#bear graves imagine

[inkbybambi]

7 minutes in heaven with bear that starts with him hauling you up onto the bathroom counter, crowding against you and kissing you slow and sloppy and deep and ends with him bending you over the counter, both still fully clothed, one big paw of his securing your wrists behind your back while the other keeps a firm hold at nape of your neck, biting and mouthing at your throat and shoulder, telling you to keep quiet lest they think you’re being mauled by a bear and you want to quip that you practically are, but the weight and heat of his cock makes your brain go fuzzy, and all you can do is whine low in your throat, desperately trying to arch back against him.

[kaleschmidt]

not to tkp on main but I get kinda sad thinking abt Naomi in the main dayshift true end. When Jack and co ACTUALLY get to rest. Because like. You have Naomi who had been taken care of by her uncle jack for about a decade after her parents DIED in a car crash, and then out of nowhere, said uncle then distances himself and kicks her out with no explanation and the only news fae hears about him is months later, and is about him and his business (THAT FAE RARELY HEARD ABOUT) burning up. And there's no one fae recognizes at the funeral, and fae doesn't understand anything being said- faer uncle helped free several lost souls, or something like that? And after his ashes are buried, some phone woman offers her condolences and tries to offer byte some comfort. But it doesn't help because all Naomi can think about is how she's alone again. Orphaned again.

And life moves on. She still lives with her friend instead of accepting the deeds of the house because of the bittersweet memories. Fae graduates, and there's no one there in the crowd to root for fae. Byte'll probably live a majority of bytes life not understanding why bytes uncle did any of what he did, and live a peaceful life hating him.

[burningvelvet]

jacob elordi and margot robbie starring in yet another whitewashed wuthering heights adaptation which is going to further destroy the public perception of this classic literary work by misleading people into interpreting it as a common bodice ripper bc no one cares about nuance or meaning and all anyone cares about is profit... crying shaking throwing up!!!

it's also really ironic to imagine what heathcliff himself would think about how he's portrayed in media. he hates everyone and would hate more than anyone the fans who romanticize him, just as he canonically hates isabella for adoring him and wanting to believe that he's better than he is — that he is the romantic hero she's made him out to be. how ironic is it that most fans of the work embody isabella? and on that note, how much do you want to bet that isabella will be written out of the story along with most of the other characters plotlines, like how the colonial rhetoric is written out by the fact of elordi's mere presence?

heathcliff is such a wonderfully written character and one of the most iconic in all literary history. he doesn't deserve this chronic mistreatment and neither do any of the other characters. least deserving of all is emily brontë herself who would be continuously disappointed if she were misfortunate enough to have to bear witness to these adaptations. she's actively rolling in her grave as we speak and the producers are parodying heathcliff digging her up so that she can share in the torment they insist upon...

[burstinn]

THE EVERY GAY MANS DREAM READER

TALL, BUFF, BIG BOOBS AND ASS everything

Can't find no good pic for this so..

This post includes:Ghost, Graves, Price, Soap, Nikto, Riptide, Krueger, Konig, Alejandro, Rudy, Gaz, Horangi, Makarov, Velikan, Keegan, Roach. In that order

Yes I wrote all those, yes because I haven't written in a while

Notes:

- NSFW and SFW (Bottom male and top male reader mentioned)

-since y'all like the big buff n' tall male reader, made him bigger and taller basically mixed everything I wrote about male reader, tall, big buff, big cake, big boobs it's like a package in one this will probably be the last of this type of reader since running out ideas. It was hard making original headcanons 💔💔.

-Omg I haven't written in a while so like this might get idk boring?

- Yes again headcanons,you're favs

- strictly MALE READER not Gn rn

- readers age is ambiguous but if you can't think and want an age for reader my thinking is somewhere near late 30s or early 40s

- Some of the HCS have where y'all ain't in a relationship some HCS have y'all r in a relationship

- these headcanons definitely are mischaracterized but let me pretend for a bit 💔💔

- Tiktok got to me now I have brainrot language, so Trigger warning wooohh braiinroot

- can't believe this post was long enough to make my phone lag just a lil bit

- When he first saw you of course he was 😦😧😮

GHOST

- Like okay overkill, like you're taller, buffer and probably have a huger cock??? (Something he can investigate.. For purposes..)

Like you also got smoobs?? A plumpy ass??

Like save some for the rest Jesus 😒😒

- Nonstop staring secretly ofc, You be like in a room then you feel someone staring just to see Ghost somewhere in the corner of the room. You can't tell if he's staring or not but being that you are in an empty room.. Yknow it's kind of obv--

- BUT if you are not in an empty room you will not shake off the staring I mean holy shit look at you like 😨😨🍑✋

- You can literally hear him breathing heavily under his mask like how can he control himself when HE a person who is supposed to be looked up to literally and figuratively now has to look up at YOU?? do you know what does to a person??

-That's right it makes them freaky..

-Probably jerks off to you too

- I mean who doesn't want to get railed by a 7 ft tall man? Especially ESPECIALLY when you've been the supposed dominant person your whole life??

- OMG immediately Cumming to the thought

- I mean he won't mind topping you it also drives his own ego seeing a dominant man get absolutely wrecked, imagine the begging and whining

- plus he won't mind being the person who feels protected not always doing the protecting like 💔💔 he wants to feel protected too 😞

GRAVES

- Immediate gay awakening

- thinks making his western accent more prominent would make you think he sounds more hot

- Will dress up as a cowboy and will will ask (beg) you to do it as well

- because you know.. Hat thing.. Riding.. Graves grabs your hat puts it on his head or Graves grabs his hat puts it on your head, either way one of you is riding something and it ain't a horse

- because of the amazing quote on who ever came up w/ that is "save a horse ride a cowboy"

- Graves is obviously the type of guy to look at your ass and whistle maybe slap it, nah definitely slap it

PRICE

- He thinks of you like a bear

- like You're soo- big and cuddly? Definitely intimidating

- I mean you're near the same age bracket so it's not bad to have some.. Thoughts right?

- You're definitely hairy underneath or not but pls be he wants pubes to tickle his nose

- if you don't have a beard for reader then he would KILL to see have a beard like aughh perfect bear look, if you have a beard immediately cumming(/j) or (not /j)

- Like imagine you and price who are basically like bears like parent bears and and you the other 141 boys are like your children 🥺🥺

SOAP

- DEFINITELY became more gayer

- errrmmm.. Like his eyes are BASICALLY near like chest height

- bumping into you and his face touches your chest like omgg.. Such an accident 💔💔

- Obviously flirting about going to pound town

- like imagine You and Him? In a relationship? Having the most feral sex??? Like it's obv jokes (it's not)

- He would also do anything to see a big man whimper like a little bicth slut, who wouldn't want to see a demon of a man roll his eyes back and whine like a wheoeororoe❤, I mean if he tops I'd imagine him saying "cmon you're a big boy ain't cha'? You can handle a few more inches". While you are also getting the malevolent backshots.

- He would also want a big strong arm to man handle him as he takes the most vigorous backshots known to man

- Have you ever thought or seen a very tall wall like 10 or 11 ft high and you being you, Soap asks (demands) for you to carry him on your shoulder because he wants to see what's over the wall

NIKTO

- intimidating guy and intimidating guy typa relationship but your not in a relationship.. Yet.

- watch him watch you

- shows off his knife collection to you, yes I think he has a knife collection and he will show it to people that he wants to impress (he wants to get freaky with you)

- I like to think if he strips off the gear he gives the most desperate kind of touchy hug, to those he feels close with of course which is you

- lucky you

RIPTIDE

- Offers to teach you how to swim yknow just in case

- there is none, he wants to see you wet

- tells you to wear a white shirt and shorts because its Essential for training, it's a lie he wants to see the water wet your clothes making it stick to your body.. Yknow the white shirt showing whats underneath and the shorts outlining what package you've been hiding even though you weren't really hiding it

- He gets too distracted, the others are too, he forgets how to teach you

KRUEGER

- indefinite eye contact while your doing it

- likes staring into them, if you get shy and look away he will grab your jaw and make you have eye contact with him

- angry fierce ahh eyes

- he's an emotional grumpy guy, rip off his mask and aggressively kiss his face

- He wants the after sex laying on the chest while the other is rubbing their head, goes both ways.

- trace his tattoos and compliment them the bedroom will be locked the whole day, trust 🙏

KÖNIG

- The same as Ghosts

- Imagine being the one to get carried instead of the one carrying

- König would definitely come up to you and ask to be carried while you kiss his face multiple times❤❤

- Imagine how hard he gets because you have to look down at him to talk like HNGRHRRGGGRGRRR

- Definitely likes giving you homemade arts and crafts gear because you know.. The headcanon where König makes his own gear and what if he does it for other people too as gifts💔

- likes seeing you wear his mask it makes him imagine what people see when they see König definitely a change of perspective. He can see how intimidating you are and he gets hard.

ALEJANDRO

- will definitely compliment you in Spanish when talking about you with other people even when you're in front or behind him.

- I mean you don't understand Spanish right?

- if you don't, you're oblivious and only just watch curiously on what he's talking about. Buuut but but if you do understand you don't tell him you undeestrand this thing literally feeds your ego like Alejandro thinks of you this way? 🥺🥺

- Thigh riding type of guy idc who thigh riding

RUDY

- everytime I look at him he looks like a soft vanilla type

- I know he's a strong guy but look at him

- He wants soft sex 😞😞

- He also likes being complimented if you whisper a praise to him when he's doing ANYTHING. Imagine the babies you'd both have together.

- He likes toddlers and babies and if you do too a plus for him,makes him fall even more 💯💯

GAZ

- One time he Got injured and was sitting on the floor and then He saw you running towards him he simultaneously screamed in fear and how hard he got

- Likes to style your clothes, If he was off the military right now he really really likes fashion and if he sees you.. You can't fashion and he sees you wearing.. That, He's appalled, horrified, mortified I'm over exaggerating. But he is now in charge of your fashion now, But if you do know how to style you both will share tips with eachother. You can share different tips too ❤❤

- drags you in his barracks and strips you of your clothes except shorts.. And he's telling you this because he wants to "style" you.

- We both know damn well that's an excuse to get the boombayah freaky on.. He's just to shy to tell you upfront or he thinks it's fun to tease you like that before you get freaky

HORANGI

- gets freaky..

- Like he understands the women who get all giggly and nervous when they see a big man who can destroy them (ignore König 💔)

- is definitely not above thigh crushing, boob crushing, face sitting he'd do all at as long as it's you

- Like one time he pretended he broke his leg and won't let anyone else carry him until you came, acting all princessy and shit as you carry him bridal style to the medics

- He felt like a prince omg

- will definitely get on you and treat your real life size anime men boobs as a squishy toy

- How long is it and will he be able to take it??? Who knows he will find out!! Basically searched how long can someone's cock be if they are built like a god and is 7ft tall in Google

- someone gotta tell me Horangi's height and basic Google searching ain't doing it for me I'm too lazy to search for one line of a spicy headcanon line mb

MAKAROV

- You're basically ascary dog he owns

- You're tall and intimidating

- You can get information out of people quickly

- And he's not above telling you to torture anyone with a strength and body like yours

- most of the time you get the info done and folded

- Makarov uses you for intimidation and strength buuttt if you ever THINK of betraying him he already has a plan to get rid of someone like you

- Can and will turn you into one of those supersoldiers

- Will make you murder people right in front of him for entertainment and will rewward you!

- you know what reward it will be, Because when he asked what reward you wanted you got a bit to freaky you thought you be dead rn but nah he agreed actually he seems to enjoy it more than you do..

VELIKAN

- He's the dog in this one have you heard his voice?? Rough as hell imagine hearing him grunt

- Sounds cocky as hieeeellll too

- Would definitely like showing off to you since he wants to look cool in front of you

- Like you seen velikans skins?? Definitely wears the best ones to show you he can not only be a trained assassin But can also dress cool as hell

- If you compliment him it like makes his day, will not stop thinking about it

- Like a cool person complimenting a cool person like him? Ego boost (It's him feeling gay)

- This guys definitely a smoker (headcanon!!) Because voice sounds like he smoked 100 packs in 1 day and doesn't drink an ounce of water /jk I love him he's so hot.

