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d1stalker · 5 months ago

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The Feeling's Mutual | Part Two

Summary: Working with Logan means you have to accept constantly getting the short end of the stick; it means discovering things about yourself you didn't ever expect. Still, despite dealing with all of this, you two make a pretty good team.

PART ONE PART THREE

Warnings: bickering, graphic descriptions, canon-level violence, revelations WC: 8.2k - MASTERLIST

----

"Alright, you’ve slept long enough."

You're jolted awake by a rough tug on the covers, the sudden chill of the morning air hitting you like a slap in the face. Your eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and you squint up at the figure looming over you.

Logan, with his perpetually grumpy expression, stands there with an annoyed look, as if your very act of sleeping is a personal offense.

You groan and sit up, the duvet still tangled around your legs, as you blearily glance at the small bedside clock on the rickety nightstand. The red numbers blink back at you: 7:00 AM. “Seriously?” you mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with one hand, your other still clutching the edge of the bed. “It’s way too early for this. Can’t I get a few more minutes?”

His eyes narrow, not even a flicker of sympathy crossing his face. He rolls his eyes as if to say, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ and crosses his arms over his chest. "You look fine to me," he says flatly, his voice dripping with impatience.

Throwing the covers back with more force than necessary, you let out an exaggerated sigh. The cold floor sends a shiver up your spine as your bare feet make contact with it. "What’s the rush?" you ask, your tone sharp with irritation as you glare up at him. "You’re acting like we’ve got a deadline."

Logan’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a telltale glint in his eye that betrays him. It’s subtle, but you catch it—a fleeting spark of amusement that makes you think he’s secretly enjoying riling you up. Suddenly he turns and heads toward the makeshift kitchen in the corner of the warehouse and pulls a piece of bread out of an ancient toaster, the appliance looking like it’s barely functioning.

Without warning, Logan flicks his wrist, and the piece of bread comes flying at you. The movement is so fast and precise that you barely have time to react. It’s only thanks to your heighten reflexes that your hand shoots out to catch the bread mid-air. You stare at it, bewildered, the heat from the toast seeping into your palm.

"What’s this for?" you ask, still confused and a little off-kilter from the morning's whirlwind of events.

He raises an eyebrow. "Fuck does it look like? Eat up."

You roll your eyes, but there’s a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth as you take a bite of the slightly burnt toast. “You know," you mumble between bites, "you could’ve just handed it to me like a normal person."

"Where’s the fun in that?" he shoots back, a rare, almost genuine grin tugging at his lips as he watches you chew. There’s a moment of silence as you both settle into the morning routine, the tension easing just a bit.

As you finish the toast, you can’t help but glance up at Logan, who’s now leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with that same unreadable expression.

"You wanna know why I really woke you up so early?" he asks, his voice low and direct.

"Why? Because you’re secretly a morning person who loves watching the sunrise?"

Logan snorts, clearly unimpressed with your sarcasm. "No, because your fighting form is shit"

You gape, caught off guard by the bluntness of his statement. "Excuse me?"

He doesn’t let up, leaning in a bit closer. "Yeah, you heard me. When we were fightin’, you were all over the place. If you’re gonna be any use out there today, you’ll need some pointers. So for a bit this morning, we’re gonna train."

"You woke me up early... to tell me I suck at combat?" You stare at him, processing his words. The audacity makes you want to laugh.

"You don’t suck,” he begins. “You just need to get better. And since I’m the one stuck with you on this mission, it’s my job to make sure you don’t get yourself killed."

You let out a sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. "Great. Just what I needed first thing in the morning”

“Think of it as a warm up.”

He doesn’t wait for your agreement. Instead, he just jerks his head toward the exit and turns on his heel, clearly expecting you to follow. With a resigned sigh, you grab your boots and tug them on as you hurry to catch up with him. He leads you to a cracked patch of concrete behind the building, a makeshift training ground that looks as rough as you feel.

“Okay, let’s see what you’ve got. Don’t hold back.”

“Fine,” you say, squaring up.

In a flash, he lunges at you. Luckily, you dodge the first blow by sheer instinct, a sharp jab aimed at your ribs. The intensity sends a shockwave through your body, even though you managed to twist away just in time. It’s 7:00AM!!

Logan doesn't give you a moment to catch your breath. He’s on you again, faster this time, his movements a blur as he swings a fist toward your head. You duck just in time, feeling the rush of air as his punch grazes past your temple. Jumping to the side, you try to put some distance between you and his relentless assault

"Faster!" he snaps, his voice cutting through the morning air like a whip. "You're movin’ like a damn slug. If this were a real fight, you'd be dead ten times over by now."

His words are irritating, but they only fuel your determination. Summoning the latent power within you, you leap back, opening a gap. You can feel it there, just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. He pounces again, and this time, you’re prepared. Channeling you super speed, you begin to dart around him, moving so fast he can’t keep up. In one swift motion, you lift your leg and land a swift kick to his side.

Logan grunts, but still he barely flinches, spinning around to face you. His eyes narrow in assessment. "Not bad," he grunts, "but not good enough."

His claws extend with a shink before you can even respond, and he swings at you, slicing right up in your face. You try to dodge, but the tips catch your cheek and create a deep gash.

"Are you trying to kill me?" you shout, frustration bubbling to the surface as you counter with a punch of your own, your strength amplifying the blow.

Logan blocks it with his forearm, the impact reverberating through both of you. You’re pretty sure you heard a few bones crack. He snarls, his eyes flashing with challenge and something else—maybe pride. If you want to be optimistic.

"I’m trying to make sure you don’t get yourself killed," he retorts, pushing you back with a forceful shove.

Your anger blazes at his words, and without thinking, your powers flare up again. This time, your hands crackle with energy, a faint orange glow sparking to life at your fingertips. You lash out at him with a rapid series of punches, each one laced with your mutant energy. He dodges most of them, but a few land, sending sparks flying where they connect with his body.

"That’s more like it" he says. He advances, switching to the offensive, forcing you to backpedal. "But you’re still letting your emotions get the better of you."

"Maybe because you’re pissing me off, asshole!" you snap, your frustration boiling over as you land another punch, this time aiming for his chest. The impact sends him stumbling back a good five metres, but he recovers quickly, his expression a mix of annoyance and amusement.

"Good," he says, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the pain. "Just don’t let it control you.""

His words barely register as your anger continues to rise, fueled by his constant ‘pointers’. You keep pushing, your attacks becoming more aggressive, more reckless. Logan meets each one with an attack of his own, his claws flashing as they slice through the air, blocking your every move. The tension between you is electric, the air thick with the energy of your growing powers and the heat of your rising emotions. You go at him again, harder this time, and that’s when it happens.

Something straight out of a nightmare. You feel a sudden surge of energy—hot and thick, like molten lava—coursing through your veins. It’s overwhelming, and before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, your hands begin to glow brighter, the orange light intensifying until it’s almost blinding.

“Whoa—what the—?” you murmur, staring at your fists in shock as they burn with an intense, fiery orange, like heated iron.

Logan should be scared. You clearly have no idea what this is or what you could do with it. Yet, he doesn’t back down; instead, he presses onward. “Stay focused!”

But the energy in your hands is overwhelming, a burning heat that demands release. You feel it building, pushing you to the edge of what you can handle, and by impulse, you swing at him, aiming for his midsection with all your might.

The moment your fist connects with his stomach, the world seems to slow down. The sensation is surreal—you can feel your hand sink into his flesh, the resistance giving way as if his body were made of butter. Heat radiates from your fist, searing through his skin and muscle with an intensity that you’ve never felt before. To your absolute horror, your glowing hand doesn’t stop; it punches right through him, emerging out the other side.

For a second, everything is silent. The world holds its breath as the shock of what you’ve just done paralyzes you. Your breath catches in your throat, a suffocating lump of panic rising as you stare in disbelief at the sight before you. The feeling of your hand inside him, of flesh parting and melting, is too much, too wrong.

Then, the silence shatters as you scream, the sound raw and filled with terror. You jerk your hand back, nearly stumbling as you pull away, eyes wide. Logan stumbles too, his usually steady form momentarily thrown off balance. His shirt smokes from the burn, a charred hole marking where your hand had been. The smell of burnt fabric and flesh hits you, making your stomach twist in nauseous fear.

“Oh my God, Logan!” you cry out, “I—I didn’t mean to—”

But to your surprise, he doesn’t collapse. Instead, he looks down at the gaping hole in his stomach, then back at you, his expression more impressed than anything.

“Knifey,” he grunts, sounding almost amused despite the situation, “that was one hell of a punch.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, as the glow fades from your hands. “Are you—are you okay? I just burned a hole through you!”

He chuckles, though the sound is definitely a bit strained. “A little hot under the collar, maybe, but I’ve had worse.” He winces slightly as his skin begins to knit back together, healing rapidly thanks to his mutant ability. “Don’t worry, this’ll close up in no time. You’ve got nothin’ to apologize for.”

“But I… I could have killed you.”

“Nah,” Logan says, waving off your concern. “You’re not the first person to try and fail. Besides, I’m more impressed that you’ve got that in you.” He glances at his now-healed stomach, then back at you with a smirk. “Just maybe aim a little better next time, yeah?”

----

You’re fucking exhausted. He really put you through the ringer—pushing you further than you’ve ever been pushed before. Your muscles ache, your skin is slick with sweat, and your breath comes in ragged gasps. Logan, on the other hand, seems barely winded, though even he has a sheen of sweat on his brow, and a gaping hole in his shirt.

Your hands are on your knees as you bend over and try to slow your breathing. “You… really don’t… know when to quit, do you?” you manage to gasp out between breaths.

“Well, you’re not gonna drop dead on me, are you?” He shoots back, not caring at all about your current state.

Shaking your head, too tired to come up with a snarky retort, you barely respond. “Not yet,” you mutter, trying to rub some life back into your aching limbs.

“Good. Now come on,” Logan says, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “We’ve got a job to do.”

He steps away, heading back toward the warehouse, and you force yourself to follow, your legs heavy and protesting with every step. He moves with purpose, heading straight to a small table tucked in one corner, where a map lies spread out, weighed down by a few random items—a knife here, an old mug there. Not wasting any time, he leans over the map and traces a finger across several locations marked in red.

“Look,” he says, not bothering to wait for you to catch up. You step closer, peering over his shoulder at the map.

“We’re here,” he begins, pointing to a spot on the map that corresponds with your current location. “Your last few mutant encounters were in these areas.” He taps on the cluster of red dots. “We’re gonna hit these spots, see if we can find any leads on where they’re comin’ from.”

“Okay…” You follow.

He stares at the pages for a brief moment longer, before looking up at you with a small smirk, like he know’s hes next words are going to piss you off.

"Change of plans by the way. I’ll go on the roof, and you’ll stay on the ground. That way, the mutants will be able to find you."

You blink at him, your expression shifting from frustration to disbelief. "Pause. You’re using me as bait?"

"Yeah. Works better if they’re lured in by something they’re actually interested in." His smirk widens into a full-blown grin, the kind that shows he’s fully aware of how ridiculous it sounds but doesn’t care.

"Oh, great. So I’m just a distraction for you now? What happened to teamwork?"

Logan just shrugs nonchalantly in response, as if this is the most logical plan in the world, . "We’re still teamin’ up," he replies, his tone infuriatingly casual. "Just taking a different approach. Besides, you’ve shown that you can handle them," he adds, mocking your voice in a poorly done imitation, “26 kills, remember?’"

You narrow your eyes at him, now fully facing him and glaring daggers in his direction. "Handle them?" you echo, "What if I don’t want to be used as bait for some dangerous plan? I thought we were supposed to be on the same side here."

"It’s not like I’m asking you to walk into a death trap, bub. It’s just a way to flush them out. I’ll be right above, ready to help if things get too hairy."

"Yeah, that’s real reassuring," you snap back, "what’s next? Are you going to throw me into a pit of mutants and hope I manage to climb out?"

"I wish," he retorts, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you just keep your mouth shut. The idea of being dangled out like a worm on a hook doesn't sit well with you, but arguing with Logan has proven to be as effective as punching a brick wall. Your muscles are screaming for rest, and your mind is a whirlpool of fatigue and annoyance.

"God damnit. Fine," you concede reluctantly, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to shake off the lingering soreness. "But if this goes south, it’s on you, jackass."

“Fair enough,” he says, grabbing a worn leather jacket from the back of a nearby chair and slipping it on. The jacket strains slightly across his muscular frame, the creases and scuffs telling tales of countless past encounters.

