying out, your body arching off the floor. The pleasure was intense, almost unbearable, but you loved it.

You hugged him closer, your whines and pleas for more filling the room, mingling with the sounds of your slick arousal as his fingers moved in and out of you with relentless speed. He was going to make you cum already, and you hadn’t even gotten started. His mouth finally released your nipple, leaving it glistening with his saliva, and he pulled you into an almost desperate kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth as he curled his fingers just right inside you.

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with a force that left you breathless. You cried out, the sound muffled by his mouth, and your cunt clenched around his fingers, gushing wetness all over his hand. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, riding you through your orgasm as if he wanted to wring every last drop of pleasure from you.

It was all so rough, so fast, but it felt so right, like this was exactly how it was meant to be. You could only watch with half-lidded eyes, your breath coming in short gasps, as he finally pulled his fingers out of your throbbing cunt. Your juices coated his hand and he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a look of pure satisfaction.

But he wasn’t done. Not even close.

He leaned back, his glowing eyes never leaving yours as he reached for his zipper. The sound of it being pulled down was almost deafening in the silence that followed. He didn’t bother fully undressing, only tugging his jeans down just enough to free his cock—no, cocks. He had two of them, thick and throbbing with need.

Your mouth watered at the sight of him, and your cunt clenched on nothing as you imagined the sensation of him fucking you open on those thick, pulsating cocks. The mere thought made you shiver. You spread your legs wider, a silent plea, an open invitation that had him settling between them eagerly.

“This messy cunt belongs to me,” Leviathan rasped, his voice low and gravelly, as he rubbed both of his cocks against the slick folds of your cunt. The friction sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making you gasp as he gathered the wetness on the heads of his cocks, teasing your entrance with slow, deliberate movements. “You belong to me. I need you to remember that because I will kill anyone you so much as look at for too long. I don’t even want you leaving my room at all.”

You mewled softly at his words, the sound escaping your lips involuntarily, and you knew in that moment that there was no going back. You couldn’t deny it anymore—couldn’t even pretend to care how twisted your love had become, how unhealthy it likely was. All that mattered was that he was finally yours, and you would do anything to keep him that way.

“Do you understand?” Leviathan’s tone was harsh as he gripped both of his cocks firmly, positioning them at your entrance. He pushed forward slowly, just the tips breaching your slick, swollen folds. The stretch was intense, borderline painful, but the pleasure that accompanied it was undeniable. A high-pitched moan tore from your throat as your eyes became teary at the sensation.

“Levi!” you whined, desperation lacing your voice as you attempted to roll your hips down, to pull more of him inside. But his tail coiled around your waist, holding you firmly in place.

“I asked you a question. Do you understand?” Leviathan remained still, his gaze dark with lust, waiting for your answer. When you didn’t respond quickly enough, his hand moved to your breast, fingers tugging one of your nipples harshly. The sting made you gasp, a mixture of pain and pleasure that sent a jolt straight to your core. “Or are you so cock-drunk already that you can’t even answer me?”

“I—I understand,” you panted, finally finding your voice. You reached up, your hand tangling in his hair as you yanked him down, bringing his face closer to yours. “But that also means you belong to me. I will kill you and myself if you ever try to leave me.”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and you felt his cocks twitch at your words. His lips crashed into yours in a sloppy, heated kiss, all teeth and tongue, as if he was trying to devour you whole. The kiss broke only when he pulled back to latch onto the side of your neck that was still unmarked, his teeth grazing your skin before sinking in, marking you with more bruises that would be visible for days. And then, with a snap of his hips, he thrust both cocks fully inside you.

The stretch was overwhelming, the sensation of being so utterly full making you sob with pleasure. He didn’t give you time to adjust, his pace punishing as he pounded into you, each thrust harder and faster than the last. It was as if he were releasing all the pent-up anger from the week you had avoided him, taking out his frustration on your body. But you welcomed it, craved it even. You’d always loved the bite of pain with your pleasure, always been a bit of a masochist for it.

Moans mixed with cries of pleasure, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. It was loud, lewd, and unmistakable, and you knew anyone within earshot would know exactly what was happening. But the thought only fueled your desire for him, making you arch against him, desperate to take him even deeper.

You felt another orgasm building, coiling tight in your core as one of Leviathan’s cocks hit your sweet spot with each thrust, while the blunt tip of the other bumped against your cervix, making you see stars. The sensations were overwhelming, your mind going hazy as you babbled incoherently, slurred pleas and moans spilling from your lips.

Leviathan’s eyes were glued to your face, watching every expression, every reaction. The sight of you—completely fucked out, cock-drunk and lost in pleasure—sent a surge of smug satisfaction through him. He moaned loudly, the sound almost desperate as he lifted your legs, pressing your knees against your chest, and somehow, impossibly, drove even deeper inside you.

You wailed as another orgasm tore through you, your cunt clenching and throbbing around him, the pleasure almost too intense to bear. He whined at the sensation, his own pace faltering as he neared his release. With a final, forceful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you and came, his hot seed flooding your cunt. The feeling of him filling you, marking you from the inside out, made you moan weakly.

He panted heavily as he finally stopped cumming, his breath ragged as he slowly pulled out, even as you whimpered from the overstimulation. Cum leaked from your thoroughly used cunt, trailing down to your ass as he admired the state he’d left you in.

For a moment, he just looked at you—as if memorizing every mark, every bruise, every inch of you that he’d claimed. Then, with surprising gentleness and a now adorable flush on his face, he picked you up, holding you close to his chest. He carried you to his tub and he climbed in, laying down with you on top of him, his arms wrapped securely around you as he pulled a soft sheet over both of you.

You snuggled closer against his chest, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion washed over you. The romance between you two was never going to be pure, never going to be simple. It was twisted, dark, and even dangerous—but it was real. You belonged to each other, and that was enough.

You would do anything to keep him because Leviathan was finally yours. And really, this was the best outcome you could have hoped for. Now, you didn’t have to go through with your darker plans of somehow knocking him out and trapping him somewhere. You only hoped he took you seriously about never leaving, because you truly would kill him if he tried. He belonged to you, after all.

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xlatrina · 7 days ago

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(Pt. II.1) Friends to Lovers HCs w/Homicipher x GN!Reader

Tags: Platonic + Romantic HCs, Friends to Lovers trope for basically every LI, Likely OOC for some LIs*, Mini Scenarios (so HCs are kinda plot-driven), *Multi-Part Series, entirely SFW

Also, changing tenses in some cases + not proofread again... sorry!

*Some of the LIs are likely written OOC (Out Of Character) mainly due to a lack of substantial in-game appearances (at least in my opinion!).

*Split into multiple parts because I’ve come to realize that these HCs are muuucccchhh too long 😅 BUT!! I’m too lazy to shorten them sooo… YEAH lol

Part I (Big 🙆‍♂️)

Part II (Mr. Chopped 🪓)

Part III (Mr. Crawling 👣)

$$$

Mr. Chopped (First Half/Second Half)

For someone who’s just a head, he gets around!

When you decided to help him out back in that weird room, Mr. Chopped was so elated.

Yes, yes!! Finally, some help!!

He’s been stuck in that room for like… three hours.

Which isn’t that bad, it definitely could’ve been worse, but like… still.

Anywho, point is —he decided from that moment forward that the two of you are friends!

Good friends, at that.

He tells Mr. Silvair this all the time.

“Mystery person help! They help me! They friendly!” He’ll grin from ear to ear, his cheeks squeezing into his eyes.

And Mr. Silvair will just chuckle and say something along the lines of, “Mystery person good? How interesting.”

Mr. Chopped has volunteered you to be one of his closest buddies.

Which means you are now basically his caretaker LMAO

Or at least whenever Mr. Silvair is unavailable somehow.

“Could you carry? Can you help me?”

This’ll become a common request from Mr. Chopped.

Eventually, it goes from asking to demanding.

“You take me! Go there! Yes, yes! That way! Is ok. This place I know good!”

He says that, but you’ve circled the same set of halls like… three times.

It can get a little weary sometimes being Mr. Chopped’s defacto caretaker, but he tries to keep your mood light with his silly banter.

Even though he’s been in the Apartments longer than you, it seems he hasn’t been there as long as others.

He more or less explains this to you over time.

On one of your many adventures through the halls of the apartment complex, the both of you came across a door that led into a stairwell.

It was odd because it kind of just… appeared.

You’ve definitely walked down this hall quite a few times now (no thanks to Mr. Chopped’s fluctuating sense of direction).

When you propose going through the stairwell, Mr. Chopped purses his lips tightly and falls silent for a long time.

Just as you get ready to ask again, he huffs, blowing some loose strands away from his face.

“That way want to go?” He asks. But before you can respond, he follows up with, “That ok. If there to go you want, that ok. But I not know that place…”

Ah…

Well! If nothing else, you can’t say Mr. Chopped isn’t adventurous!

Being friends with Mr. Chopped means you get to see all of his cute little expressions.