- So if you want a smoke he purposely hides the lighter saying.. 'Oh no I asked someone elses lighter.. I don't have mine right now' or like 'my lighter ran out of fuel ohh

- So you have to put the cigarette in your mouth as you touch it with his cigarette to light ur own that type of trope 💫💫

- If you're not a smoker he will try his best to not smoke in front of you will use fresh mints to hide his breath of smoke

- after sex he will want a smoke, outside he goes or you both share the one cigarette

KEEGAN

- is it wrong to want to be choked by a big buff meaty arm?

- yknow the tiktok thing where girls put a ribbon on their boyfriends arm and the girls just put their face in the middle as their faces get squished??

- Yeah he wants that but gay

- will try to compare dick sizes even though yours is OBVIOUSLY the superior one!!

- Heads or tails on who's bottoming tonight

- Would like to be wrapped around your arms if you are hugging or sleeping keeps him warm

- Especially when it's snowing will force you to hug with him. ESPECIALLY when your in a mission and your in the tents he will definitely force you to hug it out with him

ROACH

- remember the other tall HC where the reader wasn't taller than König

- yes roach does the same thing here.. He's crawling on you like a tree

- If he wants a kiss instead of asking he crawls up to you and kisses you

- definitely likes to sit on your shoulders as you walk around, he feels tall like that

- this is like a distance relationship 💔💔

- Likes it when you bend over to talk to him also when you bend over when youre doing sum since it's slappable opportunity

- because bent over = double D cake will be slapped

- How will it fit? By the power of friendship of course!!

- probably more of say gex desperation but you get it

- Obviously switch switch

[sailorspren]

Y'all can say what you want about Elhokar but it takes balls to walk up to the gates of your occupied home city in full drag. This guy grew up in a ridiculously gendered society and was intended for THE most socially masculine role within it. His role models for manhood were the literal Blackthorn and Gavilar (who we also know was emotionally abusive). We know Elhokar is deeply insecure about not living up to those expectations, it's pretty much his whole Thing in WoK and WoR. He knows he's too weak for Alethi kingship and nobody takes him seriously. He practically begged Kaladin to teach him how to be a man. He daydreamed about returning to Kholinar a hero and a king and instead he got to return to it dressed up as a woman, which probably would have made Gavilar turn in his grave. And he did it without a single complaint because the mission required it!! And yes we can and should talk about the inherent queerness of that scene (Shallan saying that Elhokar would be most convincing as a woman because he has gay body language "a regal bearing", the way Elhokar took to the part so naturally, etc). But also we should just acknowledge that it was extremely fucking brave of him!!! Can you imagine the amount of internalized misogyny and homophobia that he probably had to fight in order to do that!! It's such a powerful moment of standing up against everything he was taught he should be, and stepping out of Gavilar's shadow. Elhokar's redemption arc is deeply tied to gender nonconformity. In this essay I will

[sparklykaminarii]

☆ JJK MEN GUILTY PLEASURES ☆

[•~featuring: Satoru, Suguru, Sukuna, Choso~•]

[•~a/n: ideas? and not proofread :)~•]

|| SATORU GOJO || ☆ hidden album ☆

satoru never hid anything from you. he was very open and wouldn't hesitate if you ever asked him if you could look through his phone. nothing was on there anyway. but there was one specific album he kept hidden from you. he wasn't ever going to show it you it, he was taking it to the grave. just imagine your reaction to an album full of lewd erotic pictures of just you...

stomach resting on top of a couple of pillows to keep you steady, your head being pushed down into the mattress as satoru rails you from the back. the firm grip he has on your hip roughens as he nears his release. while you babble about how good it felt and how close you were. satoru's thrust rapidly change from rhythmic to sloppy. "where ya want it?" he grunts, the edge of his orgasm growing closer and closer.

"b-back!" you mewl, the pitch of your voice trailing higher as you reach your own orgasm. the darkness covering your eyes as you fall into a deep state of pure bliss. satoru chuckles hoarsely, and mumbles something along the lines of "anything for my dirty girl-" he pulls out of you, your cum and lubricating his cock as he begins to jerk himself off, aiming for your back. as he does he swiftly grabs his phone from beside him. the sound of his fists hitting his abs rings in your ears as he feels his orgasm take over.

long pearly white strings of cum coat your back. satoru's breathing goes heavy, as he quickly snaps a photo of the dirty sight before. seeing you completely ruined but his own cum was so attractive to him. after, he helps clean you up, completely leaving you oblivious of his dirty little photo, which he will be jerking off too when you leave.

|| SUGURU GETO || ☆ seeing ur tears ☆

usually suguru would hate to see you cry. the sight of seeing you so distressed made his heart ache. he couldn't bear to see your tear stained face, glossy glass eyes, and tears still running down your face. it was cruel. unless it was because of him. suguru hates to admit it. he loves it whenever he sees you tearing up because his cock was hitting the back of your throat so harshly.

"mm- slow down!" you exclaim, suguru pounding your mouth harshly. "nah take it" he grunts coldly. gaze on you darkens as the grip his has on your hair increases, sure to keep intense tangles. the way the tip of his cock would hit the back of your throat, making you gag loudly every time, it was sure to leave your voice raspy the next morning.

the sensations of his cock hitting the back of your throat, and the gagging, alongside with the rough harsh grip he has on your hair. it was so overwhelming and harsh. and you loved it. but it also made your eyes fill up with tears. your glossy shiny eyes looking up at suguru so innocently as he abused your mouth. ohh it turned him one so muchh

suguru smirks cockily, "aw... are ya cryin sweetie?" he coos, mocking you with an overly caring yet sarcastic tone. you roll your eyes which only fueled suguru ego and encouraged him to increase his thrusts. "pathetic crybaby." he groans a finger sliding under your eye wiping away the tears that were streaming down your face. "oh ill be makin sure those eyes roll, alright." he mumbled while pulling out your mouth. let's just say you were sobbing by the end of the night.

|| RYOMEN SUKUNA || ☆ brat taming ☆

being a brat with sukuna usually never ends well for you. usually ends with you being denied an orgasm for hours upon hours. or you would be cumming every 10 minutes. no breaks or anything. he would exhaust you so much were you would be so cock drunk you could only think about obeying him. sukuna hated to admit it. but he loved it. he loved it when you be a brat. it made him feel so powerful. knowing only he could put you in your place.

you were on your knees, the cold hardwood floors sending shivers down your spine. you were giving sukuna head or at least supposed to be. but you decided to play a dangerous game. you stroke sukunas cock slowly, placing small kitten licks all over the leaky pink tip which was covered in milky translucent precum. your tongue traced the veins of his shaft. you looked up at sukuna, who looked down at you, catching on to your ideas.

he looked down at you, with a dangerous glare. "don't be a fuckin brat." he warns. you look back up at him, your doe eyes looking up at him feigning innocence. you continue with your activities, tracing the veins on his shaft with your tongue. they were a pretty muted aquamarine which was on the greener side. you could feel them pulsate with anticipation.

"y'think you're funny?" sukuna questions, bending down to get to eye level with you. "open ya fucking mouth" he commands, aiming his cock at your lips. you open your mouth and instantly feel it get filled. sukuna groans loudly as he feels your mouth surround him. not stopping for a moment before thrusting in and out, facefucking you harshly."could've had it easy and just do what I told you to." he say, watching as you gag on his cock. "always gotta teach ya how to be good." he groans, now holding a handful of your hair. "fucking slut, needa be put in her place." he grunts, thrusts getting more and more rapid. sukuna was sure when he was done with you, you'll be a brand new person.

|| CHOSO KAMO || ☆ panty stealing ☆

before you and choso had met. he had no experience with sex at all. he knew it was to reproduce. but that was it. he had some knowledge on how it worked, yet he never understood why humans were so infatuated with the activity. that all changed though when he met you. specifically when you showed him why humans loved the concept. he understood the desires. and now became addicted to your sweet cunt. he just couldn't get enough of your cunt milking his cock, or the delicious taste of your pussy. but you had a life to attend to. so you couldn't come help choso out whenever he needed to feel those waves of ecstacy you brought him. but choso had an idea. a very dirty one

choso gulped nervously, he knew this was wrong. it was so erotic, lewd and perverted. and you didn't even know about choso's antics. he walked into your shared bedroom, pushing away the strong rays of guilt he felt. he walks over to the dresser, contemplating if he could wait just until you came home. he huffs and places a shaky hand on the handle of the bottom drawer. he slowly pulls the drawer open, revealing rows of folded panties, nice and neat. but the one that caught choso's eye was the red lacy one you wore the first night you guys fucked.

choso grabs the panties shakily, holding them in his hand for a moment before walking over towards the bed. he felt so perverted for what he was about to do. he sits on the edge of the bed, hastily yanking his sweatpants off. he rubs the panty on his clothed cock, letting out breathy shudders from the sudden sensation. choso pulls his boxers down, freeing his leaky tipped cock. he rubbed a finger around the tip, collecting the precum and coats his whole shaft with it, imagining it was your saliva or your arousal. he begins to pump his fist up and down, panty still in hand. he imagined it was your walls that suffocated him so tightly.

choso groans loudly, getting lost in the pleasure he was feeling. your panty was practically soaking with his precum while he thrusts into his fist. choso imagined it was your delicate gentle hands wrapped around his dick, imagining the way your tongue would trace his veins and lick all around his tip. the sights choso saw in his head made him let out whiney whimpers. after a little while choso felt his release approach him steadily. mumbles of your name left his lips as the pace of his hands went quicker, his eyes closed shut. the overwhelming sensation of bliss engulfed him as he reached his long awaited orgasm. he grabs your panty and cums all over it. thick but steady spurts of slight opaque cream colored cum decorates your panty. choso lets out one last hoarse groan before hearing the front door close, accompanied with a sweet "Chooo im home!!" how was he gonna explain this to you??

dividers by: @benkeibear

[santaasi]

die with the smile

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: a love once haunted by nightmares finds solace in a sunrise, where promises of healing and hope turn dreams of a future into quiet, steady certainty.

warnings: !major spoiler for obx4 final!, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, establish relationship, talking about death, mention of panic attacks, no use of y/n, jj calls reader angel, english isn’t my first language

word count: 3.9k

a/n: requested by this ask. thank u for request, love <з. and to everyone else – i'm waiting for your requests too.

ᯓ★ now playing…

lady gaga, bruno mars – die with the smile

IT WAS SUFFOCATING. After everything that happened in Morocco, it felt like your chest had been crushed under an unbearable weight. Breathing no longer came easy. Each inhale was a jagged reminder of the past, a sharp sting of memories you couldn’t escape. You hated sleep, hated the moments when your mind would surrender to the dark. Every night, the desert came back to haunt you, its endless stretch of sand suffocating. You saw JJ lying there, motionless, his body a broken promise beneath the burning sky. And surrounded by the Pogues, Rafe fucking Cameron, his hands digging JJ's grave, burying the love of your life six feet under.

You could still hear your voice, a fractured thing, torn from your throat as you screamed for them to stop. You fell to your knees, pleading with them to hear you, begging them to leave him there, to not let him go. But no one listened. John B, Sarah, Kiara, Pope... they just stood there, frozen, like they couldn’t see the life slipping away. Of course, it was just a dream — your brain's cruel joke, twisting everything you feared most into a nightmare. But in the stillness of the night, when you woke with your heart pounding and the cold sheets tangled around you, it didn’t feel like a dream at all. It felt too real. Too close.

And so, for three months, you lived like this. In the hollow space between waking and sleeping, where the line between nightmare and reality blurred beyond recognition. Three months of restless nights, clinging to coffee mugs as if they could fill the emptiness, while your eyes begged for sleep. But when you did manage to fall asleep, the dreams would return, relentless, each one leaving you more shattered than the last.