He then shuffles toward a cluttered metal locker against the wall, pulling it open with a screech of old hinges. Inside hangs an assortment of gear: knives of various sizes, a couple of handguns, and a coiled rope. Is this even legal? You think. He grabs a sleek, compact earpiece from a small shelf and tosses it in your direction.

"Keep that on," he instructs. "We'll need to stay in contact. If you spot anything—or if anything spots you—you let me know immediately."

You examine the earpiece for a moment before fitting it snugly into your ear. A short burst of static confirms it's operational. "Got it," you reply, adjusting it until it sits comfortably.

Logan equips his own earpiece before reaching back into the locker and arming himself with a couple of vicious-looking weapons, tucking them into concealed sheaths along his belt and boots. The familiar routine seems to settle him, his movements efficient and practiced.

He catches you watching him as he methodically puts on his gear, and instead of asking if you’re armed, he pauses and reaches into the locker. With a swift swoosh he pulls out a sharp, gleaming blade.

The blade is perfectly balanced, and when he passes it to you, it fits comfortably in your hand. As you inspect it, you notice the craftsmanship—sturdy, reliable, and razor-sharp. Definitely an upgrade from your usual gear.

Guaging your reaction, his eyebrows raise in amusement. "Better than your last weapon, ya think Knifey?" he says.

You glance up at him, unable to suppress a small smile as you give the blade an experimental twirl. Giving a brief nod, you tuck the blade securely into a sheath at your side, feeling a bit more confident. He nods back in acknowledgement, and then he checks his watch. The morning is slipping away, and the streets outside will soon be bustling with people going about their day—a perfect cover for the dangers you're hunting. Folding up the map, he stuffs it into his back pocket before striding toward the exit.

----

Once you’ve entered a busier part of the city, he pauses, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding buildings with a practiced eye. He turns to you, his expression all business. "We'll start over on Fifth Avenue," he says, nodding toward a maze of streets that stretch out ahead. "That's where the last sighting was reported."

You shield your eyes against the glare, following his line of sight. The streets look deceptively calm, but you know better than to be lulled into a false sense of security.

"Stay alert," he commands. "Don't make yourself too obvious, but don't be too subtle either. We want to draw them out, but not scare them off."

You scoff lightly, adjusting your jacket and running a quick hand over your gear to ensure everything's in place. "So act like a clueless pedestrian but also like a tempting target. Got it."

He gives you a pointed look. "Just be yourself," he quips, before he turns away and starts toward the side of the building. Rude, you think.

You watch as he approaches the fire escape, his movements fluid and sure. After a quick glance around to ensure no one's watching, he leaps up, grabbing the bottom rung and hauling himself up with ease. Within moments, he's scaled the side of the building, disappearing onto the rooftop above.

His voice crackles to life in your ear. "You ready down there?"

Taking a deep breath, you step out onto the sidewalk, blending seamlessly into the flow of pedestrians beginning their day. "As I'll ever be," you reply, starting to walk at a casual pace down the street.

The city unfolds around you, a tapestry of sights and sounds that are at once familiar and disconcerting under the circumstances. You weave through clusters of people, your senses heightened as you scan your surroundings discreetly, looking for any sign of unusual activity. Above, you catch fleeting glimpses of Logan moving along the rooftops, his silhouette a shadow among shadows as he keeps pace with you. Minutes tick by as you make your way toward the target street, each step measured, each glance calculated. The morning bustle grows thicker, and the air fills with the scents of street food vendors setting up shop and the distant rumble of construction work.

"Anything?" His voice buzzes softly in your ear.

You shake your head slightly, replying under your breath to avoid drawing attention. "Nothing yet. Just the usual morning rush."

"Keep moving. They could be anywhere."

You continue on, turning onto Fifth Avenue, and as you pass by a narrow alleyway, a prickle of unease runs down your spine. You pause briefly, casting a casual glance down the shadowed corridor. It's empty, littered with discarded boxes and a stray shopping cart, but something about it feels off.

"Logan, you see anything unusual around here?" you murmur, pretending to adjust your earpiece like they’re earbuds.

There's a fleeting silence before he responds. "Hold on." You look up subtly, catching sight of him perched on the edge of a building, his eyes scanning the area with predator-like focus.

After a moment, his voice comes through again, lower and edged with caution. "There's a van parked two blocks down that doesn't seem to fit. Tinted windows, no plates."

You resume walking, heading in that direction while trying keeping your demeanor relaxed. "Could just be someone avoiding parking tickets," you suggest, though your instincts tell you otherwise.

"Shut up," Logan replies with zero hesitation, calling your bluff. "Stay sharp."

Approaching the intersection, you spot the van he's referring to. It's an unmarked, nondescript vehicle that seems deliberately inconspicuous—a little too inconspicuous for this part of town. Slowing down your pace slightly, you pretend to window-shop as you try to take in more details. The engine is off, but you can make out faint movement behind the tinted glass. "Definitely something going on there," you whisper, angling your body to keep the van in your peripheral vision. "Think it’s our guys?"

"Could be," Logan responds tersely. "Keep walking. Let's see if they follow."

Doing as instructed, you walk past the van and cross the street, risking another glance back. The van's engine has started, its headlights flicking on as it pulls out into traffic, maintaining a slow but steady distance behind you.

"Yup, they're following me," you report.

"Good. Lead them toward the park ahead. Fewer civilians there."

You spot the small urban park a few blocks down—a patch of green amid the concrete jungle, dotted with benches and sparse morning joggers. "On it," you confirm, quickening your pace just enough to be noticeable without raising suspicion.

The crowds thin out as you near the park entrance. Behind you, the van slows to a stop along the curb, and you can feel eyes boring into your back. "Logan, they're stopping," you inform him, subtly scanning your surroundings for any immediate threats.

"I see them," he says. "Three guys getting out. Can't get a clear look from here. Keep moving forward. I'll get into position."

You carry on down the path, resisting the urge to look back. Your senses are on high alert now, adrenaline surging through your veins and washing away the remnants of your earlier exhaustion. Footsteps echo behind you—heavy, purposeful strides that are too close and too focused to belong to casual park-goers, and you catch a glimpse of their reflections in a nearby puddle: three men dressed in dark clothing, their faces obscured by caps and sunglasses.

"Closer than I'd like," you mutter under your breath.

"Just a little further," Logan assures you. "There's a clearing up ahead. Better visibility."

A grassy open space surrounded by trees, currently deserted, comes into view just as he footsteps behind you quicken, closing the distance rapidly. You stop in the center, turning slowly to face them, and although you’re positively shitting bricks, you try to stay composed.

The three men fan out in a semi-circle around you, their postures aggressive and eyes cold. "Well, well, what do we have here?" the one you think is the leader sneers, his voice oily and mocking. "Out for a morning stroll all alone?"

You force a casual shrug. "Just enjoying the fresh air. Is that a crime now?"

He chuckles darkly, taking a step closer. "Depends on who's asking. You look a little lost. Maybe we can help you find your way."

Your hand inches toward your concealed blade, fingers itching for reassurance. "Appreciate the offer, but I'm good," you reply evenly, eyes darting between the three men as you gauge their intentions.

"Don't think you understand," another one pipes up, his voice harsher, more eager. "We insist."

Before you can respond, the leader's eyes flash with a sudden, green glow, and you feel a sharp, invisible force slam into your chest, knocking you back a few steps. You grit your teeth against the pain, steadying yourself quickly.

"I think now would be a great time to do something," you murmur urgently into the earpiece, your fingers closing around the grip of your weapon.

"On my way," Logan’s voice comes through, and you can hear his breathing as he jumps through buildings.

The men advance, confidence oozing from their stances as they prepare to strike again. You draw your weapon in defence, not waiting for them to make another move. "Back off," you warn.

He laughs, a grating sound that echoes through the clearing. "Or what? You gonna stab me? Go ahead, try."

Challenge accepted. You aim the blade, and hurl it towards him. The target is on point, but inches before impact, it stops mid-air, falling harmlessly to the ground as the leader smirks, his powers deflecting the attack effortlessly.

"You're gonna have to do better than that," he taunts, his hands glowing with a sinister energy as he prepares to strike again.

Then, a feral roar cuts through the air, and Logan drops from the trees above like a force of nature, landing directly on top of one of the men and driving him into the ground with bone-crushing force. Claws out and eyes blazing, he wastes no time, slashing at the second man who barely manages to leap back in time, a gash opening up across his chest.

The leader's smug expression falters as he takes in the sudden turn of events. "Who the hell is this?" he snarls, recoiling slightly as Logan stands between you and the attackers, his presence an unyielding wall of defense.

"You don’t want to find out" he growls, his voice menacing.

The other two mutants, momentarily stunned by the Wolverine’s sudden appearance, quickly regain their composure. The first one charges, his hands crackling with energy. But Logan is faster—much faster. He sidesteps the attack with grace, then drives his claws into the mutant's side, a deep, brutal strike that leaves the man gasping and crumpling to the ground.

The second mutant, seeing his comrade fall, hesitates for a split second before launching himself at you, clearly deciding that you're the easier target. Except you’re not. As he closes in, you speedily side step around him, a blur of motion as you reach for the blade on the ground.

Once it’s in your grasp, you pivot around, and slash upward, slicing through his clothing, biting into his flesh. He lets out a strangled cry, stumbling back as blood blooms across his shirt.

"Think again," you snap, your voice cold and sharp, fueled by the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You press the attack, your blade a barely visible with the speed at which you wield it as you force him back, not giving him a chance to recover. The leader, seeing his subordinates falling one by one, finally shakes off his shock and focuses his eyes at you. With a snarl, he raises his hands, the air around them shimmering. He thrusts his hands forward, sending a pulse of raw power hurtling toward you.

Feeling your power surge through your veins, heating your blood, your hands begin to glow with that familiar fiery light, the same power that burnt a hole right through Logan earlier that day. You meet the leader’s attack head-on, your fist colliding with the ball of energy. The force of the impact sends shockwaves through the air, and makes you grimace, but you hold your ground, refusing to be pushed back.

The mutant’s eyes widen in disbelief as he watches you deflect his attack. His confidence wavers, replaced by a creeping fear. "This wasn’t part of the plan," he mutters, staggering back as he desperately tries to summon more power.

"Don’t care," you retort, slowly stalking closer and closer. He tries to make a run for it, but you catch up to him easily, grabbing his arm, causing him to scream in agony as the heat sears through his flesh.

Logan, upon discarding his now lifeless victim, approaches the leader in an instant. He grabs the man by the collar, lifting him off the ground effortlessly with one hand. The mutant struggles weakly, his energy spent, his body trembling from the burns and the wounds inflicted by your hands.

"You picked the wrong target," Wolverine growls, his voice a lethal whisper. He tightens his grip, his claws hovering dangerously close to the leader’s throat. "Who sent you?"

The leader gasps for air, his eyes wild with panic as he looks between you and Logan. "We were… sent to attack… ," he stammers. "Mind control… we were forced to…"

Your heart skips a beat as his words sink in. It’s confirmed: mind control. These mutants weren’t acting on their own—they were being manipulated, turned into weapons against you. "Who’s controlling you?" you demand, stepping closer, your hand still glowing with residual energy.

His lips part, as if he’s about to speak, but then his entire body seizes up. His eyes widen in terror, and you think he might be having a seizure. He tries to speak–to move his mouth, but no sound comes out, his expression contorting as he struggles against some invisible force.

"Oh God, something’s wrong," you say, glancing at him with concern.

Logan lowers him to the ground, and crouches beside him, gripping his shoulder firmly. "What the hell is going on?" he growls, but the mutant can only gasp, his eyes rolling back as if in agony.

You can see the panic in the man’s eyes as he fights against whatever is controlling him. It’s clear that he wants to tell you something, but he’s physically unable to do so. The mind control is stopping him, choking off his words before he can get them out.

Desperation drives you to act. You drop to your knees beside the mutant, gripping his other shoulder. "You need to tell us where they are," you insist, your voice urgent. "Give us a clue—anything."

His body shakes, his teeth grinding together as he forces out a single, strained word. "T… tunnel…" he gasps, his face turning a ghastly shade of white. "Underground…"

But before he can finish, his body convulses violently, as if an electric shock is coursing through him. His mouth opens in a silent scream, his eyes wide with terror. Blood begins to trickle from his nose, his body seizing uncontrollably. You and Logan can only watch in horror as the man's life is snuffed out right before your eyes. His head snaps back, and just like that, his body goes limp, collapsing to the ground with a final, sickening thud.

Logan bends down to check his pulse, but you already know the answer by the grim expression that settles over his face. "He's dead," he says flatly, wiping his hands on his pants as he stands back up.

You stare down at the lifeless body, your heart pounding in your chest. "Damn it," you mutter under your breath. Whoever was controlling him clearly didn’t want him to reveal anything more. "They got to him."