He always has an exaggerated reaction to everything!

Walking through the stairwell, for example, one of the lights flickered, and just as it went completely black for a second, there was a quiet whisper. When the lights came back on, the whisper bounced through the area, lifting up toward wherever the stairs led to…

When that happened, Mr. Chopped immediately asked, “What you say? I not hear good.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you said. Mr. Chopped seems confused by your response, and to the best of your ability, you repeat yourself in his language.

“You say you not make sound?” He asks sharply, his voice thundering through the stairwell.

You jump in surprise, jostling him (much to his mild annoyance and discomfort).

“No, no make sound,” You said. “Do you make sound?”

“No! No make sound!” Mr. Chopped yells. Small tears gather in the corners of his eyes, and he squeezes them shut as a deep frown seeps into his face.

“Leave here together! Me scared! This place not safe!”

Safe to say you booked the both of you out of there as soon as you could.

It isn’t too long after that, though, that the two of you finally find yourself in the familiar hall leading to the basement. There, you two find Mr. Silvair just as he’s about to enter the room, and noticing your approaching figure at the top of the stairs, Mr. Silvair smiles warmly.

He lets you and Mr. Chopped in first, and it’s then that you both begin to tell Mr. Silvair about y’all’s odd experience.

Though, Mr. Chopped did more of the talking…

So much more of the talking, lol.

At some point, you and Mr. Silvair find yourselves sitting on the couch, and Mr. Chopped nestles into the space between you two.

He just continues to babble on and on and on about the somewhat scary adventure you both had, and you and Mr. Silvair patiently listen.

Sometimes, you wonder who can yap more —Mr. Chopped or Mr. Crawling?

That being said, Mr. Chopped likely develops feelings for you after just being in your presence for long enough.

He greatly appreciates you helping him maneuver through the Apartments, and he knows Mr. Silvair appreciates your help, too.

These days, Mr. Chopped finds himself talking with both Mr. Silvair and you!

And soon, there are many moments more when Mr. Chopped finds himself talking with you alone.

You’re just so fun to talk to, he feels like he can talk to you about anything!

Continue? -> Second Half

[Part I (Mr. Big 🙆‍♂️) | Part II (Mr. Chopped 🪓, First Half/Second Half), Part III (Mr. Crawling 👣)]

#homicipher headcanons #homicipher x reader #homicipher #homicipher fanfiction #homicipher mr chopped #homicipher mr chopped x reader #mr chopped x reader #mr chopped #x reader #gender neutral reader

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leighsartworks216 · 7 months ago

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... Oops

Harvey x gn!Farmer

Had this thought when I remembered I had to take my meds tonight. I just think it would be nice to have someone who takes care of you when you're a bit stupid and forget to take very important meds 👉👈

Also, Baja Blast is the actual name of my blue chicken lmao

Also also, this is written in third person POV instead of my usual second person POV

Warnings: swearing, dizziness, anxiety, possibly OOC Harvey

Word Count: 1,592

Masterlist

AO3

Harvey rubbed at his eyes as he slipped out of bed, glancing absentmindedly at the empty space beside him. The farmer was already up, of course. He worried for them when he realized how early they woke up each day, but it couldn't be helped if they wanted to take care of their farm all in one day.

He adjusted his glasses on his face as he shuffled to the kitchen. A cup of hot coffee sat on the counter waiting for him, as it always was. He smiled to himself. Fresh coffee from beans they grew themselves always tasted better than anything Gus could ever dream of making. It was perfectly bitter and smooth as he gulped it down.

He looked out the window of the cabin that overlooked the field left to the farmer by their grandfather. There weren't any unwanted stumps, logs or boulders anymore. Fences penned in the animals as they meandered about, munching on fresh grass. The crops were already watered. The scarecrows teetered slightly in the breeze, the fabric of their gloves almost appearing to wave back at him. He always enjoyed the one that resembled an animated movie character - the farmer had been so proud of it when they stuck it into the ground.

His eyes scanned the paths and fences, searching for his partner.

Hm, they must be in one of the barns.

He stared out a while longer, hoping to catch a glimpse as they came out. A concerned frown etched its way onto his face, but he tried writing off the anxiety swarming in his gut. They're probably just refilling the feeders or refilling their kegs or... Really, it's nothing to get worried about. They knew what they were doing! As long as they stayed out of those damn mines, he had nothing to worry about.

He sighed, shaking his head to remove the flood of worried thoughts in his head. Downing the last of the coffee and placing the mug in the sink, he went off to the bathroom to get ready for a day in the clinic.

He peeked out the window again after he got out of the shower. A blue chicken - a gift from Shane the farmer had named Baja Blast - clucked cheerily as it walked out of the open gate. The farmer usually kept the gates closed, always worrying about coyotes or foxes coming to eat their precious hens. It was unusual for them to keep it open, even if they were inside the coop.

He bustled about in a slight rush to get dressed and gather his things for work, namely a giant thermos of coffee and a lunch prepared for him waiting in the fridge, before slipping out of the cabin. He set it all down on a rocking chair sitting on the porch, creaking in the wind.

Baja Blast clucked up at him as he scooped her into his arms. “C’mon, you shouldn’t be out here. All your food is in here,” he says to the chicken as he steps through the gate and closes it behind him. With a cursory glance back, it didn’t seem like any other chickens got out. He couldn’t remember how many his partner had anymore. He had no idea how in the world they kept up with chickens, ducks, goats, sheep, cows, and pigs on one farm alone. It made his head spin trying to guess how they kept their head on straight with so much to do.

He set Baja Blast down with a white chicken, Madame Clucks. She went back right to pecking away at the grass.

Harvey set his hands on his hips as he looked around. Even out here, he couldn’t see the farmer. Okay, how he was worried. His hands fidgeted anxiously as he stumbled in his loafers through the soft dirt to the coop door. If they weren’t in here, he’d have to check the other barns. And if they weren’t in the barns, he’d have to call Marnie or Shane, or, Yoba forbid, Marlon at the Adventurer’s Guild, just in case they really had slipped off to the mines without telling him. But what if they weren’t in the mines? He’d have to call- Yoba, who could he call? Everyone? Ask if they’ve seen the farmer around today? It wasn’t even 8am, nobody would be up and about to know if they’d gone through town.

He pushed open the door, a bit harder than he meant to as some chickens lingering inside bawk’d and spooked away, leaving feathers in their wake. He couldn’t even focus on that. His eyes immediately landed on the figure sitting on the chest by the mayonnaise machine. They were hunched over and holding their head.

“Farmer!” Harvey rushed forward, all the old anxiety quickly replaced with a thousand more fears. He knelt down by them and rested a hand on their shoulder, looking at them with wide eyes. From this angle he could see their eyes were closed, face pinched in discomfort. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

They shook their head. “‘M just lightheaded. I bent down to grab the eggs and I got really dizzy.”

He pressed the back of his hand to their forehead, brushing back some hair as he pulled away. “You’re not running a fever.” He let out a hesitant breath of relief. “Do you think you can stand?”

After a moment, they nodded. Harvey stood up and supported them as they stood. They wobbled on their feet, but he wrapped an arm around their waist to steady them.

“Easy now. Let’s get you back inside.”

“What about-”

“Don’t you dare put your farm over your own wellbeing,” he warned. “I can call Shane and see if he’ll take over for the day.”

The farmer sighed, relenting. He knew how much peace they found tending to everything themselves, despite how overwhelming it seemed on the outside. They had a whole process for everything, and they’d explained before just how much of the simpler tasks they’d automated with sprinklers and some of Maru’s machines. Still, he was absolutely not about to let them go right back to work when they can barely stand up without a light breeze threatening to knock them over.

Harvey opened the gate and helped them through, shooing Baja Blast back inside as he shut the gate again. His partner gave an undignified snort at the offended squawk she let out. “At least you feel well enough to laugh.”

“Like I said, Harv, I’m just dizzy.” They leaned heavily into him as he led them along the paths to the cabin. Their feet hung up on uneven stones and the stairs leading to the door more than once.

“Dizziness is a symptom of something else. I just want to make sure it really is nothing serious.”

“I know you do.” They offered him a slight smile, but it quickly soured to a frown as they shut their eyes again with a frown. “Yoba, it feels like the whole world is spinning.”

“We’re almost there.” The line would have been less out of place if this wasn’t their home that they knew as well as they knew the names of all their animals, but they were too out of it to point it out and Harvey was too in his own head to notice it. So they stumbled together through the house to the large two-person bed.

The farmer laid down with a whine, pressing the balls of their hands to their eyes. “How is this worse somehow?” they groaned.

Harvey pressed a comforting hand to their shoulder. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?” They hummed affirmatively with a nod. “When did you get back home last night?”

“Like… 1? 1:40?”

He sighed, scratching his brow with his thumb. That was a conversation for later. “Did you take your meds?”

The silence was deafening. They covered their whole face with their hands with a muffled, “Fuck, I’m stupid.”