It wasn't as bad as it had been in those first two months, when every moment was suffocating with fear. When you couldn’t bring yourself to leave your house, couldn't bring yourself to stop waiting for that phone call from the hospital. The one that would confirm the thing you couldn't bear to imagine — that JJ was gone. Everything had felt like a fever dream: tracking down doctors, finding anyone who could help, getting him back to Kildare, the hospitals, the bills you could never afford, the ones that now you had to face. Your parents never asked you to repay the money, but you knew how much they'd given up for it. They'd been saving for years. It felt wrong to let it go without giving something back.

And then there was that month of rehab, where the days stretched on like a never-ending ache. Sitting next to JJ's hospital bed, listening to the faint beeps of machines as nightmares still held you in their grip, tormenting you while you tried to hold onto him in the real world.

You hadn't cried once. Not in those two months. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to — weeping felt like you were digging his grave in advance. Like if you let the tears fall, you’d lose him all over again. But now, he was here. With you. Alive. The JJ you knew, the one who cracked jokes, who lived without fear, without hesitation. And you tried to return to who you were before, but it was harder than you'd expected. He made it seem so easy, slipping back into his old self, but you felt like you were still drowning in the wreckage of what had happened.

For weeks, you sat beside him, feeling his skin warm beneath your touch, hearing his laughter echo in the spaces between you. But still, in the quiet moments, the fear lingered. Every time you closed your eyes, you feared waking up in another cold bed, alone. But each morning, you’d find him there, by your side. He was here, alive, and you began to let yourself believe it, piece by piece.

Slowly, the days started to fill with color again. It wasn't easy, but it was better. Breathing no longer felt like a battle, and with each passing day, you felt yourself letting go of the haunting fear, the dread that lived just behind your ribs.

And you never left his side. Once, it had always been JJ who took the lead — who reached for you first, who kissed you first, who pulled you close. Now, you were the one to reach for him, to thread your fingers through his, to press a soft kiss to his lips or his forehead. It was like you were holding him tighter, making sure he was still real, still here.

"If I had to almost die for you to get this clingy," JJ teased one evening, grinning up at you as you curled into him on the couch, "You could've told me sooner, you know. I didn't know I had a personal koala bear all this time."

You smiled at his playful jab, though your fingers gripped him a little tighter. You tucked your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was like a song, a reassurance that he was here. That he was alive.

You were learning how to laugh again. How to joke. How to be you again. Or at least, almost. Because even though the world felt like it was beginning to make sense again, you couldn't shake the nightmares. They were still there, lurking in the shadows. Every time you closed your eyes, you feared that the night would swallow him whole once more.

But for now, he was still here. And in that moment, that was enough.

The chateau had become your sanctuary, a fragile semblance of home. But even here, in the quiet of its walls, you couldn't escape the void that followed you, the weight that pressed on your chest every time you woke up without him beside you. The comfort of falling asleep wrapped in his arms didn't seem to be enough anymore. It didn't stop the dreams from coming.

Every night, they came like a storm. JJ, dying in your arms, blood staining his chest. JJ, sinking beneath the waves after falling off the boat, reaching for you, but you couldn't reach him. JJ, spiralling off his dirt bike, tumbling into the dirt, and you couldn't save him. And then, there was the desert. Always the desert. You couldn't escape it, no matter how hard you tried.

But in the moments before the nightmare took hold, when you woke to the warmth of his body next to you, his hand resting lightly on your waist, his breath soft against your neck, you could calm yourself. You could breathe, steadying your heart before the panic could rise. He was there. He was alive. And you would cling to that reality until the night came again, bringing with it the horrors you couldn’t outrun.

JJ, of course, remained blissfully unaware. He slept soundly, his chest rising and falling in the peaceful rhythm of someone who had earned a brief reprieve from the chaos. And you — you would lie there, bathed in moonlight, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, needing to touch him, needing to see that he was really there. That he wasn't slipping through your fingers. Over time, the nightmares began to fade. They became less frequent, their grip less tight. But just when you thought you could breathe freely, just when you thought the storm had passed, it came crashing back.

Two weeks of peace. Two weeks of deep, uninterrupted sleep. But that night, everything changed.

The dream returned. The one you feared the most. JJ, lying motionless in the sand, his clothes stained with dried blood, his body pale under the desert sun. The wind blew the sand into your eyes, blinding you, choking you, as Rafe stood above him, digging, his hands moving with the unholy rhythm of a grim reaper, burying your love beneath the earth. You fell to your knees beside the pit, the hot sand searing through your clothes, but you didn't care. You couldn’t look away. You couldn’t look away from the hole that was swallowing everything you loved. With each shovel of sand, the pit grew deeper, and with it, your heart.

The faces around you were blank — pale, cold. John B, Sarah, Kiara, Pope... they stood there, frozen, as if they were burying someone they'd never known. No tears. No grief. Just... emptiness. It broke you. It shattered you, piece by piece.

"No! No! Please! Enough!" you cried out, your voice cracking as you scrambled to your feet, your body shaking. You turned to them, your heart a fragile thing, desperate for anyone to react, to feel something. "Do something! He's not dead! JJ's not dead! John B! Sarah! Please!"

The tears fell freely, hot against your cold cheeks, choking your breath. Everything blurred around you, and all you could see, all you could feel, was his face. His beautiful face, pale and cold under the relentless sand. You reached for him, your fingers trembling as they traced the outline of his cheek.

"I love you, JJ... Please, don't leave me... don't you dare leave me," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the roar in your ears. You pushed the hair from his face, trying to pull him back to life with your touch. "Please, Jay, wake up. I love you. Please..."

The heart-wrenching sob that escaped you felt like it was tearing you apart, even as they began to throw the sand over him. As they buried him. Covered him. And the world turned dark.

Someone's hands grabbed at you, pulling you away, but you fought them, kicking, screaming, dying with him as the earth swallowed your love.

"No! Please, no!" The words tore from your chest like jagged glass, but it didn’t stop. It never stopped.

Then, a voice — soft, familiar, grounding. A warmth that pulled you from the nightmare. "Hey, hey, angel..."

You gasped, eyes snapping open, panic seizing you as the darkness of your dream lingered. The bed was empty. The space beside you, cold and vast. Your body trembled as sobs wracked your chest, but then arms wrapped around you, strong and steady. They held you close, pulling you into warmth, into the comforting scent of the sea and something more.

"Wake up... come on, angel, it's okay," the voice coaxed, his words gentle but firm, a tether pulling you from the depths of your nightmare.

You turned, eyes still blurry with tears, and looked over your shoulder. You half expected to see nothing. To be alone in the darkness. But then you saw him. JJ. JJ. His face was the same as it always had been — familiar, comforting, real. The soft smile on his lips made your heart stutter, and you found yourself reaching for him instinctively.

"JJ… you're here," you exhaled, your body relaxing, your mind calming for just a moment. But then the overwhelming relief struck you, and suddenly, you were gripping him as tightly as you could, clutching him like you'd never let go. You turned in his arms, wrapping yourself around him, pressing every part of yourself against him, trying to absorb his presence with every cell of your being. You needed to feel him, needed him to know how deeply you'd been shaken.

"I thought you were… you were… I saw…" you choked out, the words barely a whisper, breaking apart in fresh waves of tears that trembled through you. You buried your face in his neck, shuddering as his hand ran soothingly down your back.

"Shh... I'm here, love," he murmured softly, pulling you even closer. "I'm with you, and I'm not going anywhere." His hand traced gentle circles in your hair, his voice a soft balm over your wounds.

JJ knew how much you’d been struggling. He saw it in your red, swollen eyes each morning, in the tired shadows that lingered beneath them. He noticed how you would sometimes drift off mid-conversation, lost to a place he couldn't reach, as if carrying something too heavy to share. He felt it every time you’d reach for his hand, holding it tighter than you used to, grounding yourself in his touch. And he felt it every night you stayed at the chateau, choosing to lie beside him rather than in your own bed, pressing your ear against his chest just to hear his heartbeat.

JJ Maybank wasn't oblivious. He understood what haunted you, and he wished with everything in him that he could erase it. Because he knew — if it had been you, if you were the one hovering on the edge of life and death... he couldn’t even let himself think of it. You were his everything, his only certainty in a world that had never offered him much. And knowing you were hurting like this, knowing he was the reason, that was the worst thing he could imagine. It was worse than the death he’d nearly met.

And so he tried to help you in every way he could. He stayed close, always nearby, holding you tight whenever you needed it. He whispered sweet promises in your ear, spun dreams of the future for you both, reminded you every day just how much he loved you. He did everything he could to show you that he was here, that he wasn't going anywhere.

But seeing you now, shattered and trembling in his arms, feeling your tears soak his shirt, it tore at him. It was like a raw ache, a knife twisting deeper with every sob you released. You were suffering because of him, and he could feel the guilt clawing at his chest. He’d never wanted this — not for you.

As your breathing began to calm, your hold on his shirt loosened, and he shifted back slightly to meet your gaze. Your face was swollen from crying, your eyes rimmed red, and he felt a tenderness rise in him that he could barely contain. He lifted a hand to your cheek, thumb grazing your skin as he leaned in, gently brushing his lips over yours, a silent promise, as if he could kiss the fear away.

"I'm fine," you whispered, though your voice was trembling and raw. JJ just shook his head, unconvinced. He bent down, picking up his hoodie that had been lying on the floor, then draped it around your shoulders. The familiar, comforting scent of his cologne surrounded you, filling your senses, and you closed your eyes, sinking into the warmth.

"Let's go for a walk?" he asked softly, his voice gentle but insistent. You managed a small nod, slipping out of bed to follow him.

The sun was just beginning to crest over the horizon as you reached the beach, bathing everything in a soft, golden light. JJ's hand was intertwined with yours, and his thumb traced delicate patterns along the back of your hand, grounding you. The breeze tugged at your hair, the salt air filling your lungs as you took slow, steady breaths, savouring the tranquility of the moment.

When you reached your favourite spot, tucked away behind the rocks, JJ settled down, pulling you between his legs, his arms circling you. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, and you felt a soft, involuntary smile tug at your lips. His heartbeat thudded against your back, steady and reassuring, and you let yourself melt into the safety of his embrace.

For a few quiet minutes, you both watched the sun rise, bathing the ocean in warm, shifting hues. Then JJ's voice broke the silence, low and hesitant.

"You know... for a second, I thought I was going to die," he murmured, his voice thick with an emotion he rarely let himself show. "When I blacked out, I thought... this was it. That y'll would leave me there in Morocco, that I'd lose everything."

JJ swallowed, as if trying to steady himself, and you could feel the tension in his arms as he held you tighter. He’d tried to laugh it all off before, hiding behind jokes and smiles, but now — now it felt real. The memories weighed down his words, and you could hear the unspoken fear beneath them.

"JJ, don’t," you whispered, your own voice catching. You pulled his hoodie closer around you, burying your face in the soft fabric to push away the memories of that day, the endless days that followed. His arms tightened around you, his cheek pressing against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he drew you closer, as if he could shield you from the memory.

"No, I need to say this… I need you to hear it," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a shuddering breath, and you felt something wet land softly on your shoulder. A tear.

JJ gave a small, shaky grin and shook his head, leaning in close to murmur in your ear. "You've been with me through everything, angel. You saved me. You kept me alive."

The words settled into you, quiet and profound, and you turned to look at him, seeing the vulnerability he was baring, the weight he'd been carrying alone. You looked back at the horizon, feeling a deep ache inside, a pull that was both painful and reassuring, like your heart was finally finding its place.

You closed your eyes, concentrating on nothing but him — the feel of his arms, the warmth of his breath against your neck, the way his fingers tightened protectively around yours. You wanted to wrap yourself in this moment, to sink so deeply into him that you’d never be apart again.

"When I woke up for the first time… I heard your voice," JJ's voice trembled, breaking as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. "The way you told everyone that I wasn't going to die... the way you begged me not to... not to leave you..." His words cracked, and you felt the weight of his pain seep into your bones. He was broken, and it tore at your heart.