Logan clenches his fists, his jaw tightening in frustration. "Looks like they’ve got failsafes in place. This wasn’t just a fluke."

"So now not only are we dealing with a puppet master, we’re dealing with a psycho fries people’s brains if they talk. Fantastic."

He shoots you a look. "You done complaining? Because we’ve still got shit to do."

"Complaining? I’m just pointing out that our situation sucks, Logan." You glare back at him.

He shrugs, clearly unbothered. "Yeah, well, whining about it won’t get us anywhere. We need to find another way to track down whoever’s behind this."

You’re about to snap back when your eyes catch on the van still idling at the edge of the park. "The van," you say, your tone shifting from irritation to sudden realization. "Think we can track it back to whoever sent them?"

Following your gaze, his expression softens slightly as he considers the idea. "Maybe. If we’re lucky, they didn’t wipe the GPS data. Could give us a clue where these bastards came from."

You let out a huff, trying to ignore the slight sense of relief that Logan actually liked your idea. "Well, let’s hope they’re not as smart as they think they are."

You reach the van and climb inside, the smell of sweat and metal thick in the air. The dashboard is cluttered with tech—nothing too advanced, but enough to suggest this van has been modified for more than just transport. A laptop is mounted to the dash, screens dim but flickering to life as you settle into the passenger seat.

He slides into the driver’s seat, turning the key and bringing the engine to life. "Let’s get this thing back to the warehouse," he says, "We’ll see what we can pull from the system. Might give us something solid to go on."

Not waiting for anything else, he just shifts into gear and pulls away from the curb, keeping his eyes on the road as he maneuvers through the narrow streets.

----

Back at his place, Logan grabs the laptop and other tech from the van, motioning for you to follow him as he heads to a makeshift workstation near the back of the warehouse. The setup is basic but functional—tools, weapons, and old electronics.

Following him, you can still feel the adrenaline from earlier buzzing through your system. He sets the laptop down, and powers it up. The screen flickers to life, and he starts navigating through the van’s GPS system. "You think they’ll be expecting us to track them?" you ask, leaning against the edge of the workbench.

All you get in response is a grunt, his eyes never leaving the screen. "They’re not idiots. They’ve probably figured out we’d try to follow the trail. That’s why we’ve gotta be smart about this."

The screen fills with maps, coordinates, and location markers. Logan hones in on one spot just outside the city—a cluster of old industrial buildings with access to underground tunnels. He taps the screen, highlighting the location. "This is where the van’s been going. It’s our best lead."

You study the location, a sense of unease creeping in. "So, what’s the plan? We just storm in?"

He shakes his head, leaning back slightly as he thinks it through. "No. If we go in too soon, they’ll be ready for us. We need to play this smart—wait a couple of days, let them think we’re not doin’ shit.”

Recognizing the wisdom in his approach, you nod. "Alright, but what do we do in the meantime? Just sit around and twiddle our thumbs?"

"We keep an eye on the place, see if there’s any movement. We prep, we rest, and when the time comes, we hit them with everything we’ve got. We’ll be bunking here for a few days.”

You look around the warehouse. In a day, this place has gone from some ugly dump to your new safe haven. Great.

Logan moves to secure the van, checking the locks and making sure everything’s in place. As he does, he glances over at you, almost as if he can hear your thoughts. "You’re lucky you’ve got a bed—my bed," he emphasizes.

You shoot him a teasing look. "Hey, you offered. I would’ve taken the couch… but don’t offer that now because I’ve decided I like the bed."

With the van in place, the clawed mutant moves toward the small kitchen area tucked away in a corner of the warehouse. You watch him curiously, wondering what he’s up to. He pulls out a few ingredients from the pantry, setting them on the counter with practiced ease.

"Figured you might be hungry," he grunts, opening a few cabinets and pulling out some pots and pans.

"You cook?"

He tips his head back just enough to catch your eye. "Yeah, I cook. What, you think I survive on just beer and grumpy stares?"

"Wouldn’t be too far off," you snicker, leaning against the counter as he starts chopping vegetables..

"Sit down. This’ll be done in a bit," he says, focusing on his task.

You do as he says, settling onto a nearby stool and watching as Logan moves around the kitchen with surprising skill. He’s making pasta—something simple but hearty. The smell of garlic and onions sizzling in a pan soon fills the air, mingling with the scent of fresh tomatoes and herbs. It’s strange to see him like this, in such a domestic setting, but you can’t deny that he knows what he’s doing.

"Didn’t peg you as the culinary type," you comment, unable to resist.

"You pick up a few things when you’ve been around as long as I have” he says, tossing the vegetables into the pan with a flick of his wrist.

When the meal is ready, Logan plates up the pasta and hands you a bowl. The aroma is mouthwatering, and you dig in eagerly, surprised by just how good it is. The two of you eat in companionable silence, the tension from earlier easing as you enjoy the food. You watch him for a moment, the normalcy of it all striking you once more. It’s a side of him you hadn’t expected to see, but one that makes you appreciate the depth of the man behind the gruff exterior.

As the night falls, Logan heads to his makeshift bed in the corner of the warehouse, while you make your way to the bed he begrudgingly gave up.

"You sure you’re okay with the couch?" you ask, more out of habit than anything else.

Logan shoots you a look, already half-lying down. "You’re the one who wanted the bed, remember? Just get some sleep.”

You smirk at his gruffness, knowing now that it’s just his way.

----

The next few days in the warehouse pass in a strange, almost surreal calm. The constant adrenaline of your life as of late takes a backseat as you and Logan settle into a routine that feels more like a bizarre kind of roommate situation than anything else.

Each morning, you wake to the sound of Logan already up and moving, the metallic clang of his claws as he practices in the open space of the warehouse. You join him for training, and though the sessions are intense, they lack that certain edge of urgency. It’s like you’re both conserving your energy for the fight to come, knowing that the real battle is just on the horizon.

"You’re still dropping your left shoulder," he points out one morning as you spar, his claws swinging.

You huff, blocking his strike with your blade. "And you’re still grumbling like an old man."

He rolls his eyes, dodging your next attack with a quick sidestep. "That’s because I am an old man, Knifey. What’s your excuse?"

"Just trying to keep up with you, gramps." You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you press the attack.

In the afternoons, after you’ve both worn yourselves out with training, you’d find yourselves sitting on the edge of the raised platform that serves as Logan’s makeshift living area. The warehouse is quiet, the distant hum of the city outside and the occasional creak of metal settling in the walls. It’s in these moments of stillness that you start to learn more about Logan—not the Wolverine, the fierce, unrelenting fighter—but Logan, the man behind the claws.

He doesn’t talk much about his past; it’s clear that there are parts of it he prefers to keep buried. But every now and then, something slips out—a story, a memory, a glimpse into the man he used to be before everything went to hell.

One specific day stands out. The two of you are sitting side by side on the edge of the platform, the remains of a quick meal scattered around you. Logan is unusually quiet, his gaze fixed on his retracted claws as his hands rest on his knees. His usual tough exterior seems to soften, just for a moment, and you can sense that something’s weighing on him.

"You ever wonder what it would’ve been like… if things had gone differently?" you ask, breaking the silence. The question is vague, open-ended, but you know he’ll understand.

His expression darkens slightly, but he doesn’t look away from his hands. "Yeah," he says after a long pause, his voice rougher than usual. "Sometimes. But thinking about it too much… it doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t make it easier."

You nod, feeling the weight of his words. "Weapon X… they really did a number on you, didn’t they?"

He finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, and what you see in his eyes is old pain and hard-earned resilience. "Yeah," he admits, his voice carrying the weight of years of suffering. "They did. Turned me into a weapon. Made me forget who I was… who I wanted to be."

He pauses, the memories clearly painful to revisit. "They didn’t just mess with my body," he continues bitterly. "They messed with my mind. Took away my memories, twisted what was left until I didn’t even know my own name. I was nothing but a tool to them, somethin’ they could use and discard when they were done."

The brutal honesty in his voice makes your chest tighten, and you can’t help but feel anger on his behalf. "But you fought back," you say softly, more a statement than a question.

Logan nods. "They tried to break me, and for a while, they did. I was just… lost. But they didn’t count on me fighting back. Didn’t count on me surviving."

"They underestimated you," you say, listening intently, feeling a deep respect for the strength it must have taken for him to claw his way back from that darkness.

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of Logan’s mouth, and for a moment, you see a flicker of pride in his eyes. "Yeah," he says, a little lighter now. "A lot of people have."

There’s a fleeting pause, his words settling between you. It’s heavy, but you’re seeing a side of Logan that few people ever get to see, and you can tell that it’s not easy for him to open up like this.

Then, almost as if sensing the need to shift the mood, Logan changes the subject, leaning back on his hands as he starts to tell you about some of the more absurd things he’s witnessed over the years. "You wouldn’t believe some of the crap I’ve been through," he says, his voice taking on a dry, almost amused tone.

He launches into a story that’s so ridiculous, so utterly bizarre, that you can’t help but laugh—really laugh, for the first time in what feels like ages. The way he tells it, with that deadpan delivery and his signature gruffness, only makes it funnier.

"You’ve really seen it all, haven’t you?" you say, shaking your head in disbelief after one particularly outrageous tale involving a mutant with the ability to turn into a giant bird. "Seriously, how do you even get into these situations?"

Logan shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips. "It’s just another day in the life, Knifey. Weird shit happens when you’ve lived as long as I have."

His words linger in the air, and suddenly, a realization dawns on you. You’ve been so focused on the immediate dangers, the fights, and the missions that you haven’t fully processed what it means to be a mutant, to have regenerative abilities like Logan’s. If you can heal from almost any wound, if your body can recover from injuries that would kill anyone else… does that mean you’re going to live as long as he has? Decades, maybe centuries? The thought hits you like a freight train.

"Oh shit, Logan," you blurt out. "Am I going to be around as long as you? I regenerate too!"

Immediately noticing the change in your demeanor, his sharp eyes lock onto yours. "Hey, hey," he says, reaching out to steady you. "Breathe."

But it’s like a dam has burst inside your mind, the implications of what you’ve just realized flooding in all at once. "Logan, if I have these abilities… I’ll outlive everyone I know, everyone I care about…"

Your thoughts begin to spiral, the fear and uncertainty taking root, and suddenly the idea of immortality—something you’d never seriously considered before—feels more like a curse than a gift. You’re faced with the prospect of endless years, of watching everyone you love age and die while you remain unchanged.

Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightens, his voice dropping to that commanding tone that brooks no argument. "Look at me," he says, and when you meet his gaze, the intensity there makes you freeze. "I know what you’re thinkin’, and yeah, it’s scary as hell. But you gotta keep it together. You’re not alone in this."

"But how do you deal with it?" you ask.

He’s quiet for a moment, his expression hard as he wrestles with the weight of your question. When he speaks, his voice is deep, almost a growl.

"It ain’t easy," he admits, his tone roughened by years of pain. "There are days when it feels like too damn much. But you take it one day at a time. You focus on the people who matter, on what you can do right now. ‘Cause that’s all any of us really got, no matter how long we’re around."

His words are meant to comfort, but the enormity of what he’s saying still feels overwhelming. "And when everyone’s gone?" you whisper, the thought of outliving everyone you love already eating you from the inside out. "What happens then?"

Jaw clenching, teeth grinding, Logan’s eyes hardening with a resolve that you can almost feel. "You keep goin’," he says gravelly.

"You keep fightin’ ‘cause that’s what you do. You find new people to care about, new reasons to get up in the morning. The world keeps turning, and there’s always somethin’ worth fighting for. The people you lose, they wouldn’t want you givin’ up."

The conviction in his voice, the sheer will to survive, even after everything he’s been through, gives you something to hold onto. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the fear still lingers. "I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that.”

He meets your gaze. "You are," he says. "You’re tougher than you think. And you’re not doin’ this alone. I ain’t dying anytime soon.”

You nod slowly. "Yeah… we’ve got each other."

His hand moves from your shoulder to your back, giving you a firm pat, like he’s trying to physically drive the point home. "Damn right we do. And don’t go worryin’ ‘bout the future. One day at a time, got it?"

You manage a smile, the first real one you’ve felt in what seems like forever. "Got it," you whisper, feeling a sense of calm starting to settle in.

Logan seems satisfied with that. He’s about to say something else when he stops, gaping. He just stares at you, his usual tough-guy demeanor slipping for a second as he takes in the sight of you smiling—really smiling, something he probably hasn’t seen much of.

The words die on his lips, and for a moment, he looks almost… caught off guard. His eyes are fixed on you, like he’s seeing something he hadn’t noticed before, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

"What?" you ask.