“So you didn’t take your iron?”

They shook their head but regretted it immediately after, uncovering their face with a grimace. Their hands plopped pathetically to the bed beside them. “No, I completely forgot. I was trying to run back from the beach after fishing all night - I must have been so tired it just slipped my mind.”

He let out a long sigh. “At least it’s nothing serious. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“‘M sorry, Harvey.”

“It’s…” He frowned at the idea of saying ‘okay’. As a doctor, he really couldn’t brush off not taking prescribed medication, especially with a partner with such a severe case of anemia. He’d protest against them running a farm at all if they weren’t so determined. “We’ll figure out a better system, okay? We can put them in a pill-minder and keep them on your nightstand.”

They nodded. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

That shocked a laugh out of him. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to their forehead, his mustache scratching their skin in a familiar way. “Of course - that is my job after all. Now sit tight, I’ll grab your supplements and call Shane. Anything he needs to know about?”

“Just make sure he pets all of the animals. They deserve daily pats.”

“I’ll make sure he knows,” he chuckled fondly as his footsteps began their retreat from the bedroom to the house beyond.

“I love you!”

His warm laugh rang out again, echoed against the wood Robin nailed together and the photos on the walls. “I love you, too!”

#fanfic #fanfiction #harvey x reader #harvey x farmer #sdv harvey x reader #sdv harvey x farmer #stardew valley x reader #stardew valley x farmer #sdv harvey #stardew valley harvey #stardew valley #fluff

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galactic-rhea · 2 months ago

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how do you think anakin (or your anakin) would take clovis? i found those episodes to be really ooc😭

Oh boy, I knew this day would come,,,the day in which someone asked me about these awful episodes, thanks user @songspirits now this conversation won't have to wait any longer NKLJnjfdf

To quote a friend of mine that only watched the movies when I told her the summary of the Clovis arc: "I think Anakin would've asked padme to held her wig instead while she personally goes to fight that guy, the anakin i know at least"

Jokes aside, I'll have to break this down on a few points because there's just,,,a lot going on in these episodes (to be clear I don't intend to change anyone's mind in the matter, since i already know many ppl believe these episodes to be good for anakin's ehh,,,going-evil characterization). This will get long.

So first of all: The very first episode where Clovis shows up is just alright, could've been done much better but seriously I don't have many issues with it.

The problem arises with the new ones in season 6. The why I feel Anakin is out character in these episodes is because his very, very well known and yet somehow missinterpreted flaw is that he reacts with extreme violence, especially when scared, scared not for himself but for someone he cares about.

So him reacting badly and going directly for a bloody fistfight against Clovis wasn't the problem of the episodes. It was how he treated Padmé. Like, literally telling her he would leave her in jail if she kept mentioning Clovis, lmao. Also the "You have no say on this" yadayada. I think the writer for these episodes was probably taking their confrontation at Mustafar as a reference point, which...No, that shouldn't have been the case bc in Mustafar that guy literally turned evil (literally!) and he had lost touch with reality. And also the stakes were higher. And also his anger was completely different there.

But, at the same time, if I play the devil's advocate, I can see some...eh, explanations there. For example he had recently lost Ahsoka and one of his men, the War was on the third year, and Padmé was decidely working with someone that already almost got her killed once, and she wasn't listening to him. They didn't even actually discussed the situation very well. And when Anakin says that "as your husband, I ask-" he turns around and is completelly unable to look at her in the eyes, so it could very well be that not even himself believed that, he was mostly throwing onto the table every single card he had. And one could argue that there's no way he didn't hear/notice/sense/ whatever that Padmé wasn't okay with that kiss.

But even then, the writers were clearly going for your very average possesive-sexist-angry-jealous- boyfriend, which isn't Anakin's problem, like I said, his problem is how deeply scared he is of Padmé being hurt. So Anakin's main concern shouldn't be that he's being cheated on, but that Padmé could be hurt, and they kinda touched on that but they failed at portraying that well, and I think it's because:

a) This episode shows us an extremelly common trope in shows with many episodes and many one-time-plots: The classic add-another-person-so-main-character-gets-jealous-. And almost always this type of episode gets us very ooc characterizations, no matter the show, because this society usually can't see any other reaction that isn't angry-possesive-violent jealousy. He also treats Padmé quite badly even before she decides to keep working with him, which is a no-no for me.

b) The shows forgets that Anakin does, actually, has a lot of faith and trust in Padmé's abilities. Yes, he worries, a lot, but he still is very confident on her being a more than capable person. He doesn't want to keep her in a cage or something, part of the reason he's so in love with her is because of how capable and intelligent she is. In ROTS is different because he quite literally had a prophetic vision that proved to be true before, and there's very little to do in this case, it had nothing to do with abilities or someone else. Also, if AOTC tells me anything, is that they're fairly talktative aka they communicate fairly well. Even in previous episodes we see that Padmé is great at communicating and discussing (look at how she reassured Ahsoka when Ahsoka was worried about her. Or that little bit where she's concerned about a party.); in this episode there was none of that until after Anakin almost kills a guy.

c) I think they simply, and flatly, just wanted to show Anakin being dangerous and darker and have Padmé concerned and all of that. And what better way to show a man becoming evil than being a jealous boyfriend. Isn't like Anakin has already murdered a lot of people, amirite. This is a bit of a problem with the simplification of a character. If they're bad or becoming evil, they also surely must be hyper jealous and possesive, there's no other way.

TO SUMMARIZE: I don't think Anakin was handled well, at all. Because the episodes were rellying on a very basic trope, which needed them to break the characters to fit the cookie cutter. However I can see some attempt at deepness there. It's like if it was the characters pretending to be more cartoonized version of themselves, if you know what I mean.

HOWEVER,,,,that said, the biggest sin for me isn't Anakin being OOC...IS HOW PADMÉ WAS TREATED.

They seriously had to put her into a sexual harassament plot, only for it all to be about how Anakin is evil (tm), and not have her respond at all? They really had her to put up with a creepy rapey dude just because.....What is even the narrative trying to tell us at all, that Anakin was actually was actually right, but overreacted? The plot is so contrived, Lmao.

She was the one that got harassed and yet she had no say on it, she's extremelly passive in the whole arc (which we all already know isn't Padmé's personality, even Anakin tends to follow the narrative in more passive way than she does). Then they also had to have her on the trope of "If a woman is going to be a spy, then she must use all her goods and being a femme fatale", and then they didn't even made her fatale. They could AT LEAST give us a moment of her reflecting about having been lowkey assaulted? No? Huh,okay.

Also, Padmé is actually very good at, let's say, handling Anakin. Or more like, reassuring him/discussing stuff with him, and I say this because of bits of the novels I have seen. She's more self-assured and confident, and experienced with social stuff, she's definitely not naive, and can stand her ground fairly easily, and she knew what type of guy was Clovis, so yeah, it's just...she was badly written here, she lost almost all of her agency. I'm not saying it was her fault or anything, or that it was her responsability to calm down her clown of a husband, but it goes against what we know Padmé is like.

Also apparently throwing himself onto the void was Clovis' apology for...almost getting her killed several times, kissing her without consent, being a creep and also using her as hostage. You know, so he's more of a deep character, I guess.

The good points for this arc though, are:

° Ol' Sheev doing what Sheev does best, and actually having some interesting stuff going on, they should've focused on that.

° They (miraculously) remembered a bit of Anakin's and Padmé's actual personalities, and when she told him to back off and that she needed a time, he accepted her desires to leave her alone and looked like a sad wet cat, like Anakin tends to look like. Also thank god they had Padmé's behaviour being nothing like the one of what you would expect from a victim of abusive relationships (Anakin was making his ooc scene and she just looked like 'bitch,what the hell has gotten into you', she had the audience's response, which is 'anakin? what?', which at least tells us this isn't Anakin's normal behaviour at all, i guess?)

° Obi-Wan and Anakin talking a little bit. Also Anakin's room had a poster of the Boonta's Eve race, he also had a little ship-toy, showing us that Luke really takes after his father, lol.

°...Idk what else to highlight from these episodes 😭😂 Did I already say Sheev's scheming? Uhhhh,well, uhh, idk, Padmé taking Clovis to the opera in an attempt to get info from him is kinda ...Ironic.

#padmé amidala #anakin skywalker #tcw #clovis #anidala #thanks for the ask!#this arc just gives me a headache i'm so serious

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thewulf · 7 months ago

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Through Your Eyes || Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary: Request -I'm thinking a military TF 141 reader where she and Ghost are tiptoeing the line between friendship and something more (you write it soooo well!) and maybe one night she's just feeling lonely/homesick - she really only sees the guys anymore since they're always working - so she decides to get a lil tipsy in her room... Read Rest Here

A/N: Probably the most OOC Ghost we'll see but idc he's soft and I love it. Enjoy!