You intertwined your fingers with his, feeling the soft, trembling pulse beneath his skin. "I couldn't die... every time I slipped away, all I could think about was you," JJ whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "That I couldn't leave you. That I love you, and I don't want to leave you..."

He gently cupped your chin, lifting your face toward his. His eyes — red and swollen from crying — met yours, and in that moment, you saw how deeply connected you were. You were both raw, broken open, and yet, still whole together.

"I love you so much, that even at death's door, I fought with everything I had to stay here with you," he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. His hand slid down your cheek, brushing away the tears that refused to stop falling. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I put you through this, angel."

You felt your heart shatter for him, your lip trembling as his words hit you like a wave. Your hands moved instinctively to his face, cupping it gently, and you shook your head. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault that life had dealt him such a cruel hand. It wasn't his fault that he had been made to suffer in ways no one should. You knew he didn't deserve this. He deserved better — so much better.

"I promise…" JJ's voice was tight with emotion, but he pressed on. "No, I swear... I will never make you go through this again. I swear it. I swear that after all this, I won't give you any reason to worry. I will always be here for you." His blue eyes searched yours, holding you captive with their intensity. The weight of his words felt heavier than anything you'd ever known. "I will be with you, no matter what. And I will build us the house you always dreamed of. A white house with big windows and a garden, where we’ll play with our dog — our dog, which we’ll name JJ Jr. And then... maybe a child, or two, or three...”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head, though tears still lingered. It had always been a dream, a fantasy you shared with him, but now, seeing the determination in his eyes, it felt like a possibility. It felt like something you could reach out and touch.

"I'll give you the world, angel. I'll give you paradise," JJ continued, his voice thick with promise. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure these stupid tears never fall from your beautiful eyes again. Do you believe me?"

There was a pause. His gaze was so sincere, so full of hope, searching for any sign that you believed in him, in what he was offering. You felt a warmth spread through you, a quiet certainty in your chest. You smiled softly, your heart swelling with a love so deep you thought it might burst.

Without thinking, you pressed your lips to his, soft and slow. You let your kiss speak for you — every unspoken word, every emotion that had built up inside you over the months, the fear, the longing, the desperation, and finally, the relief. This kiss was all of it, and more. You poured everything into it, every promise, every fear, every hope, every part of you that you'd been holding onto for so long.

You held him like you'd never let go, feeling the weight of time slow down, knowing that in this moment, you were safe, you were here, and he was here. Nothing else mattered — just the two of you, together.

"I believe you, Jay. I've always believed you, and I will, because I love you," you murmured, your words soft as they met his lips. He responded with a deeper kiss, pulling you into him as if he could anchor himself to you, as if he, too, was letting go of something.

You giggled as he playfully knocked you down onto the sand, its warmth wrapping around you like an embrace. The sand, once so haunting, now felt soft and grounding beneath you, no longer a symbol of loss but one of hope — a new beginning waiting to be written.

JJ leaned over you, his blue eyes softened by the first light of dawn, eyes that were once wild and filled with fear but now were steady, full of promises. "I love you more, angel," he whispered, his voice like a lullaby against your skin, "and I'm not going anywhere."

He leaned in, capturing your lips again, and this time, every kiss melted the edges of past wounds, pushing away the darkness of every nightmare and sorrow you'd held. Here, with his arms around you and the sky lightening into the day, it was easy to believe in something beautiful, something lasting. You kissed him back, savoring each touch, each brush of his fingers against your skin as he held you closer.

For the first time in months, you let yourself imagine a future unshadowed by fear. A life filled with morning sunrises like this one, laughter echoing between you, the warmth of a home you’d build together. As JJ pulled you even closer, you felt a quiet certainty settle in your chest — a certainty that happiness was no longer a distant hope but a promise waiting for both of you, right here, right now.

thankx for reading <3

i was literally crying while i was writing this and i felt like this for the first time in my life. so, i hope you liked it. you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox :3

- your santi 🪐

masterlist

[mrsparrasblog]

I just listened to "My Tears Ricochet" and had an idea.

TW: Angst *laughs in free therapy*

So, imagine the boys need to fake their deaths. How macabre it is that they attend their own funerals, wanting to watch their loved ones. (These are standalone scenarios they don't fake their death together)

Price: You were his wife for all these years, always waiting for him to return. The funny thing was you could clearly remember the last argument before he left.

"Love, just one more tour, and I'm coming back to you. Then we can start a family and all that, but the boys need me."

"It's always the last tour with you. When is it really the last?"

"This time, I promise."

To some extent, he was right. You thought it was his last tour, but it wasn’t fair. You knew it was over when you got the call from General Shepard. Your husband was dead. You lost the love of your life, and all you got were his dog tags and a check large enough to end world hunger. You slapped your friend after she said at least you were financially secure now.

Price watched you from behind a tree. He saw how you clung to his grave, hugging it tightly and lying on it as you always used to with him. Your dress was dirty, and the tears wouldn’t come anymore.

When Laswell and Nik approached you, you screamed at them, blaming them for not protecting your husband. You trusted them, and now you couldn't bear to let anyone else near his grave. John wished he could comfort you, tell you he would come back to protect you, but he couldn’t. Instead, he sent Simon, who endured all your insults, screams, and even a punch to his crooked nose until you were ready to move on.

Kyle: You and Kyle were born on the same day, in the same room, in the same hospital. It was like a movie; he was your best friend since forever, your first everything, and you were his. It was a love like in all those movies. The only thing separating you was the military, but you stayed home waiting for him. Not even war could separate you. Last year, he brought you that ring. You remember lying in bed, cuddling him as he promised you that you were allowed to die first. He knew you wouldn’t survive his death. So he made the silly promise that you would die first. He thought it was the first promise he ever broke to you.

Kyle had to be held back when he saw you crying at his grave. “Guess I’ll find you in the next one, love. Sleep well.”

Ghost: He was never good at love, and he was sure no one would come to his funeral. No one knew "Ghost," and Simon Riley had been buried since 2009. But then he saw you, the cute medic he always tried to push away. He was afraid of hurting you or corrupting you. How could he have known that pushing you away wouldn’t stop you from loving a dead man?

All the conversations came flooding back:

"Here, Lt. I made you red velvet cookies, your favorite."

"You're going to sit down and let me fix that, idiot."

"You're beautiful, Ghost."

"You're enough."

"It's kind of silly to be in love with someone whose name you didn’t even know. I hope you find your peace, big boy." You placed lilies on his grave and left. In that moment, Simon Riley realized he was loved, and he would burn the world down to come back from the dead just to return to you.

Johnny: Contrary to popular belief among the team, Johnny wasn’t a whore. He was a loving husband and father. That was written above "Sergeant" on his grave, at least.

His funeral was crowded with people who wanted to pay their last respects. Most of them were blue-eyed MacTavishes. Then there was you, holding your three-year-old in your arms. He didn’t understand why everyone was crying or why Dad wasn’t there anymore.

Johnny watched you sit at his grave, sighing as you talked to your husband. "James doesn’t understand what’s going on, but he misses you. He wanted me to give him a mohawk. It looks ridiculous, just like you. I know you’re rocking it in heaven. Just please wait for me, okay? Don’t want you to hoe around in heaven," you chuckled, holding back the tears. "You watch us from there, right? Can’t miss the birth of your princess, can you?"

[kaleschmidt]

hautned bythe naomi legacy ending . again

[blueaprondelight]

imagine richie shamelessly flirting with the new waitress at the bear as a 'joke '

he's being charming, flirting with her every chance he gets and she's oblivious to his antics but is still nice to him

after a while, the lines for richie becomes blurred and he starts to develop real feelings

so, while he's having this internal crisis, tiff drops eva at the bear and everyone's really busy, including richie

and the waitress takes care of eva & she's just so sweet to her, and when richie sees the two girls he loves having fun with each other, he knows he's far gone

(i need that old man so bad it's not even funny anymore-)

-🪷

my lotus. i'm obsessed.

okay.

richie and you had first met when you began working for the bear. being trained by him, it meant you two were spending a lot of time together. late nights, early mornings. you two would talk over coffee when you could sneak in a break during kitchen prep, you'd talk when marcus had you two try his newest pastries.

the first time he flirted with you, it was an accident. just slipped. but then it became your 'thing'. it was that teasing flirting, you know? pet names for each other, the whole shabang.

over the months you and him spend together, richie begins feeling the lines blurred. what's real and what's not between you two? it's the age old question. are you calling him honey as a joke or is that real? is his contact name 'R HONEY' to fit that joke or whatever?

he can feel himself falling in love with you. and before he can catch himself, he dives into it when he sees you and eva interacting.

tiff had rushed to the bear one afternoon when she was called into work. it was unexpected and in the middle of the lunch rush, and you'd been at the front when eva was dropped off, backpack in hand.

you guided her away from the chaos and into the back office. you and her talked about how excited she was for weekend plans with richie, what she learned in school. by the time richie found you two, you were talking her through her math homework. your voice was soft, you were patient with her.

he's in love.

by the time he realizes, he's so far gone. he knows it's the kind of love that could metaphorically kill him. you and him watch over eva together, and you help him load her into the car.

when he and eva are driving back to tiff's house, it's silent until eva's small voice speaks up. "are you in love with y/n, daddy?"

well, shit. if the kid can figure it out, maybe you have, too.

he returns to the bear where he knows you'll be, cleaning up with syd. he finds you in the front, sweeping the floors. before you can greet him, he's blurting it out. "i'm in love with you."

it's a blur. his ears are filled with the sound of his heartbeat and he knows you're talking, he can see your perfect lips moving but he can't hear you. it isn't until you're in front of him he can hear you clearly.

"i love you, too."

one of my favorite movie quotes is from the princess bride, where they say that since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were the most passionate, the most pure.

the one you and richie share buries them all in a fucking grave.

[medics-secret-shipfic-folder]

Imagine being Cheavy during comic 7. You just got killed by a bear and his crazy-ass husband, and you slowly die as Flo from Progressive gives you a monologue. You eventually slip away as the hubris of your actions dawn on you: that Life Extender was never going to work because the Australium is all gone. There's nothing left for you.

And then five seconds later that soldier with a honey obsession reveals that he had Australium in his back pocket THE WHOLE FUCKING TIME. AND THERE'S APPARENTLY AN ENTIRE CAVE FULL OF THE STUFF.

Cheavy ate shit from beyond the grave

[abbyfmc]

Yandere Story idea #34:

I said it before and i will said it again.

I love the yandere emperor figure, so here's my new idea.

A yandere emperor whose empress (you) has died. A yandere is rarely explored in the middle of a duel, and this one even less so. A yandere emperor would be pretty devastated by your departure, to the point of not being able to bear the sight of your cold body in said coffin himself.

Emperors are always seen as frivolous, strong or imposing figures who do not openly show their feelings; however, I believe that this would not be the case.

The yandere emperor will cry heartbroken in private.

Or probably the yandere emperor will cry his eyes out in public too, which would surprise many.

If by chance you died in front of him or in his arms, he will not want to let you go until someone can persuade him or get him off of you.

Of course, he will make funeral arrangements for you. The most beautiful ones you could ever imagine and during this event, he will not leave your coffin for a single moment.

The Yandere Emperor would force everyone to mourn you. From other royal members of the court, to common servants and subjects.

Even your grave would be the most beautiful.

The yandere emperor would be able to cremate you and have your ashes in a vase in his chambers.

No, no one but him and a few servants could enter your chambers. Not even your family of origin.

He would make your chambers a shrine in your name. There he would worship you and perform ancestral rites depending on his religion.

He will surely execute the doctors for not treating you well.

He will treasure every letter, piece of clothing, gift or whatever you left behind. From the coat you gave him to the last painting you made.

The Yandere Emperor may take refuge in alcohol as an escape from his reality. For him, there is no point in staying in this one if you are no longer there.

The Yandere Emperor wouldn't accept ANYONE in the court speaking ill of you after your death.

Every time the Yandere Emperor talks about you to someone else, he will rave about you. You could say that he will also mention how beautiful his relationship with you was (beautiful from his point of view).