Logan blinks, shaking his head slightly as if snapping out of a daze. He clears his throat, quickly looking away, his gruffness returning like a shield. "Nothin’," he mutters. "Just… you’ve got a nice smile, that’s all."

You feel a warmth rise to your cheeks, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. The way he said it, so simple yet so sincere, makes your heart stutter in your chest.

"Well, don’t get used to it," you quip. "I’m sure you’ll piss me off again soon enough."

Logan huffs out a laugh, shooting you a sideways glance, his lips quirking into a small smirk. "Wouldn’t expect anythin’ less."

----

A/N: The plot is really going to pick up from here on out!

----

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#logan howlett #logan howlett fic #deadpool and wolverine #logan x reader #wolverine #x men #deadpool 3 #deadpool movie #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #james logan howlett #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #hugh jackman #x men movies #mcu #mcu fanfiction #d1:tfm

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im-subtextsexual · 9 months ago

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I’m glad so many people picked up on the vibes between Eloise and Cressida. Not a ship I ever considered before, but the tension was palpable. I’ve been a Queer Eloise truther since reading the books. Her portrayal on the show only made it more obvious in my mind. I didn’t think the writers would ever go there, but the set up is just so explicit, now I’m not sure. I don’t think they’d actually make Eloise / Cressida canon, but I do think they’re testing the waters for wlw Eloise. And it makes perfect sense.

First off, the character is queer (I’ll hold off from labeling her a lesbian outright, because there’s definitely room for other identities like bi, demi, ace…. etc.) Even in the books. I legitimately think Julia Quinn accidentally wrote a sapphic character and then didn’t know what to do with her. So what we got is “To Sir Phillip, With Love”, widely considered to be one of the worst in the series. Believe me, if there’s any story that could stand to deviate from the books, it’s this one. And the story could so easily be adapted to a wlw romance, it would be a wasted opportunity not to do it. Like… the story would be better if they tweaked it to fit a queer canon. AND it could be done in a historically accurate way to shut up the naysayers that “a lesbian storyline wouldn’t fit in this universe.” How? Allow me to explain.

*SPOILERS FOR BRIDGERTON SERIES BOOK 5*

In the book, Eloise strikes up a correspondence with Sir Phillip Crane. Yes, THAT Phillip, the one currently married to Marina from season 1&2. Marina kills herself because she can’t stand to be married to Phillip and deal with their children in the wake of her lover / his brother’s death. His initial interest in Eloise is to find a mother for his children. She is intrigued by his intelligence and decides she doesn't want to be alone, but isn’t necessarily eager to marry or have a family. Due to romance novel shenanigans, she runs away to Phillip's house and is forced to marry him. Even as they grow to kind of love each other, it's far from some grand romance. It’s the very definition of “settling”. The most interesting part is the narrative structure of their story being told through letters in the beginning. We could keep all that, but make it gay.

*Imagine*

Eloise meets some dapper gentlemen new to the marriage mart. We’ll call him Emmett. Very little is known about Emmett and his family as they keep largely to themselves at their estate in the countryside. The only thing that’s widely known is the family suffered a tragic accident where the man of the house and his oldest daughter died, leaving his son (the other twin) to take on the responsibility of rank and title very early. Emmet is making a rare appearance in London to find a wife (there are rumors of stipulations in his inheritance requiring a match). ALL the debutantes are fawning over him because he’s mysterious and extraordinarily good-looking. One might even say “pretty”… To everyone’s great surprise the season’s most eligible bachelor takes a special interest in Eloise after overhearing her talking about her disdain for the social convention of marriage, and how she would only consider it if it were an in-name-only, marriage of convenience. Emmett strikes up a conversation with Eloise and she is taken by his humor, wit and shockingly deep empathy for the limitations society puts on women. They continue to gravitate to each other through the first few events of the season, but Emmett has to return home suddenly because of a family emergency. Eloise is shocked to find herself disappointed, but they promise to write. Cue the correspondence romance.

Eloise grows more and more smitten with Emmett every letter she receives, but still has the same reservations about marriage especially when she thinks of the intimacy a relationship like that would require. When Emmett hints that he may want more than friendship, Eloise's feelings get the better of her and she goes to visit Emmett unannounced. He is shocked to see her, but let's her stay and she gets to know his mother and two younger sisters. The Bridgertons go looking for Eloise, worried something has happened to her. When she is found to have been staying for days in an unwed man's home without a chaperone, the potential scandal causes Anthony to force Eloise and Emmett to marry. Surprisingly, Emmett actually agrees so Eloise does too (all of this is essentially what happens in the book).

Eloise confesses to Emmett that she's nervous/resistant to physical intimacy, but he assures her they never have to be together that way. In fact, he would prefer the marriage of convenience they always talked about. Eloise is relieved until their kiss at the wedding sparks an attraction she wasn't expecting. They spend the first month or so of their marriage sleeping in separate rooms, enjoying each other's company, and letting the tension build. One night, Eloise's control and curiosity finally snaps and she goes to Emmett's room to initiate a physical relationship. She catches Emmett off guard in his sleeping clothes which makes it VERY clear... Emmett is a woman (cliffhanger of episode 4, and where we deviate from book canon to make it queer).

After the initial shock, Eloise allows her new "husband" to explain. Emmett is really Emma, the daughter believed to have died in a carriage accident with her father so many years ago. It was her twin brother that actually died, but since there were no other male heirs, Emma's family fortune would have gone to a distant uncle who is cruel and abusive. To save them of that fate, Emma's mother conspired with the local coroner to make it look like Emma was the one who died, so "Emmett" could inherit everything. Emma has been living as Emmett ever since, successfully keeping up the deception by keeping a low profile in society. The only reason Emma came to London that year is because her uncle died, and a cousin had come around asking questions hoping to inherit. She thought getting married would help secure her identity as Emmett and the cousin would back off. At first Eloise is outraged. She feels betrayed by Emma's duplicity, and is terrified if any of this ever got out everyone they know would be ruined forever. She agrees to keep the secret to save her family's reputation, but shuns Emma. Eventually, Emma (already aware that she's in love with Eloise) attempts to make amends and Eloise is charmed enough that she relaxes back into the relationship they had before the Big Reveal. The only problem is the attraction is still there, even more so now that Eloise knows the truth. Things come to a head, and they go at it Bridgerton style.

Emma and Eloise live happily in a true marriage for a bit until Cressida and Penelope come for a visit. They both find out about Emma, but are sworn to secrecy. Pen easily swears her loyalty (having already suspected Eloise), but Cressida is sickened. In a rage, she threatens to out them all, and storms back to London. Eloise follows her and begs Cressida to keep the secret, and tries to explain why the "wrong" feelings she has for Emma are very right for her. To Eloise's surprise, Cressida isn't upset about what she's doing with Emma, but who she's doing it with. She didn't know what they're doing was an option; that she was an option. Cressida confesses that if she'd known a life with Eloise was a choice she could make, it's the life she would have chosen. Eloise lets Cressida down easy by explaining they didn't have that choice. Everyone in the ton knows who they are. The only reason her relationship with Emma works is because of the ruse that allows Emma to be Emmett. Cressida takes this in stride, and vows to keep the secret, but her mother overhears and causes the biggest scandal London Society has ever seen.

The Bridgertons and a few friends (like Lady Danbury) are as understanding as possible, but the rest of the ton is rabid. Things escalate to the point where Emma and Eloise have to appear before the Queen. Emma pleads her case about pretending to save her family, and insists that Eloise didn't know until well after they were married so she's innocent. Eloise can't help herself and gets on her soapbox about the way society limits women, and that the Queen should understand their plight. Shockingly, she does. She annuls their "marriage" (because they didn't consummate anything... RIGHT?!) but she agrees to let Emma control her family's estate until one of her sisters produces a male heir. After that, she and Eloise will receive a pension from the Crown so they can live independently (the real Queen Charlotte actually did this for suspected historical sapphic couple The Ladies of Llangollen). Since Emma and Eloise would never be able to find husbands now, they decide that they'll just be two spinsters growing old together in their house in the countryside. You know... just two gal pals. No one believes that shit, but they rarely interact with the ton, so they're largely left alone to live as they please.

Happy ending, close to canon, historically accurate, and super gay. It's not that hard. You're welcome.

#did i really just fanfic a whole season of Bridgerton to prove a point?#of course i did!#GIVE ME WHAT I WANT!!!#bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #cressida cowper #creloise #eloise x cressida

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rageserenity · 11 months ago

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It's 2024. Are you still thinking about movieverse!Cherik? Because I am.

For the past several months, there's only been a very slow trickle of posts/fics in the xmcu cherik tag. Let's try to breathe some life back into this incredible pairing!

With one clear winner of my poll, here's thirty prompts for the thirty days of April. (This is a super chill, laid-back event---do these in any order, interpret them as loosely as you like! Create in any medium! Fic, art, gifs, meta, incoherent screaming about the otp…all winners in my book.)

The only rule here is to cherik too close to the sun. Alright. Here are the prompts.

Mutual Pining

Doesn't really even need elaboration! Write that horrifically slow slow-burn. Gif every time McAvoy made insane fuck me eyes on screen. Make a playlist of songs about impossible love.

2. Alternate Meetings

There are endless quotes about how these two complete each other in a way no one they'd met before or after ever did. How else could they have met?

3. Erik Has A Telepathy Kink

This is basically canon. Let my boy get freaky!

4. Canon Fix-It

All the times Fox fucked it up. There are endless options.

5. Hurt/Comfort

Put them in that Situation. Put them in that Blender. Break them apart and put them back together ❤️‍🩹

6. Canon Compliant

Draw that missing scene! Gif your favourite cherik moment!

7. Beach Divorce

Make it worse. Make it better. Show it to us exactly how it was. Break it down in a 3,000 word meta. Go wild!

8. Domestics

Sometimes you just want to see them doing normal couple things. Erik put the gun down.

9. Found Family

The real heart of x-men!

10. Time Travel

There are SO many possibilities here. Stick them in a time loop. Give them a chance to change their past.

11. AU

Love a good AU!

12. There Is Only One Bed

Had to get this one in here. What better way to amp up the tension?

13. Genosha

By some miracle, cherik actually did end up together at the end of 2019s trash bag disaster Dark Phoenix. We aren’t making a big enough deal about this.

14. Declaration(s) of Love

Who says it first? How do they say it and when? Have they said it…without saying it?

15. Jealousy

Need I say more.

16. Reunion

These two have absolutely no chill.

17. Soulmates

Classic prompt, had to get this in here too.

18. The DOFP Aircraft

The TENSION here. Break it down for me. How does Charles feel about his injury? How does Erik feel about his injury?

19. Gay Mutant Road Trip

You already know.

20. Body Swap

SO fun when people have superpowers.

21. First Kiss

When? How? Who initiated it?

22. The Mansion

Mansion!content is a genre of its own.

23. Conflicting Ideology

Give me your theses. Who’s right? Can they ever reconcile completely? Write a fic where it drives them apart.

24. Sebastian Shaw

A trope unto himself.

25. Team As Matchmaker

They had to have known something was going on, didn’t they?

26. Cooking

Charles deserves a good meal. Also, imagine Erik using his powers in the kitchen. The sheer domesticity…

27. Hurt No Comfort

Plenty of scope with these two 🥲

28. Growing Old Together

Giving Sirs Ian Mckellan and Patrick Stewart their props as well!

29. Making Up

*pushes chess board across the table* sorry babe

30. Charles Xavier Did More For Mutants Than You'll Ever Know

Rising to each other’s defense. Only I can insult this man.

I will be tracking #revivecherik to reblog stuff! Here’s a fic collection for the same. Let’s get this ball rolling! Please feel free to send me an ask if you’ve got anything to say! And most importantly, let’s all have fun 😁

*I know a few of you preferred something like a gift exchange because of the commitment factor—I’m super down to organise a tiny one for the handful of us! If this promptathon doesn’t flop horribly, we can hopefully do a whole bunch of stuff :)

If you read this post all the way through, please reblog for reach! Thank you! Hoping you participate come April.

Shoutout to @inmymagnetoera for reaching out and helping with this!

#revivecherik #cherik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #xmfc #james mcavoy #michael fassbender #x men days of future past #x men #charles x erik #magneto #professor x

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discofama · 1 year ago

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I love how comfortable Adam and Lute are around each other.

I mean, look at this

So they're casually together during the extermination, much like how friends gravitate towards each other when in an event even if they're not talking or doing anything, just because it feels easier than being alone. Or perhaps Lute flew closer because she saw the huge war machine approaching Adam and got a little worried.