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader, TF 141 x Platonic Female Reader

Word Count: 9.5k + (They keep getting longer lmao)

TW: Drinking our issues away

In the quiet confines of your room on base the night stretches out like a silent, unending void. England, with its overcast skies and endless drizzle, feels worlds away from the sun-drenched horizons of your hometown in America. Here the walls are a dull grey. The only decoration a faded photograph of your family, smiling. A stark reminder of what you’ve left behind.

You sit on the edge of your narrow bed with a glass of whiskey cradled in your hands. The ice was slowly melting, mirroring the monotonous drip of time passing. The soft buzz of the base’s nighttime activities filters through your closed door. It was a constant reminder that life goes on even when parts of you have stalled.

Loneliness clings to you like a second skin. Homesickness gnaws at your insides. The jokes shared and the meals eaten together are supposed to bring comfort, but tonight they're not enough. The laughter feels distant. The smiles seem forced through your filter of sadness. You miss the ease of being understood in your own home. The comfort of familiar streets. The casual meetups with friends who knew you before you were a soldier.

Most of all you miss the simple, irreplaceable connections that once filled your days. You long for the nights out with your girlfriends, their laughter and stories echoing in your ears. A drastic difference to the tactical discussions that now dominate your evenings. The absence of your mother's voice, once a daily comfort, now feels like a missing chord in the symphony of your life. It’s not like you didn’t try and talk with her but the time difference made it nearly impossible.

The loneliness is compounded by the intimacy you crave but lack. You longed for a partner to share quiet moments with. Someone whose mere presence could turn the coldest nights warm. Here, among soldiers, your vulnerability remains hidden. Your longing for tenderness a silent scream in the night.

Lately you’ve found yourself envying Captain Price. Whenever he talks about going home to his family, a pang of jealousy tightens your chest. He returns to love, to embraces, to conversations that have nothing to do with war. His normalcy seems like a distant dream, and you crave it with every fiber of your being.

As the whiskey warms your throat it brings a slight haze to your thoughts. A part of you wonders if you made the right decision. Did you trade your past and your peace for a purpose that now feels too heavy to shoulder alone? The drink wasn’t soothing like you craved. Instead, it sharpened the edges of your solitude. It highlighted the deep yearning for something, or someone, to call home.

As the evening stretches into the deeper hours of the night your thoughts begin to swirl as much as the whiskey in your glass. Desperate for a distraction from the creeping melancholy you find yourself reaching for your phone. A dangerous idea forming amidst the softening edges of your loneliness.

The glow of your phone screen seems harsh against the dim lighting of your room. Scrolling through your contacts your thumb hovers over Ghost's name. He’s always been solid, dependable. Perhaps too much so, you think, a slight smile playing at the edges of your lips. With a reckless flicker of courage fueled by the whiskey warming your veins you tap out a somewhat flirty message. A far cry from your usual sober texts. Evening, Ghosty. Bet you can't guess what I’m up to right now…

You hit send before you can second guess yourself.

Seconds tick by, morphing into the longest minute as you stare at the screen. Your heart racing as you wait for a reply. Instead of a text though your phone starts buzzing underneath your fingertips. Ghost is calling you! Panic and excitement flutter in your chest. This isn't what you expected. You decline the call without a second though setting it face down as if it could hide your sudden nerves.

But the phone buzzes again almost immediately, Ghost’s name flashing insistently. He’s not giving up. He’d never give up if you didn’t answer now. That just wasn’t his nature. Taking a deep breath, you flip the phone back over and press answer before bringing it up to your ear. "Hey," your voice is more playful than intended, the alcohol lending you a bubbly tone.

"Everything alright?" Ghost's voice is laced with concern. His usual calm edged with tension.

"Yeah, just couldn’t sleep," you giggle not realizing how tipsy you actually were. It was a sound that feels both foreign and delightful to your ears.

"You sure? It’s not like you to text like this... this late." His probing is gentle. But you can sense him on edge trying to read the situation.

"I’m perfectly fine, Ghosty," you drawl out the nickname only he would let you use with a teasing lilt, stretching the words playfully.

"Are you drunk?" His tone a tinge worried mixed with a faint amusement.

"No!” You reply immediately but after silence on the other side of the line you continue. “Maybe just a smidge tipsy," you admit. You heard him exhale sharply on the other end—part relief, part exasperation.

There's a brief pause before his laughter filters through, easing the tension on his side of the line. "Alright then, I’m coming over. Don’t move."

"Oh no! you don’t have to! I’m just enjoying a bit of liquid courage," you protest him. Your words dancing with mock seriousness.

"I think I better check on you in person. Stay put," he commands softly. A firm undercurrent in his voice that brooks no argument.

"Okay," you acquiesce with your tone still light, teasing. As you hang up a smile tugs at your lips. Maybe what you really needed wasn’t to dull the ache of loneliness but to stir a bit of excitement. And who better than Ghost to share that with?

When you first joined Task Force 141 the transition was expected to be challenging, especially with the unit's tight-knit and often closed-off nature. However, what no one anticipated was the immediate and inexplicable closeness that formed between you and Simon Riley, your Ghosty.

From the outset, Ghost, known for his stoic demeanor and laser-focused professionalism took an uncharacteristically soft approach with you. It was as if he sensed you needed a mentor, or perhaps something within him responded to your arrival on a level he hadn't anticipated. His usual reserve melted somewhat in your presence. His guidance more patient and his words often tinged with a protective tone. This shift in him didn't go unnoticed. It raised eyebrows among the rest of TF 141, sparking whispers and speculation. Even Ghost himself seemed taken aback by his own behavior as if he was watching himself from a distance unable to reconcile this newfound softness with his hardened warrior persona.

You brought something different to the team. You brought a warmth and a kindness that radiated naturally. Your approach to handling both the missions and interpersonal relationships within the unit was refreshingly human. Where others respected Ghost for his tactical brilliance and saw him as a near-unflappable soldier. You engaged with him as a person first and foremost. You asked him questions about his day, showed interest in the small details. And sometimes you just offered a quiet presence when words were too cumbersome.

This human connection was something Ghost hadn't realized he was missing until you arrived. Your sweetness, your unguarded way of interacting not just with him but with everyone, gradually broke down the walls he had built around himself. You saw beyond the mask—both literal and metaphorical—to the complex man beneath. It was this genuine understanding and acceptance from you that deepened his affection and protectiveness. It fostered a friendship that was both surprising and profoundly meaningful.

In your interactions Ghost found a sanctuary in you. Each dialogue, each shared silence, reinforced something vital between the two of you. A sense of belonging and mutual respect that neither of you had anticipated but both secretly yearned for. Ghost's initial decision to take you under his wing, driven by an instinctive pull, blossomed into a relationship where both of you found solace, understanding, and ultimately a love that neither the harshness of your environment nor the specter of past wounds could diminish.

The wait for Ghost to come to your room feels almost interminable. Each minute ticking by slower than the last as the shadows in your room seem to deepen, mirroring your mood. Just as you start to second-guess your impulsive invitation a soft knock at the door jolts you from your somber thoughts. It's a sound too gentle for someone like Ghost whose presence is usually more commanding. But then again, he's always full of surprises.

You pad over to the door, your steps hesitant, and open it to find him there. His posture rigid, familiar balaclava in place, his eyes immediately searching yours for signs of distress. "Hey, Tex," he greets with a softness that belies the hardness of his profession. Using the nickname that feels like a balm and a sting all at once.

It was cute, the origin of the nickname only he used on you. One evening after a long day of training with TF 141 you and Ghost found yourselves alone tasked with checking and maintaining equipment. The work was meticulous and quiet offering a rare opportunity for more personal conversation. A rarity given the usual intensity of your environment.

As you both worked the conversation naturally drifted to lighter topics and you shared a humorous story about a road trip mishap you had years ago. You ended up mistakenly driving into Texas instead of your intended destination due to a mix-up with GPS directions. You recounted the events with such animated detail and humor. Making sure to mention how you ended up enjoying some of the best barbecue and meeting some incredibly friendly locals that it left a lasting impression on you.

Ghost listened intently with a rare smile playing on his lips as he worked. When you jokingly concluded that you might have been a Texan in another life because of how seamlessly you blended into the culture during your unintended visit, Ghost chuckled. It was a sound so scarce it marked the significance of the moment.

From then on he started calling you "Tex" in a teasing yet affectionate manner. It was his way of referencing that story which had not only entertained him but also revealed your ability to adapt and find joy in unexpected situations. The nickname stuck between the two of you as it became a symbol of your resilience and the easy friensdship that had developed between the two of you.

Each time Ghost called you "Tex” it was with a tone that mixed fondness and a hint of admiration reminding both of you of that shared moment of laughter and your storytelling prowess. This private joke between you became a subtle yet constant affirmation of the bond you were building. A bond based on shared stories, mutual respect, and an emerging deep, personal connection.