Even if he marries another empress or consort, the yandere emperor knows that she will never come close to matching you.

If the Yandere Emperor finds out that your death was not a coincidence, but a murder, then he will search for the culprit and make him pay in blood for what he did to you.

Many empresses and queens throughout history have died during, just after or days after labour. If this were the case, there could be two scenarios: * The Yandere Emperor may feel hatred towards the baby, in case he thinks that you died because of the prince/princess. * The yandere emperor may want that baby and perhaps love it or want it, since it is the only thing that reminds him of you and of course, the last thing of yours that you left him before passing away.

The Yandere Emperor, not accepting this harsh reality, might be capable of using witchcraft in order to be reunited with you.

It may be with the aim of reuniting with you in the afterlife, or it may be so that your spirit remains on the earthly plane where he is. This would not let you rest in peace.

So, here's my idea:

Yandere Emperor can´t accept your death and he resorts to witchcraft to keep your soul so that you can feel close to him again. This would be tragic if you wanted to die to escape from him.

[writhyv]

⋆｡°✩ jake, you, and an apology too

would you kiss me? | sim jaehyun x male!reader

pairing: jake x male!reader

genre: fluff

words: 2.5k

notes: HE'S BACK!! honestly wrote this down because I was feeling hella lovey dovey towards jaehyun man ... hope you guys like it!!

Bad. This is bad.

Why do you suddenly feel guilty? Of all the people you could feel guilty for, it’s that airhead jock who has been pestering your head ever since that day at the school fair.

“It’s literally been a week.” Your best friend, Sunoo, perched his head on his knuckles and took a good look at your currently miserable disposition. “I can feel the negative vibes just emanating from deep within that soul of yours.”

You shot a weird look at Sunoo, who smiled slyly back at you. “Sunoo, you’re not a witch.”

“Might as well be!” He rolled his eyes, flapping his hands dramatically in the air. “I want to know why my best friend is all bothered by... someone like Jake!”

You shoved your hands over Sunoo's mouth to quiet him. “Shh!” You raised your finger quickly.

“MGLPHHRPMHRLPMHR!!!” Sunoo muffled through your fingers, but within seconds, he inhaled deeply and threw your hands off his mouth. “UGH! Your hands are NOT good teethers, okay?”

You tilted your head at his remark. “Teethers? Are you a child?” You giggled.

“MY POINT ?!?” Sunoo raised his brows. “Is that you can take your hands back away from my face! I don’t care if we’re besties—THAT stays OFF my face.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Sunoo's outburst, though he couldn’t ignore it either.

“See, there’s that smile!” Sunoo cheered for a moment. “All it takes is for you to smear my chapstick, eugh.”

You took a gentle pause before bearing that unfathomable gaze yet again.

“It’s just... I told him he was a—”

“A weirdo. Right?”

“Y-yeah.”

Sunoo looked at you, searching for the perfect sentence to speak at that moment. “It happens. Sometimes we blurt out things. And I know you; you’re very blunt about stuff. Can’t help yourself even if you tried.”

“Like you?”

“Like yo—EUGH!” Sunoo playfully shoved you. “Listen to me!”

Propping up your posture, this time, you looked at Sunoo with a serious gaze.

“He probably felt... nothing about it.” Sunoo advised gently. “Really.”

You sighed, feeling neither comforted nor pacified.

“I know Jake.” Sunoo smiled. “He’s a bit of a loser, but he never fails to give up the fight. He’s a captain for a reason.”

You heard your best friend's advice yet could only dwell on the scenarios playing in your head. Sunoo sighed heavily, knowing you were still overthinking.

“Look, if you’re REALLY bothered by it...” Sunoo thought aloud. “Go talk to him, no?”

You looked at Sunoo, incredulous.

“Me? Going to—”

“DO NOT give me that crap. You heard me.” He rolled his eyes.

You scratched your head as you pondered. Can you really toughen up and apologize for words you had thrown away? Or would you live with the thought that hypothetically, Jake might be resenting you because of what you said?

All these thoughts flooded your mind, troubling you as you navigated the best way to prove you were truly sorry.

“Is this really the only way?” You spoke to yourself as you entered the sports wing.

You were in your campus's sports wing, beating yourself up with words and lines to say to that airhead—towards Jake. You felt sorry, and if you were in his shoes, you would’ve dug a grave for whoever told you something so heinous. At least, that’s where your imagination led you.

“He’s not gonna throw me out, is he...” You asked yourself, still pacing around the building.

Silence surrounded you at that moment. It was already nighttime, and the students occupying the space had likely gone home.

“They did say he stays late... but am I too late?” You continued talking as if you had someone with you. This was definitely just a way to cope with the loneliness of being in a big building at night.

As you looked around, an ominous feeling crept at the back of your mind. Of course, this place gave you goosebumps. It was cliché, but who says a quiet building at night can't be creepy?

Walking around, you finally reached that one room you were hoping to see. Or not. It depended on whether you were actually looking forward to seeing Jake inside—

“... is Locker Room D.” You heard a booming voice coated with a thick layer of echoing bass down the hall.

Feeling your legs stiffen gradually, you tried hard to hide behind the large door, waiting to see if anyone was there with you. If it was Jake, you would’ve stayed put until you were set to speak to him. If it was anyone else, though... you had to run.

Why? Because it might just be a completely different situation. Thieves, perpetrators ... it could be anyone.

“D? No wonder they get quick baths. They have the power showers over here.” Another heckling voice echoed through the hall. It was clear that it wasn’t just Jake or anyone you knew.

“Not the point, Trell. We have to get that losers' lucky charm.” The loud booming voice you heard earlier stepped closer.

“You still believe in lucky charms?”

“Jake hasn’t lost any match since he got here.”

They... don't sound nice, do they?

“We just gotta see what makes him tick.” The loud voice expressed his thoughts. “I can’t keep losing to an amateur.”

"He's been captain for two years."

"I've been kicking goals for my whole life, dimwit." The louder voice sounded really agitated. Particularly with Jake's skills.

Clearly, this wasn’t on your agenda today. An attempted break-in for... a lucky charm? It wasn’t even that funny, but you couldn’t help but laugh. Why would these soccer players rely on something so trivial? And why did it matter if it made someone good or not? You just couldn’t wrap your head around that thought.

“Pfft...”

Shoot.

“Huh?” The larger voice turned his head toward the door.

“You!” The other voice shouted as he saw your figure.

With your nerves racking, you flicked on your flashlight and pointed it toward the two guys in front of you.

“AAACK!” The bigger guy flinched as you aimed the light directly at his eyes.

“Hey!” The smaller guy grabbed your arm. In your surprise, you could’ve sworn you screamed loud enough for every student in the building to hear. With a blunt hit of the flashlight’s end, you struck the smaller guy, and he winced at your action.

“Dammit, blinding me and shit!” The bigger guy stumbled backward.

“Dash for it, Bush! Now!” The smaller one pulled the big guy out of your sight as they ran away. You could only watch their shadows fade into the darkness. A loud sigh escaped your lips as you slumped onto the ground.

“AW!” You yelped as you slumped awkwardly. You scraped your back against the hard edge of the locker bench and hit your head on a nearby locker.

Itching in pain, you rubbed your back gently. You gritted your teeth before remembering what you had come for.

“KAMCHAGIYA!” You heard a loud voice behind you, only to find the most unexpected sight of your life.

It was Jake, rubbing a fresh towel on his wet hair—complemented by a half-naked towel tuck, showcasing the proud figure he worked so hard for.

“W-wha—” You felt an embarrassing warmth wash over you. You quickly covered your cheeks with both hands.

“You?!” Jake stood frozen, realizing who you were in an instant.

The silence between the two of you was palpable. No words were exchanged at that moment. Nothing but the soft hum of the air conditioning and the thoughts lingering in both your heads.

For some time now, Jake had often been lost in his thoughts, pondering that particular day at the kissing booth. He’d felt something shift in him since that kiss. It was confusing, exhilarating, and terrifying all at once. He hadn’t expected to feel so drawn to you, and now, standing in front of you, he couldn’t shake the feeling of vulnerability.

He always admired you from afar, being the acting president and caring for everyone who needed help inside the school - he just wasn't expecting to fall this hard for you. So hard he could practically die from embarrassment just having every type of thought about you.

“I—” You tried to stand up immediately, still rubbing your back from earlier. “I came here and saw people!”

Catching his attention, Jake walked closer to you ever so slowly, his heart racing.

“People?” Jake continued to rub the towel on his head. “Those weren’t just my imagination earlier?”

“The what?”

“The screams? Little ‘Ahs’ and some big shrieks sprinkled in between.”

“Oh...” You followed his train of thought. “Yeah.”

Jake then walked past you and headed to the other side of the aisle, opening his locker. “What was it about? I wasn’t aware there would be people here. I always close down the gym during this time.”

As he changed, Jake couldn’t help but admire how the moonlight wrapped around your face, casting a soft glow that highlighted your features. He’d never seen you like this—vulnerable and anxious, yet determined.

You were captivating. He was smitten.

Then, memories of that kiss filled his head, making him flinch internally. He hoped you didn’t regret it. It was a moment he cherished, and he wanted to explore what it meant for both of you.

“ACHK!” Thinking about the same incident, you couldn't help but flinch at the thought.

Jake looked back at you, his heart racing as he applied some cream to his face. “Huh?”

“I— I mean!” You coughed. “They were sneaking in here, and all I heard was them talking about... taking some lucky charm from you... I think?”

Jake took his time changing into his clean clothes, then looked slowly toward you, curious about your reaction. “Lucky charm?”

You paused, then tried to giggle. “Y-yeah. I mean... who still has lucky charms, right? Rabbit's foot, four-leaf clovers—”

“It's probably my sneakers.” Jake spoke plainly, the sincerity in his voice surprising even himself. He noticed how your eyes lit up with intrigue, and it gave him a rush of confidence.

“Your... sneakers?” You walked closer to him, and he could see the curiosity in your eyes.

“Yeah. My lucky sneaks.” Jake smiled. “That's what I call them. Had them since I got here.”

“O-oh...” You nodded, and Jake felt a swell of affection for you. This made him all the more guilty about what he had done.

“Here they are.” He bent down to bring out what he was talking about—his lucky sneakers. It was a rugged pair that had already suffered some wear, yet somehow felt cared for, with Jake even patting the shoes affectionately.

Looking at them, you seemed to ponder deeply, and he couldn’t help but wonder what you were thinking.

“It’s just a rugged pair, you must be thinking.” Jake smiled. “Yeah?”

“Hm.” You considered it. “But there has to be more to it. Someone gave it to you?”

“Right!” Jake beamed at your answer. “My mom got me these. She said she wanted me to wear them when I got onto the soccer team.”

The warmth in your expression made Jake’s heart flutter. It felt good to share this piece of himself with you, and he could see the softening of your demeanor as well.

“She’s a riot, right? Clearly, these aren’t for playing out in the field.” He chuckled. “But they feel hella more comfortable than my other shoes, so I wear them like that instead.”

The silence enveloped you once more. Fidgeting with the flashlight in your hand, you couldn’t take it anymore and spoke your mind.

“I’m sorry.” You both spoke simultaneously.

“Huh?” “What?”

“I was just gonna—” “Why were you—”

“Okay, enough.” You raised your hand. “Why would you say that?” You looked at Jake, and he felt a rush of vulnerability wash over him.

Jake ran his hand through his hair again, trying to steady himself. “I made you feel uncomfortable, right?” Jake glanced away, his expression growing serious. “The kiss... I was a bit too pushy for that.”

You looked bewildered, and he felt a pang of guilt.

An apology. He was apologizing. Of all the people who could’ve given it, it was him. And for a stupid reason too. For a kiss.

For a kiss that had meant so much to him.

“It... wasn’t that bad.” You stumbled over your words, almost shyly.

Jake's eyes shot up in your direction, surprise laid on his features. “You’re saying—”

“I mean!” You tried to defend yourself. “It could’ve been better, sure, but—”

Jake’s eyes widened, and a smirk crept onto his sly face. He couldn’t help but feel a rush of hope at your words.