Charlie and Vaggie are going to attack them, and look at what they do:

Despite being Adam the one closer to Vaggie, he doesn't move an inch. They don't say anything (besides the shit talk) and Adam doesn't even look at her, he expects Lute will take care of Vaggie with no order from him, even if he's closer.

Obviously Adam is confident and doesn't think Vaggie can hurt him at all, but he clearly trusts Lute to get her out of the way. He probably knows how bloodthirsty Lute is for Vaggie and lets her have her without a word, and Lute complies, again, without a word, leaving him to handle the strongest of the enemies at that moment (Charlie).

So in this second, Adam and Lute communicated in silence. Adam didn't move and trusted her to cut in even if it was him the one under attack, and finally Lute trusted him to handle Charlie so she could fight Vaggie, as she didn't seem worried at all of the possibility of Charlie coming to protect her girlfriend.

They're in harmony. They're just natural together.

He lets her grab him like this and is willing to listen to her. It's clear he respects her and deep down appreciates that she'll keep him from doing something stupid, even if he whines.

She also climbs him? Lol. (Look at how she holds onto his arm 🥹 she's super comfortable with touching him!)

They're always hyping each other up, like in their songs:

(Look at Lute's smug face here 👇, she's sooo satisfied with what Adam's saying)

I honestly believe that they kinda make each other worse, that neither of them would be SO mean all the time if they didn't have the other: a companion who is always backing them up, who agrees on any crap that comes out of their mouth (Lute lets him talk shit about random women and nods, Adam goes along with Lute's homophobia despite seeming to not care that much about homosexuals).

Many portray Lute being a lot smarter than Adam, but I think they're both dumbasses. I mean, we laugh at Adam for saying he never made a mistake in his fucking life, but it was Lute who first stated angels don't make mistakes, somehow keeping a serious face. I think Lute seems smart because she's more quiet and cares about the rules, but she doesn't do logic very well either and can be impulsive too, as shown in the end of ep. 1.

They're probably each other's best/only friend, because they're just so unlikeable. And it makes sense they'd deeply care for one another. They care about that person that stands them and agrees with them and actually enjoys being with them. They're always seen together, hanging out even off duty. They clearly have a lot of fun.

I'll be honest. I ship GuitarSpear, I love it, but I don't know if I want it to be canon for 2 reasons:

1. Lute might be a lesbian.

She is so repulsed by homosexuals that it feels personal. Talking about how disgusting and blasphemous Charlie and Vaggie's love is, or how many cocks were in Angel's mouth and calling him a whore. She cares too much about it for it to not be personal, and I think it makes sense that she'd be a closet lesbian with a shit ton of internalized homophobia. She probably knew about Vaggie's sexuality and held a lot of resentment towards her before tearing off her wings. Maybe she was even attracted to her and was so repulsed about it that she redirected her self-hatred to Vaggie.

2. I think it could be better for Adam's character.

Let's just think about it. This character has a very distorted view of women, he has a fixation on them and hypersexualizes them. So the idea of this horny man, who always sees women with sex colored glasses, being good friends with a hot female below him in the hierarchy with no sexual or romantic interest whatsoever is nice to me. It'd work as sort of a redeeming quality in regards of his relationship with women, and I personally think this man is very redeemable. Let's hope he gets a second chance!

Still! All of this trust and comfort and team feelings can be read as romantic and I certainly wouldn't mind if it becomes canon! They could be the best villain couple!

Summarizing, these two are soulmates, end of the story. They're worse together, but also probably provide the other of a very needed company.

I have no clue if Adam will actually come back, but if he doesn't, I'll feel very bad for Lute. Yeah, yeah, she's an evil bitch, I don't care.

#sorry if the way i write isn't very sophisticated #english is my second language 👉👈#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel adam #analysis #guitarspear

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getsuuna · 3 months ago

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KNY Fandom so fucking insufferable I'm gonna start behaving like those GiyuShino and SaneKana shippers and go around spreading misinformation and say "no you don't get it SaneGiyuu was implied!!!" /j

because I'd actually have more content to mention without even mischaracterizing them

wanna talk about how they're a two-faced mirror? almost as if they were written to parallel each other and there's so much to talk about on this matter

or, since not everyone in this Fandom can dive into analysis, wanna mention how Shinobu figured Sanemi could've made Giyuu smile by inviting him to eat his fav dish with him? why not ask him directly instead? why Sanemi out of all people?

wanna mention Sanemi's pseudo-obsession on that man? he disliked his ass, but if we go back to analysis, his intolerance to someone feeling superior can be tied to a multitude of factors and one of which is being low-key reminded of himself, and he loathes himself while at the same time he puts on that strong façade. he can't face it though. and he wanted to understand why Giyuu felt that way SO BADLY he went to him for training and tried to speak with him, he wanted a contact, he wanted to understand, he needed Giyuu to speak up but he didn't.

on the other hand don't we wanna talk about Giyuu's perspective? Giyuu never hated him nor did he really feel sad knowing he disliked him, contrary to how he felt towards Obanai. not to mention he even got to be sarcastic towards Sanemi's dumb ass at least twice.

and the iconic ohagi scene? idk about y'all but between the hashira I think that's THE iconic scene, alongside Giyuu and Shinobu beefing and Shinobu almost stabbing him (don't get me wrong platonic GiyuShino has my whole heart)

the first time we saw Giyuu smile in the series is while imagining to befriend Sanemi??? and out of everyone he chose Sanemi? the hashira who is canonically the most difficult to talk with?😭 he only ever smiled either for food, for Sanemi or Tanjiro

oh and let's not talk about how Tanjiro, after getting knocked up, wakes up and the first thing Giyuu says is "yeah Shinazugawa left" ..? or the whole novel chapter in which they end up talking about him (supposedly right after that scene in the manga) and Giyuu cheered up. what

anyways, likewise, the first time Sanemi was seen smiling genuinely outside of his family was with Giyuu. Obanai and especially Masachika were both closer to him, not to mention the most important person in his life, Genya...yet here we are ig?? (after Giyuu he also smiled more in general, the scene of him smiling at Nezuko was one of my fav panels ever so keep in mind I'm taking in consideration the chronological events and not the impact of the scenes per se)

or let's talk about the most important part in their development which is when they fought together.

Sanemi saving him, telling him not to zone out while throwing the sword at him, it made Giyuu realize he's the water hashira, it was the first time Giyuu acknowledged it. Sanemi influenced Giyuu's character positively, and so far Tanjiro was the only other one who managed to. Sanemi saw him as his ally (rightfully so), and hopefully seeing him fight also made him realize he wasn't that much of a conceited guy, he was just like him, as he initially wanted Giyuu to understand (despite the fact it was a miscommunication)

Sanemi teaming up with Giyuu out of everyone, in such an impactful panel.... idk, if it was a straight ship that would've felt like a confession for the Fandom 💀

they impacted each other's character, they were the only two hashira surviving after facing the same war, they faced similar struggles during their lives (but let's not get into analysis, once again...), they could've understood each other better than anyone else would ever have, and they ended up bonding and eating together

that panel was there, in the middle of other panels all portraying important bonds, whether canon romantic bonds or platonic and sibling-like ones (Tanjiro and Nezuko, the Kamaboko squad, the swordsmiths etc.)

if it wasn't important it wouldn't have been there, but the funniest thing is that if either of them was a woman it would've been considered canon since it also included TanKana, ZenNezu and InoAoi🙏🏻

but oh, if we try to name either of these things and more, people will rightfully say "can't they be friends anymore?", which is valid, but I wonder why this doesn't apply to equally fanon straight ships.

a show so peak has so many fans that are so dense😭😭😭

#kny #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #sanegiyuu #giyuusane #sanemi x giyuu #kny ships #sanemi #giyuu #sanemi shinazugawa #giyuu tomioka #toxic shippers #i hate y'all sm #platonic sanekana #platonic giyushino #they're just so peak #am i talking about sanegiyuu or about platonic giyushino and platonic sanekana?#the answer is both #I need more m/f friendships in media bc I can't take this shit anymore

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weebsinstash · 2 years ago

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I'm sorry but I can't stop thinking about a certain angsty idea

Like pretty sure this is implying getting married is a canon event? But in a way, doesn't that kind of, really strip the choice and actual love and magic out of it? Or, could you at least understand the idea of a Spiderperson who may feel that way? Did you genuinely fall in love with someone if it was "supposed" to happen? And the universe could fall apart if you don't so you arent really even given a choice to say no? Isn't that like having a preprogrammed robot instead of a true lover?

Still kinda obsessed with the concept of a Spider Reader where you didn't get scouted by Miguel until after you had already lost your loved ones, but, it's clear that some Spiders are scouted before they have all of their events (Pav), and, I can't stop thinking about, you're in the Spider Society and making friends and having fun and stuff and you're. Still supposed to get married or have a relationship or something and you're just, completely avoiding having anything at all, not even dating anyone, nothing really feels natural to you and you just don't really want anything?

Months and months and months pass and you've turned multiple people down in your home dimension and Spiders at the Society are told not to interact with you in certain ways, which becomes overboard when no one ever seems to want to hug you or even high five you or touch you at all (because "oh don't let them get a crush on you, they can't break canon" or some dumb paranoia) which just eventually develops into isolating you from the Spider Society, and they all think, "ok good they'll spend more time at home and then start the route for this canon event and we can talk to them again" but it just. Doesn't happen. You're starting to show up to the Society less and less but the only thing that changes when you get back home is a loneliness that you fill with a pet and some platonic friends

Peter B is trying to "subtly" nudge you. "Ya know kid, aren't you in your 20s now? Isn't it time you try and, I dunno, get into college or something? You've got so much potential!" as he willingly omits how he met his wife in college and maybe it's in the model that you could meet your spouse there too as a potential option

But I like the idea and already lowkey established concept that canon changes and has tweaks here and there and can be bent in certain ways so, imagine like, idk, imagine Reader already being with the person who is supposed to your soul mate, and, you find out about The Model or whatever, the Arachno Humanoid Poly Mutiverse or whatever, and you just realize kind of on accident that, oh having a relationship at all is kind of just another prison for you to be in, huh? Another choice stripped away from you, another thing that made you feel like a rubber stamp in existence in the weird copy/paste Spider Society. So you just. You don't intentionally bomb the relationship but you become so extremely depressed and refuse to talk about it with your SO that they actually leave you, making the choice independently, changing canon but not breaking it

But here's Miguel, which I guess you could imagine as a protective obsessive romantic figure or even platonic parental, and he's all but grinding his teeth because, as he sees it, you're not only risking completely breaking your canon which you know Would Fucking Kill You, but, why are you constantly shooting down what are supposed to be good changes for your life? No relationships? No college? No aspirations at all? Why are you not living up to your full potential? He's so frustrated because he KNOWS you could "be better than this" and that you're "supposed to" be better than this, but you just seem. Depressed and defeated. He wants you to be better because it's better for your life, your future, your safety (even if depending on preference it absolutely gets under his skin to see you with anyone else romantically or sexually)

And I have no idea how they would externally force you into some kind of relationship but, I've also thought about, alternatively, the tried and true "Reader lost their home dimension but somehow didn't disappear and lives on Earth 928B now" (the movie specifics its 928b ok, pet peeve I know, 928 is comic Miguel, 928b is ATSV movie Miguel) and eventually, somehow, your bracelet comes off one day and you're about to freak out and it's like, wait, you aren't glitching??? Why aren't you glitching? I mean, you're happy to not be in pain and flashing colors, but, this doesn't make sense? And you don't wanna tempt fate but you don't bother to get a new bracelet or, other people are around to witness this weird event and so, Miguel is immediately investigating what happened. I imagine maybe they scan you with the Go Home Machine and it's just like "ha ha yeah you're home already :)" you know like some "Dimensional Match: 928B" and the machine doesn't even activate, it just scans you with the drone, is like "yeah you're good lmao" and goes back to sleep

And now Miguel is like, you know. Understandably concerned because now there are two Spiders for Nueva York, but, also, he's just like, unbeknownst to you absolutely over the moon necause if you're technically a part of his dimension now, maybe you can complete your canon and have some sort of happy ending. But. Miguel never had his wedding either? Or at least not the "true" one, like how Peter moves on from Gwen to Mary Jane? Cue Miguel suddenly spending suspicious amounts of time on his platform in the dark looking at holograms and algorithms and asking Lyla to calculate the probability of you two maybe becoming spouses for each other

AND YOU'RE SO FUCKED IF IT SAYS YOU CAN LMAO. Cause now not only is he all the more obsessed with you (you were BROUGHT to his dimension by a miracle, can't you SEE you're destined for each other) but now it's "don't you understand? Not only are we MEANT for each other, you don't have a choice! You CANT break canon!" And he's fucking putting a finger in your face and lecturing you about how, you know what, it's ok if you're scared and you're not ready. You know why? Because you two were made for each other, and, he must have been made to be this strong so he can protect you and make decisions on your behalf, right? It's all in The Model. It's all in God's Plan. The two of you are going to get married whether you think it's the love you're fantasizing about or not, and Miguel is more than thrilled that he was essentially just handed a certified excuse to keep you all to himself on a silver platter

Also. I guess this is preferential but. Imagine if Earth 928B's solution to two Spidermen, like how Miles' "corrected" itself with getting rid of blonde Peter, what if the universe and canon just went, "actually it's all cool though cause technically one of them isn't going to technically in name be a Spider anymore, they're going to be forcibly turned into a cute little pampered house spouse" and ON GOD he's getting children out of you if you're capable of it and that ISN'T optional. He's thinking you can start at AT LEAST three babies and then talk about how many more from there? He's always wanted a large family with lots of cute little girls and boys, you know 👉👈

#yandere x reader #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #yandere spidereverse #atsv spoilers #yandere stuff #sinprompts #also separate idea but. miguel who hates how you arent maximizing your potential and #essentially kidnaps you and since he sees you as perfect tries to force perfection out of you #platonic yandere dad slash tio Miguel who says no datingg whatsoever vs romantic yan miguel who forces you to date HIM

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thatshadowcomic · 5 months ago

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Relationship Dynamics/timeline

Previous | Next

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This will appear in the comic, but it plays a part/context to his relationship. It's kinda spolier but not really, so skip is optional. This might change as the comic is created!