"Hi, Ghosty," you manage with your voice barely above a whisper. You step aside to let him in, but as you do, the use of 'Tex' makes your heart clench painfully. Your smile falters, a frown etching itself across your face as you're vividly reminded of what you're missing.

He notices the shift in your demeanor immediately. The way your eyes dart away from his gaze. "What's going on?" he asks as he steps inside making sure to close the door behind him with a quiet click. His voice is low, laced with a concern that makes your heart ache even more. "It's not like you to drink alone, without us," he adds. His tone soft but probing. This observation hits a nerve. Highlighting how out of character your actions seem tonight.

You can't meet his eyes, not yet, not when they're so filled with worry and understanding. "It’s my brother's birthday today," you confess with your voice cracking slightly. "I got a picture from my family. They're all there, celebrating... and I’m here." The words hang heavy in the air laden with a sadness that feels too big to contain.

Ghost steps back a little giving you space. "Let's sit down," he suggests gently nodding towards your bed. You move to sit on the edge, and he joins you. He maintained a respectful distance with his posture open and inviting you to continue.

You finally glance over at him and the tears that you've been holding back start to blur your vision. "I miss them, Ghost. I miss being part of those moments. It feels like I’m losing time, losing them..."

He listens in silence, but his presence was steady. "You’re not losing them, Tex. Not really. But I get it… it’s hard to miss out. You belong here with us though. It’s okay to wish you were there too."

At his words a ripple of uncertainty courses through you. "Do I really belong?" you find yourself questioning aloud. The words spilling out before you can hold them back. Your voice is tinged with an unusual vulnerability you’re so good at hiding, "Sometimes I feel like I'm a world away, like I don't quite fit anywhere anymore."

Ghost turns to look at you completely. His gaze intense even through the shadows cast by his balaclava. Noticing the sadness deepening in your eyes he softens his tone further addressing you more personally. "I know it feels that way sometimes, Y/N," he acknowledges using your first name in a rare break from nicknames signaling his serious concern. "But you've made a place for yourself here, with us. It’s not just about the missions. It’s about the moments we share, the tough days we get through together. You’re as much a part of this team as anyone is."

His reassurance carries weight, but the hollow feeling doesn’t dissipate completely. You nod, appreciating his effort to make you feel included. Yet part of you still wrestles with the feeling of displacement. It's comforting to have someone who understands, who sees the struggle and still stands by your side affirming your place even when you doubt it yourself. Tonight, Ghost isn't just a shadowy figure or a call sign. He's the anchor you didn't realize you needed.

The room grows quieter, the only sound the distant hum of the base's nocturnal life. You reach for the whiskey glass that had been forgotten during the initial turmoil of Ghost's arrival. Tilting the glass, you take a long, deliberate drink seeking the false courage it offers. The burn a temporary distraction from the ache inside.

Ghost watches you for a moment. His expression is unreadable behind the balaclava, yet his eyes—a deep well of understanding—never leave your face. “It’s okay to feel lost sometimes, Y/N. It doesn’t mean you’re alone,” he finally says with a soft but firm voice.

You nod, feeling the alcohol loosen your tongue and the tightness in your chest. "I just feel so guilty all the time, Ghost," you admit before setting the glass down with a little more force than necessary. "Everyone here has been nothing but supportive, and here I am upset because I missed a birthday party across the ocean."

He shifts slightly turning to face you more directly. There’s a pause, a breath of a moment where he seems to be choosing his words carefully. "Guilt is a heavy burden to carry, Y/N. And it’s a familiar one to me too. We've all had moments when we felt like we're not giving enough. Not present enough for those we left behind."

Seeing him open up about his own struggles is unexpectedly comforting. It's rare for Ghost to talk about his feelings and even rarer still to admit any weakness. His willingness to share that with you now tightens something in your throat.

"Sometimes I wonder if it's all worth it," you whisper unsure if you actually wanted him to hear your admission.

He reaches out to you. His hand hesitating in the air before gently landing on your shoulder. It was a small, uncharacteristic gesture of comfort. "We chose this life because we believed in something greater than ourselves," he starts. His voice steady. "Doesn't make the personal sacrifices any lighter, but it does give them meaning. And Y/N, you bring your own meaning to this team. More than you know."

Tears brim in your eyes, spilling over despite your best efforts. You're not usually this open, this raw, but with him, it feels safe, necessary even. "I just miss being sure of things, you know? Being sure of where I belong, sure of who needs me..."

Ghost nods, his hand squeezing your shoulder slightly. "I get that. But here’s what I’m sure of—you're needed here, more than you might see. Not just as a soldier, but as you, Y/N. Just by being here you make things better for everyone. For me."

Your breath hiccups at his words, at the honesty and the raw edge in his voice. In this quiet, vulnerable space, you both share more than just words. You share understanding, burdens, and silently, the beginning of something deeper, something neither of you might fully grasp yet. As the conversation drifts into a comfortable silence, you realize that tonight you didn't just find a confidant in Ghost. You found a mirror for your own vulnerabilities, and perhaps, a reason to keep fighting. Not just for the missions but for these moments of unexpected connection.

Tears trickle down your cheeks, unchecked and unbidden as Ghost's words sink deep. His affirmation, his understanding, it hits a part of you that's been raw and exposed for far too long. He looks at you. His eyes softening under the rim of his balaclava and it's as if he sees right through to the heart of your pain.

"Come here, love," he murmurs. His voice a gentle command that stirs something deep within you. He opens his arms and it's an invitation you can't resist—not tonight. You move almost instinctively. Your body responding before your mind can catch up. You find yourself climbing into his lap without so much as a second thought. His arms encircle you, strong and sure, and you melt into him. His chest is a solid wall against your cheek, you breathe him in, the faint scent of gunpowder and mint somehow reassuring and exactly what you needed.

He's so much bigger and stronger than you. An immovable presence that you've only ever admired from a distance. And he's Ghost—your not-so-secret crush, the man behind the mask, whose face you've never seen but whose soul you felt like you completely understood. As his arms tighten around you, holding you close, it's more than comfort. It's a need fulfilled. The simple yet profound need to be held, to feel wanted, to have someone not just willing but wanting to hold you.

You let yourself be held by him. The steady beat of his heart beneath your ear a soothing rhythm in the chaos of your emotions. His hand strokes your back gently. A soothing contrast to the strength of his arms, and you feel safe, protected in a way that goes beyond physical safety. Ghost isn't just a teammate, or a mysterious figure shrouded in intrigue. He's the person who understands your loneliness, your longing, and meets it with his own kind of longing. A connection that perhaps he's been craving too.

The weight of everything—the base, the missions, the distance from home—seems to lift slightly making room for something new, something hopeful. As you nestle closer, letting yourself sink into the warmth and strength of his embrace. You realize that this closeness is something you've been missing. Something you've been needing without even knowing it. And maybe, just maybe, he needed it too.

Cuddled securely in Ghost's embrace you find a moment of peace amidst the swirl of emotions. Slowly, you tilt your head up to look at him with a small smile blossoming across your face. The intimacy of the moment, the rare closeness with someone you've both feared and admired from afar ignites a warmth that had been absent for too long.

"What, love?" Ghost asks after noticing your gentle smile. His voice is tender yet tinged with curiosity and a hint of amusement.

You shake your head with the smile still playing on your lips ever so reluctant to break the comfortable silence that's settled between you. But he's persistent, definitely not satisfied with your silent amusement. "Come on, what is it?" he presses. His tone gentle yet insistent, coaxing you to share the secret of your smile.

When you answer him it’s the last thing he expected. "You have blonde eyelashes," you murmur, almost to yourself. The observation slipping out before you can think better of it. "You're a blondie, Ghosty."

He shakes his head at you with a subtle chuckle barely audible, his gaze holding a flicker of amusement that surprises you. "Blondie, huh?" he remarks. The words dry but with an underlying warmth that feels rare and genuine. "Never figured that'd be the thing to get noticed," he adds, his tone maintaining that typical Ghost edge—cool, composed, yet unexpectedly tender.

The playful comment, light and teasing, helps to bridge the gap between your roles within TF 141 and who you are beneath the surface. His chuckle fills you with an inexplicable joy, lightening the emotional weight of the night.

Encouraged by this lighter moment, he shifts slightly, adjusting his hold on you, making sure you're more comfortable in his lap. "You know," he starts again in a thoughtful tone, "I find it interesting what people notice when they really look."

This new dynamic in your conversation allows both of you to explore this newfound closeness without the heavier undertones of your earlier emotions. It's a welcome reprieve, a chance to see each other in a new light. And perhaps to start building something uniquely personal and intimate from the shared vulnerabilities and now your shared laughter. Relishing the warmth of his embrace and buoyed by the lightness of the moment there’s a playful boldness that's unlike you but feels just right for now. With a mischievous tilt of your head, you look up at him once more. Your eyes were sparkling with a mix of flirtation and genuine curiosity.

"Should've paid more attention to you, huh?" you tease. Your voice soft yet audacious. "Bet you're real pretty under that mask Ghosty."