“Look, I was going to apologize for saying you’re a weirdo, okay?” You sighed quickly and fixed your falling hair. “Because I didn’t think too much of it and I realized I wasn't in a position to say that about someone. That, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“Why?” Jake asked, genuinely curious.

Right. Why were you concerned about his feelings?

“W-why?” You stammered.

“Yeah.” Jake smiled again, his heart racing. “Why would you care if I what, resented you over a throwaway line?”

“B-because...” You struggled to articulate your thoughts, and he could see the conflict in your eyes.

Jake just looked at you, eyes pleading for an honest answer.

“Because I didn’t want you to get the impression that I hate you.” You spoke with conviction, precise and to the point.

Jake smiled back, genuinely happy. “I wasn’t going to,” he exclaimed with enthusiasm. “In fact, I was still going to pursue you—no matter what.”

“But… I’m a guy,” you said, trying to relay your concern.

Jake tilted his head to the side, his smile widening. “And? Do I give off that impression? I’m not ignorant, am I?”

You looked away from him, overwhelmed. It felt surreal.

“Come to our game tomorrow.” His unique voice rang through your ears.

You turned your head toward him, shooting a confused look. “Huh? You mean the big qualifying match tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Jake nodded, feeling a mix of fear and excitement. “Please?”

You looked away for a bit, while Jake bore a look of both fear and hope.

“If you don’t come, no big deal.” Jake mumbled. “I can stop doing this, and you can go back to being a good president.”

You fiddled with your fingers, your hesitation palpable.

“And if you do, well...” Jake smiled, his heart racing as he leaned in slightly. “I’m assuming you’re interested.”

You couldn’t help but blush at that, warmth overtaking your cheeks. If you were in a different setting—like a sunny park, perhaps—you would’ve definitely been beet red in front of him.

“So ... you don’t hate me.” You tried to maintain your composure.

“No.” Jake put his hands in his pockets, closing the distance between you. “You could say I’m liking you even more now.”

Bad. This is bad.

You’re actually falling in love.

HEEEEEEEEEEE!!!! THE BOY!!!! also tagging @kaiyunsim again so they see this JKASHFJKSHFJKF

ALSO had to change the title ... i was not feeling the grammar nor the vibes ... 😭🖐️

hope you guys enjoyed it! please like, comment, or reblog~

my masterlist!

made by writhyv.

[horangare]

us (TEASER)

pairing : dilf!jeonghan x college student!reader

content : angst, fluff, smut (no smut in teaser)

in which : you knew you could only keep this up for so long. the lying, the secrecy, the feeling of being stuck. you just want to feel normal again, just once, so you trade one lie for another.

warnings : none for the teaser really. just like…heavy feelings?

wc : 428

note : oh we are so back. also i’ve never done a teaser before so bear with me. i’m also not sure on a specific release date but i’m aiming for like the second week of september!

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Iseul.” You say in the most convincing tone you can manage. It hurts to be dishonest with her, but at the same time it isn’t really a lie, is it? No, there is no boyfriend, but there is someone.

How could you even describe your relationship with Jeonghan? He dresses you up in lace and frills, fucks you better than you’ve ever been fucked, and then runs you a bath or brew you tea or sometimes he’ll just sit at your side, holding you in his arms while you cling to him like he’s your lifeline. It would be a perfectly normal dynamic if he wasn’t the father of your best friend, and it’s only because of that factor that you feel the need to take the secret of you and Jeonghan to your grave.

You wish it didn’t have to be that way. You wish you could love Jeonghan without the guilt and the lying and the hiding, because you really do love him, and he loves you too, but you don’t know how much more of this you can take.

Iseul huffs, obviously unconvinced by your answer. It snaps you back into reality. “Well, he might not be your boyfriend, but whatever he is I know he exists.”

“No he doesn’t! There is no he!” You say somewhat exasperatedly. When you look at Iseul, she’s just standing there. Lips pursed, hands clenched at her sides. It looks like she wants to say something—something she’s likely fighting not to say, and she wins that battle, because in the next second she’s staring down into the sink.

“Fine. Sorry I asked. I just thought that, you know, if me and this guy ended up hitting it off we could all hang out and stuff.”

Great, now you feel bad.

“I’m sorry.” You sigh. “It’s just…it’s complicated.” Iseul simply nods, glancing at you with a sad smile on her face.

“I get it. I guess I just…” She pauses for a moment, then shrugs. “I just wanted to know, that’s all.” This time, you’re the one to nod and smile.

It goes quiet. Iseul turns back to her reflection, tilting her head in every direction imaginable as she scrutinized her appearance. And there you sit, watching, thinking.

“So you really don’t know his name? Because I could just do a quick Google search and-”

“Oh my god, stop!” Her laughter echoed through the bathroom, and it’s so light and jovial that it takes you over and now you’re laughing right along with her.

“Sorry,” you say again through your giggles, this time feeling just a little less heavy.

[javier-pena]

the duel

Pairing: knight!Din Djarin x f!reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Rating: Mature

Summary: When a grave injustice is done to you, there is only one man who will defend your honor.

Warnings: graphic violence | animal death (a horse gets killed) | death of a close family member | a hint of “who did this to you?” | a lot of historical inaccuracies | reader has long hair | a dash of self-loathing

Notes: I know I'm the slowest writer ever when it comes to working through my 10k follower celebration requests but we're getting there. A very sweet anon requested "Can you just look at me? Please?" with Din Djarin and my brain made that into a medieval AU somehow. Dear anon, I'm not entirely sure this is what you had in mind but I had THE most fun writing it, and I'm so so in love with knight!Din that it's going to be incredibly hard to let him go. As always, huge thanks to Dani @alexturner who said this is the best fic I've written recently - it's amazing what I can achieve when there is no smut to overthink!

The air smells of smoke and horse manure and cold. It smells of blood and death too, but Din isn’t quite certain that he isn’t imagining that. No one has died here, at least not today, and if he keeps his cool, then the sun will set without him having taken yet another life. All he has to do is immobilize his opponent, make him surrender. If he can do that, he’ll win more than one victory today.

He bows, deeply, in front of Lord Marlowe and the assembled guests. To his left, Rhyswald the Crusader does the same, the insincerity evident in the way he inclines his head, moves his feet. Din has every reason to hate Lord Marlowe, every reason to wish the worst on the other man, but he wouldn’t dream of disrespecting him, least of all in his own house.

Rhyswald lifts his head, runs a gloved hand through his blond curls, and dons his heavy helmet. Din ignores the smirk on his face, the way he bares his teeth in something resembling a snarl. He can’t let these things get to him if he wants to walk away from this duel victorious, his hands clean. He lifts his own helmet, ready to hide his face behind the T-shaped visor, when he sees you stand and abandon your seat next to Lord Marlowe. You walk to the edge of the berfrois, your pale blue wool dress looking almost white in the soft light of the winter morning, your dark blue coat billowing behind you. You don’t wrap it around yourself, even though the cold morning air makes you gasp. Your eyes are fixed on Din’s, but he can hardly bear to look at you, his heart in his throat threatening to choke him.

You reach the edge of the berfrois and you seem so close that he thinks if he just extended his arm, he could touch you. And then you extend your arm and his hands begin to tremble. If he had to draw his sword right now, he wouldn’t be able to hold up the weapon. There is something in your hand, a piece of white silk, and you smile at him before letting it go, the cloth gently gliding down in the calm air, toward Din. He steps forward, his hand outstretched, and everything around him vanishes – the lists, the nobles, Lord Marlowe on his high-backed chair, even Rhyswald and his vile face. It’s just you and the token you’re bestowing on him that Din sees.

He secures the piece of silk around his left lower arm, gently pulling it tight with his teeth. By the time he is done, you have returned to your seat, regarding the spectacle before you with cold detachment. Like him, you can’t let this get to you. The world begins to come back with shouts and the sounds of stomping hooves and Rhyswald’s voice snarling some insult Din doesn’t quite catch. He walks over to his horse Razor, tied up at the edge of the lists. Razor is covered in Din’s colors, the dark blue of his father and the silver of his liege, its black fur shiny with sweat already. Din hoists himself up, takes his shield from a knave, and draws his long, heavy sword. With a deep breath, he turns Razor to face Rhsywald.

Din tastes blood on his tongue as he charges at his opponent, blood from where he has bitten the inside of his cheek. Rhyswald’s helmet is obscuring most of his face, but Din can imagine the smirk he is wearing beneath, sure of his victory. After all, didn’t he fight in the crusades? Didn’t he risk his life and soul for king and country? And where was Din while his fellow countrymen were risking their lives overseas? Where was he? Din raises his sword high above his head, channeling all his strength into his right arm, and a growl erupts from his chest, drowned out by Razor’s hooves hammering against the frozen ground.

Din manages to hit Rhyswald’s shield, but the steel glides of the leather reinforcements uselessly. Rhyswald misses Din’s shoulder because he twists out of the way in time but even before Din manages to turn Razor around, he’s there again with a second attack, splintering the top of Din’s shield with a forceful blow. Din changes direction, his back facing Rhyswald for a moment, but the bold move pays off. When he goes in for a second attack, the other man parries his blow with a surprised shout.

Beneath the horses’ hooves, the ground slowly breaks open and becomes uneven while the knights try to gain the upper hand. They are evenly matched, Din has to admit that, but whereas he fights for an advantage, Rhyswald fights to humiliate. When Din parries a blow, Rhyswald tries to hit him with his shield, when Din tries to free his sword, Rhyswald tries to punch his chin or scratch his unprotected lower arms. The longer the horses dance around each other, the harder it is for Din to keep the promise he made to himself.

“You should give up now,” Rhyswald suggests after a while, his voice coming out in strained pants, “because I will kill you if you don’t.”

Din doesn’t reply because there really isn’t anything he could say.

Rhyswald tries to grab Din’s arm but almost loses the grip on his sword and has to straighten his back. “Did no one teach you manners, boy? You answer your superiors.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Din presses out through gritted teeth, the blade of his sword coming down hard against the spaulder protecting Rhyswald’s shoulder but bouncing off it without leaving a mark.

Rhsywald pulls back his steed, disengaging, and Din drops his arm to relieve his straining muscles. “Why not? Did your little harlot forbid you to speak? Because she knows if you talk to me, it’ll only expose her lies?”

Din doesn’t mean to, but he can’t stop himself from charging at Rhyswald in a rash move and missing him when he swerves.

“Oh, so it’s true?” Rhyswald taunts, making his horse prance around Din’s. “Do you always do as she says?

“Shut up,” Din growls. Rhyswald’s grating voice is making his blood boil.

“Apparently not,” Rhsywald remarks, and Din can make out the smirk beneath his helmet. “So tell me, do you believe her little story? Or do you know she’s a liar?”

Din spurs on Razor, the pounding hooves quickening his heartbeat. He’s aiming the blade at Rhsywald’s head, but his opponent predicts the move long before Din can carry it out. Their blades clash and send out sparks. The force of the impact makes pain shoot up Din’s arm and he grunts. Rhyswald doesn’t let him catch his breath. He lands blow after blow, and Din can barely keep him in check while Razor nervously prances beneath him.

“That would explain why she picked you as her champion,” Rhyswald goes on while his blade comes down hard against Din’s shield. “Gullible Din Djarin who’d do anything for the taste of a ma–”

Din kicks, hard, and is surprised when his foot connects with Rhyswald’s middle. Rhyswald gives a shout of surprise, and Din knows his eyes are wide beneath that helmet. With a rattling crash, Rhyswald lands on the hard, trampled ground and his horse takes off with a whinny. Around them, the berfrois erupt with cheers.

Din closes his eyes and the sound changes. It now is the gentle rustling of newly grown leaves swaying in a warm spring breeze. When he opens his eyes, he’s back in Headdon Fort walking the corridors, climbing steep stairs. Outside the windows, the world is breaking out into colors, bright and fresh, while inside the mood is dampened by bad news recently received. As a knight passing through, no one has informed Din of the tragedy. 