Pre Doom: Shadow x rouge failure

Rouge's positive influence on Shadow can't be understated, but Rouge digs too deep, even manipulating and attempting to use GUN methods on shadow to help him. This triggers the memory of Maria's shooting. This gruesome image creates confusion and the lack of certainty makes him suspicious of Rouge, given her job and connection to GUN. It was a GUN solider in his memory. It causes him to close off from her, and he becomes directionless. Shadow wonders aimlessly, in an attempt to find something familiar. Rouge, trying to maintain their connection, becomes more of an enabler than a partner, coddling him as he continues inward. Eventually they realize their dynamic is turning them into the worst part of themselves, and they return to being friends in an attempt to rebuild what was lost. Rouge offers shadow a place at GUN, maybe an agent under the Govt, or a bed at her new home. Shadow denies them, still unsure who to trust. This feeling is familiar and he longs for a connection, a purpose...

Doom: manipulation and self resolve

Click "Shadow's story" for shadow's canon lore Click "prologue" for my headcanon lore, post "shadow the hedgehog" (2006). Black Doom's return starts nov, 2005 and concludes march, 2006. The Toll takes place 1 year later, late feb 2007.

Post Doom: Fight with Sonic

Shadow joins GUN, much to Sonic's disappointment. He claims Shadow needs freedom and time to rediscover himself and should join team sonic. This ends in an argument, with Shadow deciding to be firm: "Are you joining because you want to, or because you think you have to? I just don't want you to be stuck under another hive mind's control and lose sight of yourself, because you're scared to face the world. You're not alone, by the way, you got friends, you got me--I think what you need--" "ENOUGH! We are not friends and you do not get to tell me what I need. Thank you for saving me, sonic, but I don't owe you anything, but I do owe the world... my debt will be paid through doing good with GUN, and that is my choice. When next we meet, it will be business or for the sake of the world. Goodbye." Sonic takes this very seriously and seems to spend a long time alone from everyone. Neither discuss the argument with anyone. Shadow often visits Amy's cafe because Sonic avoids it. She gradually wears him down and they become surprisingly close, like siblings. He begins to mull over the sonic situation with her, asking her advice and generally obsessing with sonic.

Nearly 1 year later: Fear of the public.

Shadow works for GUN, but the public views him as a fraud, a ticking time bomb and a weapon. GUN has him under media/social lock down, with his travels and events planned to better his report with the public. Shadow requires GUN's permission for most events. After being denied or having the permissions be granted AFTER the event, Shadow stops asking. He becomes withdrawn and restless, even to Amy. Shadow begins memory hypnosis and general trauma therapy to truly move on, but this only intensifies his unrest as November comes around... Rouge is unsure how to help him. She's fearful he will become defensive again and shut her out for good. (Omega doesn't understand these complicated emotions well enough to assist beyond offering his own views on his own experiences.) --------------------------------------

#sonic x shadow #shadonic #sonadow comic #sonadow #shadow #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #headcanons #au #sonic au #head canon lore #headcannon lore #comic #sth #the toll

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 1 year ago

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For All I Care

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Asexual!Tav, Astarion x Bard!Tav

Astarion's POV, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic, Astarion being bad with emotions, hints of one-sided Gale x Tav if you squint

Warning: Canon typical violence, violent thoughts toward Tav

Summary: After a fight with a hag, the rest of the party wakes up to find you still fighting for your life. Astarion feels himself at a loss, afraid and helpless in a way he has never felt before. And it's all your fault.

A/N: Just a gentle reminder that I have not played the game, so in terms of the exact placement on the timeline, it's a little sketchy. Just know that this is well before the events of I Want It All, and we'll call it good. And, as always, PLEASE REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO SURVIVE!

Word Count: 6.2K

If Astarion never saw a hag again, it would be too soon. Just one was more than enough for several lifetimes. The bitch was not only a sore to look at but hit like a brick wall. Even after a full night’s sleep aided by Shadowheart’s magic, he still felt stiff all over.

The rest of camp wasn’t much better. The sun was almost fully overhead by the time everyone stumbled out of their bed rolls. All morning banter was replaced with mumbled greetings and not so subtle groans. Even Lae’zel remained quiet, seemingly too occupied with her own discomfort to comment on the weakness of everyone else.

Astarion counted himself grateful for that. He didn’t think he could endure a lecture on top of an aching back.

“Here we are,” Gale said, a little too cheerfully. “I know last night's excursion was rather strenuous, but if this doesn’t cure what ails you, nothing will. No offense, Shadowheart.”

“I would take offense, but I’m frankly too tired to care,” she countered, dryly.

Gale gave a good natured laugh before handing her a bowl of something hot.

The pout on her face fell away as soon as she took her first bite. The rest weren’t far behind, the low murmur of pain turning to something more pleasant.

Astarion observed, doing his best to push down the bite on envy in his chest. He could eat, technically, but it went right through him, not even granting him the temporary relief of a full stomach. If it didn’t smell appetizing, he wouldn’t mind so much, but it did. Yet another minor torture of his existence.

Eventually Gale did turn his gaze to him, that annoyingly persistent enthusiasm faltering.

“Do you…ah, require a refreshment?”

Deciding to have some fun, Astarion gave him his best seductive smirk.

“Very much,” he purred. “However, if you’re the one offering, I’ll pass. I’ve got someone much more appetizing in mind.”

He turned his head towards your tent, and immediately frowned. You still hadn’t made an appearance. Granted you were always one to rest in, but this was getting ridiculous.

Gale followed his eye line, grimacing as he came to a similar conclusion.

“Might need to hold off on that. They got it pretty rough last night.”

“I’ll go check on them,” Wyll volunteered, pouring a fresh bowl of stew. “If anything will get them out of bed, this will.” He then turned to Astarion, giving him a hard look. “Try to keep your fangs to yourself until they’ve eaten something.”

He answered with a mocking pout. “Oh mother, must I?”

Wyll didn’t raise to the bait, rolling his one good eye before making his way towards your tent.

Something odd twisted inside Astarion. He was struck with the sudden urge to trip the man. Childish perhaps, but he just couldn’t stand that tone of altruistic condescension. He would have spoken up if Wyll hadn’t beaten him to it. He was rather partial to the idea of you and him sharing breakfast in bed. It would only be breakfast, but he wasn’t in a position to try for more. At the very least, it would be a convenient excuse to check on you himself.

Gale hadn’t been exaggerating. You had gotten the brunt of the hag’s attention, running between everyone to provide whatever aid you could. By the time you made it back to camp, you could barely stand, skipping your nightly check-ins in favor of falling straight into your tent and a soundless sleep.

This troubled him in a way he couldn’t properly explain. It wasn’t like he needed you to tuck him in, but he had grown accustomed to your face being the last he saw before closing his eyes. He knew the others appreciated it as well. It was how you had found yourself as the leader of this merry band. You weren’t the strongest or the most powerful, you simply took the time to care.

It should have bothered him more. Gods knew he clashed with Wyll and Karlach on more than one occasion concerning their bleeding heart heroics. Perhaps it was because your heart always put the party first. You’d extend it to others, but never to the point it needlessly put them and, more importantly, him in danger.

You just…helped, with clear eyed understanding and so little fanfare it made it easy to forget just how much you did, until the moment you couldn’t.

He blinked hard, mentally yanking himself from wherever his mind was leading him.

He wouldn’t feed on you today, he decided. There had to be some boar or deer around. It’d be best if they stay put another day anyhow. No need to rush into the next life or death scenario.

“Shadowheart! Gale!”

Everyone turned, to see Wyll running from your tent. The two spellcasters were up the next second, all exhaustion rushing from their bodies, readying for a fight.

“What’s going on?” Gale asked.

“I don’t know. Something’s wrong with Tav.”

“What? How?” Shadowheart interjected. “They were fine last night. I healed them myself.”

Wyll shook his head. “That may be, but they’re not waking up.”

“We better have a look then,” Gale said, with an authority that left no room for argument. He took the lead, the two others falling quickly behind.

Astarion stayed where he was, frozen. There was a hard twisting in his gut. He could feel the hair rise on the back of his neck as the sudden need to run shot through his veins. He recognized the symptoms; fear was an emotion he was intimately familiar with.

Before he realized what was happening, he was on his feet, taking long strides towards your tent.

It couldn’t be as bad as Wyll was making it sound. Admittedly, you had been run rather ragged, but nothing the rest of them hadn’t felt. Perhaps he had taken one bite too many. This was nothing. You were fine. You were supposed to be fine.

He stopped at the threshold, pushing aside the flap.

Whatever breath he had in his lungs rushed out in an instant.

The first thing that hit him was the smell. It clung to the inside of his nose reeking of damp sickness. Your body was drenched in sweat, your hair plastered to your forehead in soaked clumps. He swore he could feel the heat of your skin burning. Your breath came ragged as if someone had wrapped an invisible hand around your throat and was slowly choking the life out of you. He could see how your body twitched and jerked. It was taking both Shadowheart and Wyll to keep your limbs in check as Gale mumbled some enchantment over your body.

His hand gripped hard on the fabric. He needed to take a step back. He had little experience with disease, but it was plain enough that whatever this was didn’t play by any rules he was familiar with. The survivor in him screamed to use this perfect distraction to grab whatever he could carry and run. Still, he didn’t move.

“What’s wrong with them?” he said, his voice rough even to his ears.

“I don’t know,” Gale admitted, clearly disturbed. “I haven’t seen anything like this before.”

“They were fine,” Shadowheart insisted. “I healed them, and they went to bed. Nothing else happened.”

“There were a lot of spells being thrown around last night. Maybe they were hit with something the rest of us weren’t,” Wyll suggested.

“Oh Gods,” Karlach said, just behind Astarion’s shoulder. “Do you think it’s the tadpoles?”

Something heavy sunk straight into his stomach at her words. It certainly was a possibility. They all knew the symptoms, but why now? Why you?

There was a slight rustle of movement just behind him. Lae’zel by the smell. A quick look out of the corner of his eye saw her standing just behind Karlach. Her back was stiff and her expression hardened in a way he had come to recognize.

He never moved faster in his life.

Before anyone could react, he ducked under Karlach’s arm, knocking Lae’zel off her feet. Her sword scattered clear of her grip, skittering into the grass. She fell with a hard thump as he used the momentum to trap her under the weight of his body and dagger at her throat.

“Now, what were you planning to do with that,” he said, as smooth as a knife.

Her surprise was evident, but quickly overtaken by a low growl straight from her chest.

“Unhand me, or I will unhand you.”

“Might need the sword for that.”

“Oi! What’s going on?” Karlach said, finally turning towards the scene.

“If it is the tadpoles, we cannot risk them turning,” Lae’zel snapped. “I am prepared to do what is necessary.”

Red blinded Astarion’s vision, a hiss escaping his lips as they pulled back to show bared fangs.

“Necessary?”

“We don’t know that yet,” Wyll said, stepping beside Karlach. “Just think a moment. If it was the tadpoles, wouldn’t all of us have felt something by now?”