The words hang in the air, utterly bold and flirtatious, marking a departure from your usual reserve. Ghost pauses at that. The slight tension in his posture the only sign that your comment has caught him off guard. Yet there's a hint of amusement in his eyes. A spark that suggests your boldness might not be unwelcome.

His response is slow, deliberate, as if measuring the weight of your words and his next move. "Maybe one day you'll find out love," he replies, his voice low, a tease laced with a promise that sends a thrill through you.

The exchange was daring and filled with undercurrents of mutual interest. It adds a new layer to the atmosphere, thick with potential and unspoken possibilities. As you nestle even closer to him you feel the solid certainty of his arms around you. You can't help but feel that tonight might just be the beginning of something unexpected and exhilarating. A far departure from how you were feeling even just an hour prior.

As you rest your head against his chest, feeling the thrum of his quickening heartbeat, Ghost finds himself at a crossroads of vulnerability and longing. The playful flirtation, the warmth of your body against his… it's stirring emotions within him that he usually keeps locked away under layers of discipline and duty.

"A girl can dream, hmm?" Your words were light yet laden with unspoken wishes. They echo in his heart. He tightens his hold on you further. A protective gesture that also serves to reassure himself. You're trusting him in a way that no one else does, reaching out for comfort and perhaps more.

Ghost takes a deep breath, the fabric of his balaclava stretching slightly with the movement. The thought of removing the mask, of showing you the scars that mar his face, the physical reminders of battles fought and narrowly survived, suddenly feels less daunting. He adores you, more than he's willing to admit aloud. And that adoration mixed with trust makes him consider revealing his true self.

In this moment Ghost's internal conflict is palpable. He's been grappling with the idea of showing you his face for some time. A gesture that holds significant weight given the secretive and guarded nature of his life. The scars, which he typically regards as badges of survival and resilience, suddenly morph into vulnerabilities when he thinks about revealing them to you. This is not just about physical appearance. It's about letting someone into the most guarded parts of his existence.

Ghost's decision to consider this step now isn't just a spur-of-the-moment choice. It's been building up. You represent a safe haven for him. Someone who might understand and accept his past and the physical evidence of it without judgment. It's this trust and the depth of his feelings for you that push him toward vulnerability. The act of removing the balaclava would symbolize his willingness to lower his defenses and invite you into a more intimate, authentic part of his life. A significant leap for someone whose identity is so closely tied to his role as an elite operative.

In essence, the potential unveiling is more than revealing his face; it's an invitation into his deeper self, a crucial step in any meaningful relationship, intensified here by the layers of his hidden world.

"You know," he starts, his voice a delicate blend of resolve and hesitation, "sometimes, what we dream of isn't as far out of reach as we think." His statement was laden with vulnerability and causes your heart to swell with empathy and affection for this man who has faced so much yet stands so strong before you.

As Ghost's hands hover tentatively at the edge of his mask, the weight of his decision palpable in the air, your eyes meet his with a depth of understanding and gentleness. His fingers, curled around the fabric, pause as he seems to search your face for the reassurance he needs to move forward.

He continues, his voice lowering further, almost unsure by his bold actions. "If I show you, promise me something. Promise me you'll see beyond the scars." The sincerity and slight fear in his voice tug at you, compelling you to act. To reassure him in any way you can.

You reach out slowly, your hand moving to cover his where it still grips the mask. Your touch is light but firm, grounding, a physical manifestation of your support. "You don't have to do this," you whisper back. Your voice gentle but earnest. "I never want to push you if you're uncomfortable."

As you speak your other hand moves up instinctively giving his bicep a gentle squeeze. A silent message of reassurance and strength. "Whatever you’re ready to share, whenever you’re ready, that’s okay with me. I just want you to feel safe, not just with me but for yourself too."

Your words and the warm pressure of your hands convey everything you feel—your respect for his boundaries, your readiness to accept him as he is, and your desire to ensure his comfort above all. You smile softly hoping to convey a sense of peace and acceptance, wanting him to feel the depth of your care without any pressure.

Ghost looks down at your hands. Your much smaller fingers were intertwined with his, feeling the warmth and strength from your touch. The physical connection seems to bolster him, providing a tangible sense of support and acceptance. After a moment, he gives a small nod. An acknowledgment of your words and the comfort they bring. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Ghosty.” You assure him.

Before you can continue Ghost places a finger over your lips silencing your gentle flood of reassurances. His touch is light but there’s a decisiveness in his gesture that catches your attention. Looking into your eyes with a newfound intensity, he tilts his head slightly with a hint of a challenge in his gaze. "But what if I want to?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

His question hangs in the air loaded with possibilities and the promise of a deeper connection. His eyes search yours, looking for an answer, permission, understanding. “If you’re sure.” You looked into his eyes searching for any sort of doubt, but you couldn’t seem to find any.

Ghost's hand reaches up slowly, the weight of the decision evident in every measured movement. His fingers were rough and calloused from years of wielding weapons and facing harsh conditions. They tremble slightly as they hook around the edge of the balaclava. There's a moment's hesitation. A silent plea in his eyes as they lock onto yours, seeking reassurance. Your nod is gentle but firm, encouraging.

With a deep, steadying breath that lifts his chest and fills the air with anticipation, he pulls the fabric up and away from his face. The mask slides over his nose, past scars, and weathered skin, and finally clears his sharp jawline. The reveal is gradual with each inch of skin exposed adding layers to the man you've come to know. His scars map out a history of survival and silent battles.

As the balaclava comes off completely he allows it to drop from his fingers. His gaze never leaving yours. For a moment, he stands bare—not just physically but emotionally too. The vulnerability displayed in this act deepens everything between you profoundly. Ghost, the soldier fades into the background allowing the man behind the mask, marked by life but standing resilient, to shine through.

You see him clearly now. Not just as the formidable operative known as Ghost, but Simon, marked by his past but not defined by it. This shared moment of vulnerability cements a deeper connection. A space where truths are acknowledged without words and where your understanding and acceptance begin to kindle something far more profound than either of you had anticipated.

"Simon," you whisper. His name a gentle caress in the quiet of the room. The air between you thickens with vulnerability and you notice a slight tension in his posture. The uncertainty in his eyes. It's clear he's nervous, unaccustomed to such openness, to being seen so completely.

"May I?" you ask softly requesting permission not just to touch him but to bridge the final gap between your mutual vulnerabilities. At his hesitant nod you move closer. In a bold move you straddle his lap to minimize the distance. Your hands rise to his face, gentle and reassuring. As your fingers trace the texture of his scars you watch each reaction flicker across his features. Fleeting moments of surprise, of relief, of something tender blooming underneath.

As you study Simon’s unmasked face your heart surges with a deep and profound respect. The air between you feels charged with the significance of this moment as he allows himself to be seen, truly seen, perhaps for the first time in too long.

"Look at you," you whisper to him. Your voice laced with warmth and awe. You gaze at him more lovingly than even he could have anticipated. Your fingers gently trace the contours of his face. Your touch light but filled with intent, meant to comfort, and reassure him in his vulnerability. "You're so incredibly strong, Simon."

As your thumbs smooth over his cheeks, you can feel him relax slightly under your touch. His usual guardedness giving way to a tentative acceptance of your care. "And you’re beautiful. So handsome." you continue, each word deliberate and sincere. "Not despite these scars but because of them. They're not just marks. They're medals of your courage. Symbols of your endurance."

Simon's breath caught in his throat as he absorbed your words. No one had ever looked at him this way before. Seen him so completely and accepted him so fully. The barriers he had meticulously built around himself seemed to crumble under the gentle touch of your fingers and the sincere love in your voice. In this moment, stripped of his mask and the persona of Ghost, Simon felt truly seen. The fear that had knotted in his chest began to dissolve instead replaced by a warmth that spread through him, kindling a connection that went beyond the physical, touching something deep within his soul.

"Every line," you continued tracing one gently with your fingertip, "tells a story of survival, of fights bravely fought, of a life fiercely lived. They make you... uniquely you." Your voice is thick with admiration. Your eyes were locked in on his ensuring he feels the weight of your words.

Simon looks back at you, visibly moved. His eyes, usually a fortress of stoic resolve, now shimmer slightly with unshed tears. The walls he's built around himself seem to tremble under the warmth of your gaze and the sincerity in your voice. At your words, Simon's eyes hold yours. A mixture of awe and something that looks a lot like relief. You lean in with your forehead resting against his, sharing a breath, sharing a moment of profound connection.

Simon finds himself at the mercy of a cascade of emotions with feelings he's tightly regulated and kept at bay through years of training and harsh realities. As he looks into your eyes—eyes filled with genuine care and admiration—he experiences a vulnerability that is both terrifying and exhilarating.

Inside, Simon is grappling with a mix of disbelief and wonder. The walls he's constructed around his heart, built to protect, and isolate, are wavering under the gentle but persistent tide of your compassion. Each word you speak, each tender touch, challenges his long-held beliefs about himself and his worth. The fortress of stoic resolve that has always been his shield is now nearly crumbled by the warmth of your gaze. In the understanding in your voice.