Din doesn’t know what he is looking for, only that he is too restless to quietly sit in a chair yet too exhausted from his recent travels to spend his time training. The fort is almost empty since everyone is enjoying the spring sunshine, and Din, in turn, is enjoying the quiet. Until he hears a stifled sob, turns a corner, and finds you leaning against the damp stone wall. You’re crouching, face buried in your hands, a scroll of parchment lying at your feet, and your chest is heaving with violent sobs.

Din should walk away, spare you the embarrassment of being seen at such a vulnerable moment, but he can’t. It’s not his upbringing and training, the chivalry demanded of him. It’s the love he feels for you that makes him rush to your side instead of turning away from you.

You must hear his heavy footsteps despite your preoccupation, and you look up, eyes red, cheeks wet. “Din,” you breathe, your voice hoarse.

His chest tightens at the sound of his name coming from your lips in such a familiar manner. He steps in front of you, unsure whether he is allowed to approach, flexing the fingers on his right hand, still stiff from a recently sustained injury. “What do you need?” he asks.

You smile at him, gently, your grief momentarily forgotten. “It’s Eldrin,” you answer. “He … he died.”

Din’s chest grows tighter, a feeling no longer welcome. Out of your brothers, Eldrin was his favorite. Din had always looked up to the older man, and Eldrin had always treated him like an equal. “How?” he asks.

You shake your head as a new wave of grief rushes over you. Din can’t bear to see you like this. He drops down to his knees next to you, the floor uncomfortably cold through the fabric of his chausses. But he doesn’t care when you lean into him and bury your face against his shoulder. In fact, he doesn’t feel anything anymore except the warmth of your body against his and the way his heart flutters in his chest.

Steadied by Din’s presence, you finally answer. “He was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Din echoes, slinging an arm around your shoulders. The bright spring sunshine seems to darken at your words, and despair settles over the both of you.

“He was trying to save a friend,” you go on, your words muffled against Din’s tunic. “Lord Raaf. He had gotten into a fight, and Eldrin was trying to help him. They were all drunk, it was a stupid, drunken fight.” You sob, and Din can’t help himself. He kisses the top of your head, and feels a stab of pride when you pull him closer.

“Raaf,” you go on after you have somewhat collected yourself, “he said Eldrin got stabbed in the back. I don’t know why.” You look up at him, your eyes impossibly bright with tears. “Why, Din?”

“I don’t know,” Din replies. He could talk about honor, call the murderer a coward, curse his name, but none of these things would help you. Instead, he asks, “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” you reply, grabbing fistfuls of Din’s shirt. “He’s dead.”

“Does Raaf know who stabbed Eldrin?”

You nod. “A knight. He calls himself Rhyswald the Crusader.”

“There are witnesses,” Din goes on. “Lord Raaf. He saw it happen. Rhyswald will be brought to justice.”

You give him a tired smile. “I don’t want justice. I want Eldrin to be alive.”

Din’s stomach knots painfully, as if he had been stabbed himself.

It’s the same pain he feels now, back on the lists, watching the murderer push himself into a kneeling position, reaching for his sword. “Stay down,” Din whispers, but Rhyswald lets loose a deep growl and stands, picks up his mud-caked sword.

“You coward!” he shouts, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I should have known that you won’t be able to win this fight without cheating.”

“Enough!” Din barks. “Do you surrender?”

There are whispers all around him as he waits for an answer.

Rhsywald spits, and it comes out red. “No.”

The whispers stop.

Din circles Rhyswald, Razor snorting beneath him. “Then you have made your choice,” he declares with a heavy heart, raising his sword.

Rhyswald charges. Razor, surprised by the sudden movement, rears up and then collapses, the front legs giving way, breaking with a sickening crack. Din hits the ground, hard, the impact pushing all the air from his lungs. One leg gets buried under Razor’s body, while the other twists at an odd angle, and he loses both his sword and shield. The crowd gasps, there are one or two shouts, but Din only hears the blood rushing in his ears, and the rattling sound of Razor’s dying breath.

Din’s vision darkens when Rhyswald casts his shadow down on him. He pulls his sword out of Razor’s chest with a sickening squelch and huffs. “There. Now we’re evenly matched.”

Din places a gloved hand on Razor’s back, the body warm and alive to the touch. He can’t allow himself to feel, can’t allow Rhyswald’s dishonesty to get to him. He pushes the horse off his leg and stands, ignoring the pain in his calf, the way his vision goes dark as blood pounds behind his eyes. He limps to where his sword lies half-buried in the mud, then to where his shield sticks out of a heap of soil. He picks up both weapons, his grip like iron, and turns to face Rhyswald.

They circle each other; every other step is agony to Din, but it doesn’t escape him that Rhyswald holds his elbow at an odd angle or that his helmet has shifted, obscuring his view. Din shakes his head to get rid of the ringing in his ears but it doesn’t help. He loosens the grip on his sword, then tightens it again, and before Rhyswald can take on a defensive stance, he rushes toward him, his only goal to inflict as much pain as possible. He can let himself have that, he decides, as long as it doesn’t cloud his judgement.

Steel meets steel, and Din’s ears are now ringing with the sweet sound of combat. Rhyswald manages to keep him at bay, but no matter how hard he tries to get a blow in, Din doesn’t let him. He forces Rhyswald to defend himself, forces him to back away from Razor’s dead body, forces him to fight for his life. Rhyswald is strong, his defenses are tough, but once in a while, there is a crack in them, and Din exploits it ruthlessly.

Rhyswald’s shield splinters in half after Din hits it repeatedly, and the two halves fall to the ground, useless. Din can’t help but smile a cruel smile, already tasting victory, but without the additional weight, his opponent is faster and finally gains the upper hand. He pushes back against Din’s assaults with vicious jabs, forcing Din to divide his attention between parrying Rhyswald’s blows with his shield and defending himself with his sword.

Din’s arms grow heavy, so heavy that every time he has to raise his sword it feels like a task impossible to accomplish. Rhyswald seems to tire too – his footfalls are heavy and he grunts every time he swings his sword at Din. But when the blade lands against Din’s right cuisse, he feels the blow in his entire body and his knee gives way, making him stumble. Rhyswald goes for Din’s standard next, and it’s only through sheer force of will that he manages to parry that blow. The audience gasps, groans, and then falls silent.

“Don’t you hear?” Rhyswald hisses, pushing his blade down against Din’s. Every muscle in Din’s arm is screaming for him to give in. “They hate you. They want to see you dead. Why don’t we give them what they want?”

He kicks Din in the chest, swirls around, and with the force of a final blow lets the blade of his sword rush toward Din. Din lets out a hoarse shout as his lower arm is sliced open and hot blood spurts out, drenching his tunic. Steam rises in the freezing air.

“You should give in now,” Rhyswald suggests. “It would spare you the pain and humiliation.” He reaches for Din’s injured arm, for the piece of silk tied around it; Din draws back with a hiss. Darkness settles over Rhyswald’s face. “Have it your way then.”

He raises his sword high above his head at the same time as Din raises his shield, and when blade hits wood, Din pushes himself up, flinging his cover at Rhyswald. He feels bile rise in his throat at the effort; instead of air, it feels like he is breathing in fire, but he stands, and Rhyswald struggles for a moment, caught off-guard by Din’s resistance. Still, Rhyswald has a point – it would be so easy to give in, to stop here and let fate take its course.

The glove on Din’s left hand is growing heavy with blood. He glances down to examine the damage and his eyes land on the piece of silk Rhyswald tried to touch, the token you gave him, convinced he would be victorious. He promised you, did he not? He offered his services to bring you justice, to right that terrible wrong that had been done to you. He can’t give up, no matter how much he wants to. Not when you are up there in the berfrois, all your hopes resting on him. Your hands are doubtlessly clenched in your lap, your eyes are wide with terror. You are praying, he is sure of that – not to a merciful God, but to him, begging him to keep going.

“You’re tougher than I had thought, I’ll give you that.” Rhyswald’s voice sounds tinny from beneath his helmet, and it lures Din out of his thoughts and back onto the lists. “But you still have to resort to tricks to gain the upper hand.”

Din is barely listening to the words. His eyes are roaming Rhyswald’s armor, looking for a weak spot, a small opening he could attack. There is nothing, not even a loosening rerebrace. But the way Rhyswald is holding his sword, his grip lax … if Din could disarm him, this fight would be over.

With an outcry, hoarse and violent, he storms at Rhyswald who is too late to raise his sword to defend himself. It flies out of his grip and lands somewhere to his right, halfway sinking into the mud. There is some careful applause coming from the berfrois, one or two cheers, as people are trying to figure out what just happened. Din feels a smile forming on his lips, one that is cold and calculating, as he allows himself this small indulgence because no one can see it.

Rhyswald looks at his useless sword, lets the implication of it no longer being in his hand sink in. Then he huffs and rolls his shoulders. Din steels himself for another insult, hopes for a swift surrender, but stiffens when Rhyswald loosens his heavy morning star from his belt.

“We’re just getting started,” he sneers.

Din rolls his neck, his shoulders, then flings his sword from him. There is one faint shout of, “No!” somewhere in the distance, and all he can hope is that it did not come from you. “Forgive me,” he whispers, pulling his pernach out of the loop on his belt.

When Rhyswald charges, morning star swinging at his side, Din is ready for him.

The air around him warms as the lists vanish and are replaced by a ground of dust, dry air being swirling up in the hot summer sun. Din takes a step to the side and twists his upper body, avoiding his opponent who rushes past him with a curse. Din turns and kicks him in the backside so he lands on the dry ground, face first. The other men clap and cheer, and Din runs the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping away the sweat and dirt.

That is when he spots you rushing toward him, your hands balled into fists at your sides, your footfalls heavy with anger. Din hears the other knights snicker, one or two whistle, but he ignores them. His entire world has become you – there is no room for anything else.

“What happened?” he asks as soon as you are close enough to hear him.

You stop in front of him, your eyes shiny with unshed tears. “I don’t know who else to talk to,” is all you say.

Din softly closes his hand around your elbow. “Come,” he says, “let’s go.”

There are some lewd comments, some more whistles, but you don’t seem to hear them. You let yourself be guided into the shadow of one of the trees in the enormous courtyard, where the heat is a little less punishing, and prying ears have a hard time overhearing your conversation.

Din takes in your appearance, your fine dress, your long hair, braided intricately, and his face heats with the realization of how he must look next to you, dirty and sweaty and half undressed, with his tunic hanging open and its sleeves rolled up, curls rumpled, hands brown with dust. You don’t seem to mind though.

“Rhyswald was acquitted.” Your voice is strained with anger and hatred; Din barely recognizes it. “The king has acquitted him.”

Din wishes he could offer you words of comfort. Instead, all he manages is a suppressed, “What?”

It should not be like this, was not supposed to go like this. You were convinced the king’s verdict would bring you justice, and Din was convinced of the righteousness of your cause. After all, Rhyswald had stabbed Eldrin in the back, in front of witnesses. Maybe you had misheard the king, misunderstood his verdict.

You lower your eyes at Din, and for a moment he thinks you’re redirecting your anger at him. “He didn’t believe Raaf, said Raaf was too drunk to know what he saw.”

“But there were others,” Din presses, unable to make sense of it all, “other witnesses. People who say Rhyswald …” He finds himself unable to finish the sentence.

You begin to pace beneath the shadow of the tree, your face shiny with sweat. “None of them confirmed Raaf’s story. They said it was too dark, they can’t be sure of what they saw, Rhyswald wasn’t drunk, they want to believe his story. The king said it wasn’t enough.”

Din watches you pace, rooted to the spot by his uselessness. He hears the clanging of swords, the shouts and cheers – the other knights must have resumed their training, already tired of poking fun at him. He hears the song of a bird high up in the tree above you, and the high laughter of a little girl somewhere close by. They all go on with their lives as if the world had not just ended.

“There must be something we can do,” Din finally says. “Maybe the king will reconsider if …”

“If what, Din?” you snarl. He flinches. You notice, and your face falls. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help but there is nothing we can do to change his mind. There is only …”

“You can’t give up,” Din interrupts you. “There has to be a way. We will find one.”