Lae’zel ignored him, her eyes turning straight to Astarion’s. Her expression lost none of its fury, but there was a coldness to it that forced an air of calm.

“You know I’m right,” she held.

His jaw clenched. He did know. If even one of them turned into a mind flayer the rest were bound to follow. Killing you would be the logical thing to do to preserve his own survival. Still, it wasn’t your neck he was poised to cut.

“Nobody is killing anyone!” Wyll interjected. “Gale and Shadowheart will figure out what’s wrong with Tav. In the meantime, we are not going to do anything we would sooner regret.”

“Astarion?” Karlach said, cautiously.

There was a long pause. He could feel their eyes burning the back of his skull, but neither stepped closer. It was easy to imagine what he looked like; half crazed, teeth bared and blade ready. Not his best moment.

With what grace he could muster, he pulled away, quickly putting some distance between himself and Lae’zel.

She got to her feet, decidedly not reaching for her weapon as her eyes moved between the three of them.

“They live for now,” she allowed. “But if Tav does turn, you know what we’ll have to do.”

Astarion’s spine stiffened. The dagger twitched in his hand, just in time for Karlach to step between them.

“Walk away Lae’zel,” she said, sternly. “I’m not kidding.”

Lae’zel’s brow furrowed, her face twisting in disgust. “Tsk'va,” she cursed. “Cowards. All of you.”

She turned then, picking up her sword before making her way back to her tent.

Once she was a good distance away, some of the tension left Karlach’s shoulders as she pulled her attention back to him.

“You okay?” Karlach asked.

“Well, I certainly haven’t made any new friends,” Astarion said, his voice tighter than he intended. He glanced over at Wyll. “I take it still no answers?”

Wyll gave a long sigh. “Gale said he’ll need more time to detect the exact cause. He doesn’t think it’s the tadpoles, but there’s no telling just yet. Luckily, Shadowheart was able to calm them enough to sleep. At the very least they’re no longer at risk of hurting themselves.”

“So what do we do?” Karlach asked.

“Wait. This isn’t something we can fight. Gale and Shadowheart will do what they can, but ultimately, this is Tav’s battle.”

Astarion bit back a growl as red once again danced across his vision.

Wait? That was the fabled Blade of Frontier’s brilliant plan? Hells below was everyone in this camp completely useless?! He didn’t need to be a cleric to know what was happening. He knew what dying smelled like and none of them, not a single one, could think of an actual, tangible solution besides wait?

Forget tripping the man, it was taking every single ounce of restraint to keep from strangling him.

Draining the last of his patience, he turned on his heel, and made his way towards the treeline.

“Where are you going?” Wyll called.

“To go kill something,” Astarion spat. “Unless you want me to stay here and do it.”

Wyll looked like he was going to say something that would put his neck in Astarion’s teeth, but Karlach spoke up first.

“We’ll make sure Lae’zel keeps her distance. Don’t wander too far.”

Astarion didn’t have an answer. He just managed a tight nod before continuing out of camp and out of sight.

He didn’t know how long he walked. He just knew that by the time he stopped the sun was much lower in the sky. The sounds of his companions deafened in the overgrowth leaving him well and truly alone.

A shuddering breath escaped his lungs. Whatever strength in his limbs left him. He only just managed to catch himself on a tree as his hands began to shake.

What in the nine hells had he been thinking?

Well, that was the trick, wasn’t it? He hadn’t been thinking. Fear had been driving him and he had done as he always did when fear took over; he found a way to survive, damn anyone who got in his way. The difference was, it wasn’t his life that was in danger. When had your survival become so vital to his?

He knew he was reliant on you to keep him safe from Cazador. You were the only one who trusted him. Without your vote of confidence, chances are he would have been left to his own devices a long time ago. He needed you alive if he were to maintain the protection of the others. And he had put that protection in direct threat by holding a knife to one of the group’s best fighters.

He let out a frustrated groan, rubbing his face in his hands.

Fuck, this was a disaster. He had never been particularly gifted when it came to strategy. It was difficult to anticipate consequences when he never knew what fresh hell awaited him in the morning. Compound that feeling by two hundred years and it was no wonder all his plans fell apart.

Even if you did survive, he still had no way of guaranteeing you would stay loyal to him. All his attempts at seduction had failed. You certainly enjoyed his company, and he was sure you gave him more attention than the others, but he didn’t know what you wanted. Every single day he waited for you to name your price and every single day you failed to answer. It was driving him to insanity.

No wonder he had been so quick to draw his blade. Any grasp he had on safety was already hanging by an invisible thread.

He let out a deep breath, forcing himself to calm. There was little he could control at the moment, but he could control himself. It was a new sensation, one he was still getting used to. He’d have an easier time of it once he fed.

Blood of thinking beings was out for the moment. He’d have to settle for something big and preferably angry. There would be nothing elegant about this hunt.

He got his wish. While he might have preferred a bear, the raging boar did well enough for his purposes.

It was an ugly kill. He didn’t just bite the beast. He tore into its neck so deeply the bones of its neck became exposed to the open air alongside bloodied muscle. His hands did the rest, ripping it fully open so the innards spilled out onto the forest floor. In the end, he didn’t even get much blood out of it, allowing the earth to become wet with carnage.

He breathed it in, hoping it would somehow erase the smell of your convulsing body from his mind.

It didn’t work.

Even with fresh blood in his mouth, he could only think of your labored breaths and racing heart. The relief of sated hunger became tainted by the taste of sickness on his tongue.

He forced himself back on his feet, not bothering to wipe away the blood as he stumbled further into the forest.

There was nothing he could do. He’d sooner drain the life from you than save it. It was baked into his nature; a disease in his own right.

If he just had a target, something he could trick or kill, it would be different. Instead he was left to wait; useless…powerless.

His hands clenched, his nails digging into his palms to the point of pain.

Surely he didn’t need you so badly. If you died, he would just have to refocus his efforts on somebody else; Shadowheart perhaps, or even Gale. He wasn’t about to get sentimental now. He would survive you as he had done countless others. This wasn’t his end.

He found a deer next, performing the same ritualistic slaughter. Blood filled him. He could feel his mind becoming clear, but it wasn’t enough. He moved onto a burrow of rabbits, then a badger, and even a weasel. It was only when he caught himself seriously contemplating gutting a squirrel did he realize how futile it was. All the blood in the world couldn’t make up for his inherent weakness.

He had grown too dependent on you. It was making him sloppy, unbalanced. Maybe you were better off dead. He would be free then.

That was the point of this whole venture wasn’t it? To be free. Free of Cazador. Free of fear. And here he was ready to chain himself to another just because they’d shown him a bit of kindness. What was that kindness worth when the loss of it inspired a terror he'd never known before.

A fury rose within him, one he clung to like a lifeline.

This was all your fault. You brought him to this. How could he possibly forgive you?

He let the anger fester as he took the time to clean himself up. Blood caked his hands up to his elbows with tendons stuck under his fingernails. It took several washes in a nearby stream to get it all out. He counted himself lucky his shirt had managed to escape most of the viscera. The last thing he wanted was an interrogation.

He needn’t have worried. It was well after dark by the time he crept back to camp. All was still, in the same way a body became when holding its breath.

He spotted Gale easily enough as he poured over some tome, his lips moving along with the words. Lae’zel and Wyll sat together, polishing their weapons without exchanging a word. Shadowheart looked to be meditating while Karlach sat next to the fire, brow furrowed while throwing the occasional stick into the flames.

Aside from the faint scrap of stone on metal, not a sound came from any of them.

Against his own will, his gaze turned to your tent.

It struck him then, why the quiet filled him with such dread.

By now a steady flow of strings should be teasing the edge of his ears. You seemed convinced a half inch of fabric was enough to muffle your rehearsals. None of them bothered to correct this assumption. On more than one occasion, he found himself forgetting the book in his hand as he listened to you work out some new melody. There was something about the way you played, as if each note lifted a burden on your soul. And if the night wasn’t filled with your music, it was touched by your voice.

You had a way of sparking conversation, sharing countless stories while encouraging the others to do the same. You knew when to listen, when to comment and just when to laugh to make the telling all the sweeter. He spent more time than he cared to admit thinking about how to pull that sound to your lips. He found it had the same effect on him as your plucking.

Then there were the rare times, when banter dwindled and everyone became lost in their own thoughts, he could make out a song just under your breath, an unconscious hum to accompany your work.

It brought a comfort he couldn’t describe, one he hadn’t realized he needed, until it was gone.

With quick steps he made his way to you, slipping into your tent with not even the barest rustle of fabric.

He’d never been in your tent before. If it were any other day, he’d be taking the time to examine every inch of it, but all he could focus on was you.

You were so still. An improvement from before, but not an especially encouraging one. It was clear from the perfectly arranged pillows you hadn’t moved since Shadowheart put you back to sleep. The only hint you were alive was that barest intake and outtake of breath.

His jaw tightened, his body tensing as a growing panic rose within him.

No, this was good. You were stable, for now. He still had options, more time to plan. He didn’t have to make any decisions tonight. Best he left and waited to see what the morning would bring.

You took a sharp intake of breath, slightly deeper than before. Your eyes twitched behind your lids and then you settled.

He paused, glancing to the entrance, half expecting somebody to come rushing in. He was surprised nobody was in here with you, or at the very least watching the door. He had slipped by without so much as a “hey you”. Any vagrant could just wander in.

He could end it right now. All it would take was one quick slice. The picture became clear; a single surprised gasp, the smell of your blood and then…silence. Forever.

Bile rose in his throat. He shut his eyes trying to will the image away as that new desperate terror threatened to drown him all over again.

Damn you. Damn you to every circle of the hells!

The gods were mocking him. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. He couldn’t just like you. No, he had to go and start caring.

A small whimper broke through his thoughts. Your head jerked, your brows pinching in distress.

Shadowheart. He needed to get Shadowheart, or Gale, or Wyll. Hells, she may not be able to touch you, but Karlach would undoubtedly have a better bedside manner. Besides Lae’zel he was the worst person suited for this. Gods, what was he even doing here?

You took a sharp intake of breath, flinching away from something only you could see.

He was on his knees the next second.

Your body settled, but your breathing came hard and fast. At least it wasn’t rasping.

His hands hovered over you, unsure of what to do. He had officially given up on the idea of leaving. He’d just have to improvise the rest.

Hesitantly, he let his fingers brush across your forehead, pushing aside a few of the loose strands. You were hot to the touch, but he took comfort in the fact you weren’t sweating as you were before. Whatever had taken hold of you that morning, it seemed to have loosened its grip.

You began to calm, a soft murmur of contentment stumbling from your lips.

The irony was not lost on him, but it didn’t stop a part of him from melting at the sound.

“Now that’s hardly playing fair, darling,” he whispered. “I’m trying to be angry with you.”

You didn’t answer except for a sigh as you turned your head, following his touch.

He allowed himself to linger for a moment before placing the back of his hand against your skin to feel it properly. You really were much too warm. The relief you were expressing no doubt came more from his body temperature than his caresses.

Slowly, he pulled away as he glanced around the small space. There had to be a water skin in here somewhere. Surely the idiots would know better than to leave you to burn yourself from the inside out.

A soft groan caught his attention as he spun back to you.

You shifted under the blankets, rolling back and forth as if to get loose of your cocoon. Your eyes darted quickly behind your lids. Another huff of breath and then, all at once, there you were.

“Tav?” he breathed.

Your eyes were bleary. Your skin was sallow. Your hair was a mess. Everything around him smelled of sweat and sick. And for a moment, he swore he could feel his heart beat again.

A hint of a smile touched the corner of your mouth, your brows rising slightly.

“Tav? Must be pretty bad then.”

He had to laugh. It was a short, strangled thing, and just about the only thing he could do to keep the stinging in his eyes at bay.

“Worse,” he said, managing to gain some hold on himself. “Of course, it must be said, your worse is most best.”

You huffed out a small laugh of your own, which quickly turned into a series of dry coughs.

He straightened in alarm before quickly spotting the water skin hanging on the center pole of the tent. Thankfully it was full, allowing him to waste no time lifting your head as he guided the water into your mouth.

As soon as the liquid met your tongue you scrambled for more, pushing yourself further up to guzzle the rest.

“Easy,” he warned, pulling back the container. “Can’t have you choking to death after all of that.”

You gave a slight sputter, proving his point as you caught your breath. “Sorry. Just thirsty.”

“Clearly,” he quipped. “Do you need more?”

You averted your eyes, your expression turning suddenly sheepish. “Please?”

As tempting as it was, he decided to save his teasing for later. It was always more fun when you could give it right back anyway.

He lifted your head, resting it on his lap before guiding the lip of the lid back to yours.