Can she truly see something in me that I've failed to recognize? he wonders silently baffled by the idea that his scars and battles, which he has always viewed as disfigurements and burdens, could be seen as marks of beauty and strength. Your touch of tracing his face with such intimate loving care doesn't just map the physical contours of his scars but also traces the deeper emotional wounds he's carried silently for so long.

As your forehead rests against his, sharing this profound moment of connection, Simon feels a shift within himself. A melting of ice that he didn't realize had encased his heart. The feeling of being understood, truly and deeply, without the need for masks or defenses is profoundly disarming. It stirs something in him that feels dangerously close to hope, to love.

In the quiet of this shared moment Simon begins to accept the possibility that he may not only be capable of loving but that he is already deep in the throes of it especially after witnessing the care and devotion with which you regard him. It's a realization that brings both fear and a surprising relief. The kind of relief that comes from finally settling down a heavy burden he hadn't fully acknowledged carrying.

Amidst these revelations he feels a gratitude that tightens his throat. An overwhelming appreciation for the woman before him who sees beyond the surface, who sees him not as a collection of scars and stories, but as a whole person worthy of love and affection. This connection, this acceptance, it's something he's longed for without even realizing it. And now faced with its reality he's both humbled and profoundly moved.

"You see all this in me?" he finally managed to ask with his voice barely above a whisper. As if speaking louder might break the spell of this intimate exchange.

"It breaks my heart that you don't, Si," you respond softly. Your voice laced with both sadness and affection. It's rare for you to use that nickname, but in this moment it feels just right. Intimate and genuine.

As your fingers maintain their gentle contact on his face Simon feels a surge of emotions that almost overwhelms him. Your words were so full of sincerity and depth and pierce through the layers of self-doubt and isolation he has wrapped around himself for so long. "You should see yourself the way I see you. Not just for what you’ve been through but for who you are because of it. You’re remarkable, Simon. And yes, I see all of this and so much more." Each word resonates within him, echoing in the spaces he's kept guarded and hidden from the world.

As he absorbs the weight of your affirmation Simon's heart feels like it could burst from the sheer intensity of what he's experiencing. It's as if your words have unlocked something within him. A floodgate opening to reveal depths of emotion he had long disregarded as unreachable. The shock of realizing that he can feel so deeply that he might indeed love and be loved in return washes over him with an almost palpable force.

For years Simon has compartmentalized his emotions viewing them as potential weaknesses in the unforgiving environments he's navigated. But now being held by your gaze and touched by your understanding he finds himself reconsidering everything he thought he knew about his capacity for emotion. The realization that he does love you and that he has perhaps loved you in ways he hadn't allowed himself to fully acknowledge comes as both a shock and a beautiful revelation.

As he exhales softly, releasing the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, a mix of relief and wonder fills him. The connection you share seems to solidify into something tangible, something real and powerful. Your ability to see him—not just the soldier, not just the scars, but Simon, the man behind the mask—instills in him a newfound sense of worthiness and belonging. In the warmth of your touch and the earnestness of your words Simon finds a new perspective on himself and his place in the world. It's as if your belief in him has lent him the strength to believe in himself. To accept the possibility of a future shaped not by solitude and sacrifice but by love and mutual understanding.

This emotional turning point is not just a revelation of his feelings for you but an awakening to the idea that he can be loved for all that he is, scars and strengths alike. As he looks into your eyes filled with appreciation and a dawning recognition of his worth. Simon knows that whatever the future holds it has been irrevocably altered by the truth and beauty of this moment.

As the emotional weight of the moment hangs between you, you sense the intensity overwhelming Simon in the wake of his newfound realizations. To lighten the mood and bring a touch of levity back into the exchange you offer him a radiant, genuine smile. Your eyes sparkle with affection and a playful teasing tone colors your voice as you look into his eyes which are now more open and vulnerable than ever.

“I was right though,” you say with a quiet giggle as your smile broadened “You are real pretty under that mask.”

Simon's eyes light up at your playful remark. A spark of joy dancing in them as he absorbs the lighter mood you've introduced. His smile spreads across his face softening the lines and scars that mark his experiences. The laughter you share serves as a reminder of the normalcy and comfort that can exist even in moments filled with deep emotional revelations.

After the laughter subsides Simon's expression turns tender. His eyes still holding yours with an intensity that speaks volumes. Leaning in slightly, the proximity bridging any remaining space between you. He mirrors your intimate gesture with one of his own. His hand, previously resting cautiously at his side, now reaches up to gently cup your face. The touch is soft but deliberate. Filled with affection and a newfound confidence.

"You've always seen more than most," Simon says. His voice low and filled with emotion. "Not just the surface, but the stories and the scars beneath. For that, I’m more grateful than I can express."

He pauses, his thumb now tracing the contour of your cheek in a slow, affectionate caress. "And you," Simon continues with his voice softening further. Softer than you’ve ever heard with a gentle sincerity underscoring his words, "are truly beautiful. In ways that go beyond what's visible. Your strength, your compassion… it shines through in everything you do."

The intimacy of his touch and his words draw you even closer, knitting your connection tighter. Simon's actions reveal his comfort and trust in you. Showcasing his willingness to not only accept the love and acceptance offered but to return it in kind. In this shared space, filled with genuine smiles and soft touches, the foundation of your relationship deepens. It promised a future where both laughter and earnest declarations have a place.

Your heart now feels as if it might burst right out of your chest. Simon’s words, laden with genuine admiration for who you are beyond the surface, touch you profoundly. You've always felt a strong connection with him but hearing him articulate his appreciation for your inner qualities. It's overwhelming in the most beautiful way.

A single tear escapes without your permission tracing a path down your cheek, not out of sadness but from the sheer intensity of emotion swirling within you. Simon notices the tear and his expression softens further. Gently, he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. His touch tender and filled with utmost concern.

As Simon's gentle fingers brush away the tear from your cheek the sweet gesture triggers something deep within you. The floodgates open and a rush of emotions surge forward. You feel an overwhelming mix of relief, gratitude, and a profound connection that you've never experienced so intensely before. Each tear that falls feels like a release of feelings too long held back.

Noticing your distress Simon acts with instinctive care. He gently guides you back into his lap wrapping his strong arms around you. The closeness of his embrace feels like a sanctuary as you nestle into his chest, letting your tears flow freely. Simon rocks you gently. His presence a calming force in the storm of your emotions. "It's okay, it'll all be okay," he murmurs soothingly, his voice a steady, comforting rumble against your ear. Each word he whispers is a balm, helping to steady your shaking breaths as you cry it all out. The built-up emotions washing over you.

After a few moments as the tide of your tears begins to subside, you lift your head to look up at him. Simon meets your gaze with a gentle smile. The softness in his eyes reflecting his deep care for you. "You alright, love?" he asks full of concern and affection for you.

You nod slowly, still nestled in the safety of Simon's embrace. The warmth from his body lending you calm. "I'm sorry, I just got overwhelmed," you explain with your voice barely above a whisper. The flood of emotions was unexpected yet not unwelcome. "It's just... all of this, hearing how you see me. Being this close to you," you continue as your eyes searched his for understanding. "It means so much to me, Simon. More than I can really express."

Simon's smile is genuine as he watches you. Understanding flickering in his eyes as he gently rocks you, keeping you close. "There's nothing to apologize for, love," he reassures you. His voice a steady presence. "It’s okay to feel this deeply. It's okay to let it show. I don’t mind a bit."

His words, affirming and gentle, help to steady the last remnants of your emotional whirlwind. As you slowly pull back to look at him again his hand remains comforting on your back, always reassuring.

"You alright now?" he asks after a moment of watching you closely. His voice low and husky.

Nodding, you manage a more composed smile this time, touched by his patience and care. "Yes, I'm alright. Thank you, Simon. For being here. For understanding," you say with gratitude coloring your tone.

Simon’s response is a tender squeeze of his arms around you. A nonverbal promise of his continued support. "Always," he murmurs. The simplicity of that single word carries with it the weight of his commitment.

In this quiet space held in Simon's arms you realize the strength that lies in vulnerability and the beauty of being seen and accepted. It’s a profound moment between the two of you. One that you both will cherish as a cornerstone of your relationship, built on understanding, respect, and heartfelt emotion.

As you rest quietly in Simon's embrace, comforted by his gentle rocking and the soothing timbre of his voice, you notice a subtle shift in his demeanor. His gaze usually so guarded and controlled now holds an unmistakable depth of emotion. The intimacy of the moment, coupled with the rawness of your tears seems to have broken down the last barriers he had in place.

Simon takes a deep breath as if steeling himself to cross a threshold he's been guarding for too long. "Seeing you like this, feeling so much right alongside you... it's made me realize something," he starts. His voice thick with emotion. His eyes lock onto yours deciding not to hold anything back. "I… I need you to know."