Your face softens as you gift him a smile. “There is one way. The only way. But it’s hopeless.”

“Tell me,” Din demands, taking both your hands in his.

You lower your gaze to where your hands are joined. “Trial by combat,” you answer. “If God’s verdict were to be in favor of my brother …”

Din tightens his hold on you. “Why would that be hopeless? Aren’t you convinced of Rhyswald’s guilt?”

You wind your way out of Din’s grip. “It’s not that. I don’t have a champion.”

Din blinks, trying to sort through his thoughts. “I’m sure your fiancé …”

“Lord Marlow accepts the king’s verdict,” you cut him off. “There’s nothing I can do.”

Din pulls you close. “Yes. There is.”

The sharp pain in his right arm brings Din back to the present. It has to be broken, judging by the way it uselessly hangs at his side. When the morning star hit the rerebrace, Din could hear the sickening crack it made. Rhyswald could too, and it put a cruel smile on his face, one Din could see all too clearly now that Rhyswald lost his helmet somewhere in the mud. Din tries to flex his fingers, tries to bend his right arm at the elbow, but the responding pain makes his vision darken and stars dance in front of his eyes.

Opposite him, Rhyswald looks how Din feels. His bottom lip is split, his teeth are red with blood. He spits and a tooth lands at his feet. Din inhales sharply and tries to straighten his back, but Rhyswald chooses this moment to charge at him, the morning star long forgotten, lost somewhere on the battlefield. Din glances longingly at his pernach, now too heavy for him to wield with his broken arm, then widens his stance, bracing for the impact.

Rhyswald is aiming for his shoulder, but Din takes a calculated step back and Rhyswald misses. He stumbles but immediately regains his balance, his eyes wild with rage. Din can’t help but smile.

Rhyswald reaches for Din’s left arm, which is still bleeding, and Din hisses when his hand closes around it, hard. He struggles against the grip, but can’t use his right hand to push Rhyswald off, and when he yanks back his arm, he only pulls his opponent toward him. Rhyswald closes his other hand around Din’s throat, but Din twists back his head, then brings his helmet down hard against Rhyswald’s temple. That does the trick.

Rhyswald stumbles back and Din falls forward, grunting in pain. He can make out the tears and dents in Rhyswald’s armor where he was able to do some damage with his pernach, cut so deeply he drew blood, but it wasn’t enough. Rhyswald still stands, still fights. And Din knows he cannot take much more of this.

Rhyswald kicks, aiming for Din’s legs, and when Din tries to evade him, his leg gives way and he folds, falling to his knees in front of Rhyswald. Then his head starts ringing, and he realizes Rhyswald is pommeling the helmet with his bare hands, trying everything to make Din surrender. And Din wants to. By God, he wants to! He’s so exhausted he can’t even tell if this fight is real or if he blacked out minutes ago and this is all a fever-induced vision.

Rhyswald lands a kick against Din’s chest, and Din crashes to the ground. It has begun to snow, and as he is lying there, looking up into the sky, he can see the flakes dancing around him. When Rhyswald straddles him, sinking to his knees on either side of Din’s torso, he can’t find the fight in him to oppose him. Instead, he lets Rhyswald punch him, his chest, his chin; his head rings every time Rhyswald’s fist connects with his helmet, but there is no point in fighting back when it’s so easy to lie here and watch the snow come down gently.

Rhyswald curses, trying to pull Din’s helmet off his head. But his gloves are slick with blood and mud, and he cannot find purchase against the smooth iron. Din shakes his hands off with a grunt and his head comes to rest on its side where he has a clear view of the berfrois. A clear view of you.

You are halfway out of your chair, your eyes wide with shock. His chest constricts, the pain unbearable, so much more violent than anything Rhyswald did to him today. If he doesn’t fight back, this will be the last thing he sees, his last conscious thought will be that he disappointed you. And maybe that’s what he deserves. He killed so many people, ruined so many lives – this is his punishment for all the hurt he brought into this world. What’s one more broken person? What’s one more ruined life? Of course, the only thing he can give you as his present on your wedding day is for you to watch him get butchered. He lived his life dishonorably, of course it has to end the same way.

Drained, he closes his eyes, waiting for the end to come.

When he opens them again, it’s you he sees. Your eyes are bright, and you try to hide a grin behind the back of your hand, but he gently takes your wrist and pulls it away from your face. He can’t remember the last time he saw you smile like this, and he wants to savor every second of it.

You kiss him again, and it’s as if he was forgotten how to breathe. All he feels is the gentle press of your lips against his, the way you’re still so unsure but so, so eager to have him like this. It makes his heart bloom like a meadow in springtime. He can’t help himself – he has to cup your cheek. You shudder against him in response.

“Let us stay here forever.” The words are out before he can stop them.

You glance up into his eyes, your face so unguarded it makes him want to fight for your affection. Makes him want to die for it too. “I wish we could.” You push him back against the hard stone wall of the alcove you’re hiding in. “Let’s not talk about it.”

The next time you kiss him, he can taste your grief on your lips. “There’s –,” he starts, but you shake your head.

“No.” You touch your finger to his lips, and he freezes, blood rushing downwards, tight between his legs. “Din … I’m so sorry.”

There is nothing for you to be sorry for, no choice he regrets making where you are concerned, but hearing you say those words makes a lump form in his throat. “Don’t.” He kisses you to hide the ache that has to be written all over his face. “It’s what you have to do. You have your duties, as I have mine.”

You lace your fingers with his, squeezing them hard. He presses his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling.

“I’ll always be yours, Din. Always.”

Din reaches for his dagger strapped to his thigh, gritting his teeth against the pain. Rhyswald’s triumphant grin is wiped off his face when Din knees him in the crotch before stabbing him between his ribs where his armor has shifted. Rhyswald lets out a pained grunt, his eyes falling shut, as he tries to grab Din’s wrist to pull the dagger back out. Din does it for him, relishing the wet sound it makes against Rhyswald’s flesh. Then he pushes Rhyswald off him and rolls onto his side, arm braced against the other man’s chest, pushing himself onto his knees. The pain that is everywhere in his body now is almost unbearable, makes him want to vomit and pass out, but the sight of Rhyswald’s eyes, widened in terror, keeps him going.

Din closes his left hand around Rhyswald’s throat and Rhyswald starts kicking his legs in panic, clawing at Din’s fingers and arm. But Din doesn’t let go, only pushes him deeper into the mud. This isn’t the first time he is taking a life, and he knows it won’t be the last, but he will never again enjoy killing someone this much. He tightens his hold on Rhyswald’s throat, watches as his eyes begin to bulge, and he feels a strange calm come over him. It’s easy to grab the dagger, even with his broken arm, so easy to press the blade against the skin of Rhyswald’s throat, and even easier still to cut, one smooth motion, followed by blood, so much blood. It seeps into Din’s gloves, hot in the freezing winter air, drenches his hands so all the world can see he has taken another life.

Din doesn’t let go until Rhyswald’s eyes cloud over and he stops twitching. He pushes himself away from the dead body, a pained growl passing his lips. He isn’t shaking – that will come later – but he isn’t feeling the satisfaction he thought he would feel. He raises his eyes and glances up at the berfrois, up to where you are sitting. It’s not as if he had expected you to jump out of your chair and cheer for him, but he had hoped for some acknowledgement of a job well done. Instead, he finds you staring at him, eyes wide with terror, and he looks down at his soiled gloves and the man next to him, his throat cut open like a red, angry maw.

You would look at Din like that. Not with relief or adoration, but with terror. After all, now that you have seen his uglier side, you recognized the kind of monster he truly is. And who could love a monster, even if that monster killed for you?

Din kneels in the cold mud, eyes fixed on his hands, his terrible hands that have done so much bad in this world. He should have surrendered, should have let Rhyswald kill him. But there are men carrying his corpse away, and Din has to go on living, knowing the only person he truly loves despises him. He wishes there were cheers or curses, people talking, getting ready to leave, discussing the duel, anything, but it’s so quiet and he is alone with his thoughts that are so loud. He’s even alone on the lists now, Rhyswald’s corpse having been carried off, and still, he can’t bring himself to get up and leave. He can’t even raise his head because looking at you again would kill him.

His world turns pale blue as you come to stand in front of him. You kneel, not caring about spoiling your wedding dress – you’re kneeling in the dirt and blood, and you say, “Can you just look at me? Please?” but Din can’t. He doesn’t want to face your hatred, even if that makes him a coward.

Your voice is so soft as you repeat that, “Please,” and it does something to him, reminds him that he can never refuse you. His broken arm twitches painfully as his heart picks up speed, and then he looks up.

You have a soft smile on your face, one he had thought he’d never see again. You raise your hands, lifting the helmet off his head, and then you press your forehead to his, just like he did with you before you told him you’ll always be his.

“I love you,” you whisper into the cold winter morning.

That’s all he needs from you.

If you enjoyed the fic, I’d love to hear from you 🥰 feel free to leave a comment or drop into my inbox anytime …

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[quarterlifekitty]

Imagine an AU for cod— inspired Haunting Ground, but with a few twists.

Like a princess, you were born in a castle— one with many secrets. You didn’t know it then, but your father was a homunculus— the first to successfully be made with the alchemical essence of life, azoth. This gift was passed down to you, born when he fell in love with a human woman. When you were young, your father and mother fled the castle with you, and from then on you lived the normal life they’d wished for, losing almost all memory of the castle as time went on. Eventually, you regard it as a dream. Until the day of the accident, you and your parents in the car. You wake up in that same castle, with no escape in sight.

Phillip Graves fills Ricardo’s role. He’s the one that kidnapped you from the scene of the accident. He grew up with you for the short time you lived in the castle, feeling robbed when your parents took you away. In his mind, you were always promised to him. He’s a homunculus without azoth of his own, a failure. But now that he has you again, to keep at his side and breed, he can use your azoth to ensure his line continues.

König takes the role of Debilitas. A homunculus made with both human and a bit of wolf dog— he’s never been quite right in the head, but has more than enough mass and muscle to make up for it. He has precious little in this life, as a lifelong servant to the castle, but he does have a small cloth doll he carries with him everywhere. One you happen to resemble. He pursues you relentlessly— wanting to take you in his arms, precisely where his doll should be.

Ghost is in the role of Daniela. He knows not what he is, only that he is incomplete. He is not a full man, he cannot feel things the way a man should. He views you with a spiteful jealousy— you are a complete, beautiful being. You got to live outside, when he has spent his life in service of this castle, never knowing love or companionship. He sees how full of life you are— the glow of your skin and the shine of your hair and the joy in your rare smiles. He wants that to himself. If he is not complete then perhaps owning, mating with a complete being will make him so.

Soap is your Hewie. A man captured, like you, but for the purpose of alchemical testing. (He’s got some dog in him now because it’s my AU and I get to be insane). You see him locked up when you awake, and come across him later in the courtyard, his leg snared in a bear trap— his pain and weakness from being kept prisoner make him unable to free himself. You help him, and he becomes your loyal companion, shoving himself between you and any danger, defending you with his new teeth— those of a predator. The dog in him is in love with your scent, and easily bonded to you from your compassion. You’re his mate now— and he’s going to keep you safe at all costs.

Which leaves Price as Lorenzo. Watching you go through the castle, helping you and giving you warnings, ensuring your survival. He is another iteration of the alchemist who built this place, keeping himself alive and reborn through alchemy over centuries. He seeks eternal life and the endless pursuit of knowledge. He sees your intelligence and quick wit through how you solve the puzzles, navigate the labyrinthine castle, and evade capture again and again.

He was there when you were young, and even then he knew you were special. Now you’ve blossomed into something perfect and beautiful. You’re not meant to live outside of these walls, among the ordinary. He wants you here, with him, nestled into his side and apprentice in his research. He’ll even let you keep Soap, since you’ve grown so fond of him. Being born into this castle made you a part of this family, and he’ll be damned before he’ll see you separated from him again.