He pauses ensuring he has your full attention. His hands still gently cradling you. "I want to be there for you, not just now but always. I want to be the one you lean on, the one who gets to see all the sides of you, the beautiful, the tough, the vulnerable." His words pour out, fervent and sincere. "I want to be your person, love. If you'll have me."

The confession hangs in the air, bold and heartfelt. Simon's face is open, hopeful yet anxious, as he gauges your reaction. It's clear this isn't just a sudden admission but something he's been grappling with. The intensity of the current situation pushing his feelings to the surface.

You blink back a fresh wave of tears, not from sadness, but from a bewildering mix of joy and doubt. His words are everything you wanted to hear yet they also echo in the corners of your mind where you harbor insecurities. You see him—Simon, so confident, so capable. The embodiment of everything you admire. And then there’s you, the ‘inexperienced little American girl’ as you harshly label yourself, suddenly feeling all the more plain and unworthy beside him.

“Simon,” you start. Your voice wavering not just with emotion but with the weight of your own self-doubt. “Why me? You’re… you’re incredible, and I’m just… I don’t know, I always feel like I’m just stumbling around you. I’m not sure what you see in someone like me.”

As your insecurities surface, revealing the depth of your unsureness, Simon's expression shifts into one of immediate concern and gentle reproof. "Love, you can't be serious…" he begins. His voice imbued with a firm conviction that makes you pause. "You're everything and more. You don’t see that?"

He makes sure you're looking directly at him with his hands tenderly cradling your face, ensuring that you feel the weight and sincerity of his words. "You see inexperience, but I see a woman who bravely faces every new challenge. Who learns and adapts, who grows stronger every day. You’re not just someone trying to keep up. You're someone who enhances our team with your unique strengths and perspective."

Simon's voice softens even further as he continues. Each word carefully chosen to convey his deep admiration and affection. "Every time you think you're just scrambling to catch up, I see someone gracefully navigating through obstacles. What you call inexperience, I call a journey of growth and courage. And that’s what draws me to you. Not just your resilience but your authenticity. The realness you bring to every situation is unguarded and genuine."

He leans in closer reducing the space between you, his gaze locked with yours in an intense, heartfelt connection. "To me, you are a woman who has taught me more about heart and perseverance than anyone else. You bring laughter, support, and challenge to my life in ways you don’t even realize."

Simon shakes his head slightly, a smile tinged with affection and a hint of awe breaking through. "You being you, with all your doubts, your laughs, your dreams—that's what I want and need. You might feel like you're just keeping pace, but love, in my eyes, you're flying. And I want to be there to support you. To celebrate every victory and help you through every challenge."

Simon's words not only offer reassurance but also begin to dismantle the walls of doubt you've built around yourself just as he had. His belief in you, his unwavering support, resonates deeply, perhaps starting to shift how you view yourself. No longer as a mere participant trying to keep up but as an invaluable member of the team whose journey and contributions are deeply cherished.

Overwhelmed by Simon's heartfelt words you find yourself momentarily speechless. His deep belief in your worth and his unwavering support pierce through the layers of your self-doubt, striking a chord deep within you. It's as if his words have not only reached your ears but also wrapped around your heart, offering both solace and a profound reassurance.

Without a word you lean forward, burying your face in the warmth of Simon's chest. The sturdy beat of his heart under your ear is comforting. A steady rhythm in the storm of emotions you're navigating. As you inhale deeply, you're enveloped by his familiar scent, a mixture that's uniquely Simon—part strength, part safety. It's grounding, helping you anchor yourself in the reality of his presence. In the truth of his words.

Simon's arms encircle you gently once more. His hand finding its way to your back where he begins to rub soothing circles. The simple gesture is nurturing, allowing you the space and comfort to collect your thoughts. To let the emotional turbulence settle into a sense of peace. His patience is palpable. There's no rush, no urgency, just a steady presence as he holds you. Affirming that he's there for you, not just in moments of strength but also in moments of vulnerability.

In the sanctuary of Simon's embrace, you feel a deep gratitude washing over you. His support not only uplifts you but also starts to reshape the way you view yourself. The doubts that once loomed large now begin to shrink, overshadowed by the new perspective he's given you—one where you are valued, capable, and cherished.

As you slowly lift your head to meet his gaze your eyes are reflective of the emotions still swirling within you but also shining with a newfound confidence. The connection you share has deepened, strengthened by vulnerability and honesty. You're ready to voice your thoughts, to respond to his openness with your own. “Simon,” you begin. Your voice a whisper that carries all the depth of your emotions, “Can I kiss you?”

The moment hangs suspended. Your question lingering between you, filled with anticipation. Simon’s response is not in words but actions. A reflection of the straightforward, decisive man you know him to be. With a swift, gentle motion, he cups your face in his hands once more. His touch reassuring and intent. Before you can react further he pulls you closer and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is a surge of warmth and tenderness. Deepening as if to make up for all the unspoken times you both held back. It's a kiss that communicates more than any words could. Filled with all the emotions that have been steadily brewing—a mixture of relief, affection, and undisguised longing.

When you finally come up for air Simon's eyes twinkle with a mixture of delight and affection. A sweet smirk playing on his lips. “Thought you’d never ask, love,” he teases gently. His voice a soft rumble that sends a thrill through you. The playfulness in his tone lightens the intensity of the moment adding a layer of joy to the emotional depth you've shared.

Amidst the deep embrace, as Simon's arms encircle you, creating a world that consists only of the two of you, his question still lingers in the air. A soft echo amidst the intensity of your mutual connection. "Is that a yes?" His voice, though light and teasing, carries an undercurrent of earnest desire for affirmation, a confirmation of the bond you both feel.

Your body is pressed against his feeling the reassuring strength of his chest. The protective circle of his arms and the gentle touch of his hands tracing soothing patterns on your back. The physical closeness amplifies the emotional intimacy of the moment making the space between heartbeats seem significant filled with unspoken promises and shared dreams.

You lift your head from the sanctuary of his chest meeting his gaze which is alight with anticipation and warmth. His eyes, so often a bastion of resolve, now hold a tender vulnerability, waiting for your words, your confirmation.

"Yes, Simon," you respond, your voice soft but filled with conviction, the words flowing effortlessly in the safety of his hold. "Absolutely it's a yes. I can't imagine being with anyone else but you." The smile that spreads across your face mirrors the joy and sincerity in your heart.

As you speak your hand gently caresses his cheek feeling the slight roughness of his skin beneath your fingertips grounding the moment in the tactile reality of his presence. Simon's reaction is immediate as a deep, relieved breath. And his eyes close for a brief moment, savoring the words that have sealed the understanding between you.

When he opens his eyes again there's a new light in them, one of deep contentment and resolve. He leans in to capture your lips with his once more. This kiss infused with the joy of mutual acceptance and the excitement of a future together. It's a kiss that reaffirms everything that has been shared, a tender seal on the promises made.

Pulling back slightly, Simon's forehead rests against yours. A contented sigh escaping him. "I was hoping you'd say that," he murmurs, his voice a low hum filled with happiness. "You have no idea how much you mean to me."

In the cocoon of Simon's embrace, the air around you pulses with a newfound joy, each moment intensifying the connection that binds you together. With each word, each touch, Simon showers you with the love and affection that he's held back for so long. His lips find yours again, this time more eagerly, conveying emotions too powerful for words.

As Simon deepens the kiss, he pauses briefly, pulling back just enough to gaze into your eyes with an expression brimming with tenderness. "You're so beautiful," he whispers. The warmth of his breath caressing your face as he plants soft kisses along your jawline. Each kiss seems to say what words cannot fully express, marking a trail of affection that sends tingles through your body.

Trailing kisses down your neck, he murmurs, "The prettiest girl I've ever seen," his voice a velvety whisper that wraps around you like a soothing blanket. The sincerity in his tone, coupled with the gentle press of his lips against your skin, makes your heart flutter and your pulse quicken.

He then moves back up to meet your gaze again, his hands cradling your face with a reverence that makes you feel cherished in ways you'd only imagined. "And you're not just beautiful, you're the smartest woman I know," he adds. His admiration for your intellect just as palpable as his physical attraction. His thumbs gently stroke your cheeks as he continues, "Watching you solve problems that stump everyone else—it's incredible."

Simon's compliments flow seamlessly as he explores your face with his kisses. Each touch a testament to his deepening feelings. With every word, every gentle caress, you feel more seen and appreciated than ever before. The connection deepens, wrapping both of you in a tender intimacy that feels both exhilarating and profoundly right.

As you lie there, enveloped in Simon's love and adoration, a giggle escapes you. A sound of pure happiness and contentment. You've never felt so loved, so valued. In Simon's arms, with his voice whispering sweet affirmations, you feel an overwhelming sense of belonging. He's not just a partner. He's your person in every sense, and in this perfect heartfelt moment you trust him completely and utterly.

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