“Slowly this time,” he cautioned.

Your muscles tensed with restraint, but you followed his lead, taking no more than he gave.

He tried to ignore the tight feeling in his chest. His mind flickered to his own thirst and, for a moment, he could see his own desperation reflected in your eyes.

Something stirred inside him; an ache he didn’t recognize. He’d do just about anything to keep that look from marring your face ever again.

Once you’d gotten a few more mouthfuls he pulled the water skin away, setting it down on the floor beside you.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice still a little rough, but an obvious improvement.

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “To anyone.”

“Don’t worry, nobody would believe me anyway,” you teased.

“Truer words.”

Without really thinking, he let his palm rest on your forehead. He had already gotten a sense of your temperature, but the way your eyes closed as you relaxed into his touch was too good to pass up.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Like a band of goblins decided to make a riot of my insides,” you admitted, before turning your gaze upward. “What about you?”

“Me?”

Your mouth turned in an apologetic half smile. “No offense, but you look a bit ragged. Did something happen?”

He blinked, surprised by the sudden flash of anger your question inspired. Of course he was a bit ragged. You had started this morning on the verge of death, the knowledge of which had been torturing him for near on…oh, who bloody cared how long. And yet you had the audacity to ask if something happened, as if that wasn’t enough; as if you weren’t enough.

It must have shown on his face, as your brows furrowed in concern.

“Astarion?”

He mentally shook himself, pushing down the emotion as best he could.

“Don’t worry about me, darling. Let’s focus on getting you better.”

You frowned, your lips parting as if to say something when the entrance of the tent burst open.

“Hey, thought I heard your voice!” Karlach said, with a beaming smile. “Good to see you awake soldier. Told’em you’d bounce back, just a matter of time. Shadowheart! Gale! Tav’s awake! Astarion is with ‘em.”

Astarion prickled at the announcement. He didn’t need the entire camp knowing his business. He had decided to sneak back for a reason. Surely nobody had seen him.

He got his answer, as Karlach turned back, lowering her voice.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “Noticed you slip in earlier. Thought I’d leave you to watch Tav, but then I heard talking and well…you know.”

“Yes, thank you,” he clipped, hoping the note of embarrassment would be blamed on getting caught and not…other things.

“Thanks Karlach,” you said, smoothing over any lingering tension.

“Don’t even think about it. Few more rounds of healing and you’ll be right as rain.” She then turned her gaze to him. “You got’em?”

His brow furrowed slightly. He could say no. Gale and Shadowheart would need space to do their work. It would be the perfect excuse to walk away and try to forget any of this happened.

He glanced down at you, your head still resting in his lap.

You looked so fragile. It was a word he had never thought to use before when describing you. The sound of it rang with a dissonance that made his hair stand on end. Still you managed a half smile, your head tilting as silent permission to leave if he wanted.

And what exactly would he do if he left; wait in the dark, just as helpless as before. He may not be able to do much, but he could do this. It was better than nothing.

He turned back to Karlach, his purpose clear. “I’ve got them.”

She didn’t say anything back, simply nodding in acknowledgement before dipping out, and allowing Shadowheart and Gale to enter.

Shadowheart immediately took a place beside you, her hands glowing with magic as she got to work. Gale, meanwhile, remained standing seemingly unsure of what to do.

Astarion couldn’t help but notice the way the wizard’s eyes shifted awkwardly between you and him. Some petty part of him felt vindicated in staying. Apparently he had taken his designated spot.

“Glad to see you awake,” Shadowheart said.

“So am I, funny enough,” you said. “What happened?”

“Nasty bit of business,” Gale explained. “That hag didn’t hold anything back. Combination of cause fear, ray of sickness, a few other bits of spell work and bestowed curse to keep them all knotted together. The healing magic Shadowheart gave you last night was able to mend your physical wounds, but little else.

“Luckily once we were able to identify the spells, I was able to untangle most of the effects and pluck that curse right out. All told, it looked much worse than it was. With the hag dead, it appears your body has been able to fight off most of the remaining effects on its own. Honestly, if you were at full capacity at the start of the fight, it likely wouldn’t have gotten as bad as it did. Much easier to recover when all your blood is inside your body.”

Gale’s eyes flicked over to Astarion.

His jaw clenched, knowing full well what the wizard was implying, but he wasn’t about to admit he was right.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I take an arrow to the shoulder,” you said, dryly. “Just don’t bleed.”

Shadowheart gave a short laugh. “Good to see your sense of humor is intact.”

Astarion and Gale broke eye contact allowing whatever argument was about to ensue to die on their lips. There were more important things to worry about.

“What can I say, I’m a born entertainer,” you said, ruefully before turning your gaze evenly among the three of them. “I’m sorry to have caused so much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Gale assured. “When compared to Karlach’s engine or my own condition, this is little more than a sniffle.” He glanced over to Shadowheart. “Anything I can do?”

“Honestly, there’s not much even I can do at this point,” she admitted. “We’ll just have to see how you feel in the morning. One of us should stay with you at least, in case something happens.”

“I’ll do it,” Astarion said, earning shocked looks from both spellcasters. He did so particularly love the look on Gale’s face.

“You’re sure?” Gale said, skeptically.

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’m not planning to sleep much anyway. And don’t worry, I’m just as capable of yelling as anyone else in this camp. Besides, I doubt either of you are going to be much use to anyone in a few hours.”

Gale looked like he wanted to argue, but not before you spoke up.

“He has a point,” you said. “The pair of you have done enough as is. I’m feeling a lot better already. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” Gale relented, with a grimace. “There’s some stew in that container there if you get hungry. See if you can keep some food down. And if they so much as twitch in their sleep–”

“I’ll handle it,” Astarion cut off with a sharpness that left no room for dispute.

Gale appeared taken aback. So did Shadowheart for that matter, but Astarion couldn’t bring himself to care. You had in a very polite, roundabout way told them to leave. His job was to make it clear how much better that would be for everyone’s health.

Both Gale and Shadowheart got the message, ducking out without another word.

Astarion waited, counting down a solid minute to make sure nobody else would come barging in. Only when he was certain they were gone did he finally allow his body to relax.

“You don’t have to stay.”

He pulled his attention back to you, his brows furrowing.

“I really am feeling a lot better,” you insisted. “I’ll be alright.”

His instinct was to argue. He wasn’t in the mood for any more quiet heroics from you, but something in your eyes gave him pause.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked.

“I…” You swallowed. The emotion in your voice was clear even from that one word. “You don’t–”

“Do you want me to go?” he repeated.

For a long moment, you didn’t say a word.

He waited for the predictable guilt to appear, an obvious sign of your irritating selflessness with maybe an apology thrown in on the side. There were hints of it, yes, but something else lingered, moving across your features despite your best efforts to bury it away.

“No,” you confessed, with a yearning deeper than he felt he had any right to know.

He thought back on what you told him, the bits and pieces you shared about your life. It was never obvious, just comments that slipped through, as if by accident.

You didn’t know your mother. Your father was little more than a memory. You never mentioned any siblings. A flurry of names and faces filled your stories from across Faerun, but they never stayed the same between tellings. Now that he gave it proper thought, he couldn’t think of a single one of them you had named friend.

He had to wonder how many nights you suffered through a fever alone, how many times you bandaged your own wounds and kept your own company on long nights in the middle of nowhere.

You hadn’t given him permission to go out of the kindness of your heart. You had expected him to. You just wanted to give yourself the illusion of control over when.

And yet, you asked him to stay.

“Well, that settles it,” he soothed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your lips parted as if to say something more, but you closed it again swallowing the words back down.

He counted himself grateful. He was liable to say any number of foolish things if you let him.

Slowly, your eyes began to droop as sleep overcame you once more.

As promised, he didn’t move, not daring to so much as shift your head.

Maybe…maybe this was your price. He couldn’t be sure. He doubted he would ever be sure of anything with you, but maybe this was what you wanted; somebody to care.

It was a dangerous notion. He had never provided anything real before. The concern he felt for you now was against his will. If he started caring for you on purpose, who knew where that might lead; the things he would be willing to do, all for you.

He blinked the thought away. He was getting ahead of himself. A little went a long way, especially with you. Honestly, it would be almost too easy; a kind word here, a helpful hand there, and he would have you curled around his finger in no time. It wasn’t so different from what he had done before. All he needed to do was not care anymore than he already did. Nothing he couldn’t handle. He could stop any time he wanted.

It was the thought that kept him through the night, the one he repeated to himself as he came as close to holding you as he dared.

He had a plan now. What could possibly go wrong?

Taglist: @bambamwolf87

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #asexual!tav #asexual!reader #bard!tav #astarion x ace!tav #astarion x evie

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jjtheresidentbaby · 7 months ago

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hi hi <3 hope you're doing okay :) can u do a cg!rafe cameron x little!reader where reader gets minorly wounded, like after falling from their bike or something, and rafe patches them up? thank you <3

˚. ❝₊˚ sunburnt ❞ ˚₊·

» rafe cameron x reader

» a/n: I have an extremely bad sunburn rn so that’s what I went with hope you don’t mind

» warnings: rafe is rubbing product on reader’s back while they’re shirtless but it’s in no way nsfw, talk of the pogues watching over reader, little!sarah mentioned, cg!kie & cg!pope mentioned, cg!barry mentioned, post canon, pet names

You wince as Rafe helps pull your shirt over your head, revealing the worst sunburn Rafe has seen since Sarah got near second degree burns when they were kids, he winces right alongside you. Given for different reasons; you hate the feeling of the material sticking your your skin and causing even more pain to the tight skin, and Rafe because seeing just how bad things have gotten without him around pulls on his heart strings.

It was only a week. One week with the pogues, Sarah acting as your main caregiver but having to have Kie take over when Sarah slipped halfway through the trip you guys took to the mainland. It was- an eventful week, to say the least. Kie and Pope stepped up and were much better at applying sunblock regularly than Sarah in her own regressed state, but the damage was already done and both Kie and Pope looked more than worried when they handed you off to Rafe two days ago. You’re a little surprised he didn’t go off on them then and there.

“Hurts.” You mutter when Rafe runs his hands gently over your back, the way your skin is hot to the touch cause even more worry in Rafe’s mind. He really doesn’t want to have to take you to the hospital.

“I know baby, I’m sorry. I’m gonna apply some coconut oil and then we can go lay back down.” You’ve found the coconut oil works better than the aloe as it leaves your skin moisturized for longer.

“M’kay, can we watch a movie?” That’s all the two of you have been doing for the past two days.

By the time you were driving back to Rafe’s after being away from him for a week you were so homesick Jj had to keep his legs thrown atop yours so you wouldn’t try and climb to the front of the van to get John B to drive faster- it’d be an embarrassing moment to think of if it wasn’t all worth it when Rafe came into view as you rounded the corner to Tannyhill and saw Rafe sitting on the porch waiting for you. The house is technically his and Sarah’s but with Sarah spending almost all her time at the rebuilt chateau, it’s basically just Rafe’s place that acts as storage for some of Sarah’s stuff.

“Course, what do you wanna watch?” Rafe asks and rubs some more oil onto your bare back, making sure that he’s being as careful and soft with his touch as he can be.

“Moana?” A small smile creeps onto Rafe’s lips as he nods along.

“Didn’t we watch that yesterday?” You shrug.

“I like it. Can we ask Barry to come over and watch it with us?” Rafe is obviously your favorite person while you’re regressed but Barry is a close second, and the both of them together is perfect to you. They never fail to make you laugh just by the way they interact with each other and the sidebar jokes Barry shoots your way as Rafe tries to dismiss every word he says.

“Sure, sweet thing. Do you need him to pick up anything before he comes over?” You shake your head and lift your arms when Rafe comes to slip your shirt back on, it’s actually his own but it’s loose and cotton so it’s more comfortable on your skin.

“Not even some fries from The Wreck?” A quirked brow gets sent your way and you quickly scramble to climb into Rafe’s lap before he can pick up the phone to call Barry.

“Wait- wait, yeah fries, get fries.” You plead and Rafe hums along with an arm slipped around your waist to make sure you won’t fall off his lap.

“You sure? You just said you didn’t want anything… Barry will be here quicker if he doesn’t stop-.” You cut Rafe off with a serious look on your face that he finds undeniably cute.

“I lied, I want fries. I don’t care if Barry takes ten hours to get here, I want those fries.” It’ll really only add ten minutes to the route for Barry to go into The Wreck and order some food to-go.

“Okay, okay, I’ll make the call.” He soothes and grabs his phone as you lean back into his chest with a content sigh. Your back doesn’t hurt as bad as it did when you first came home and spending the day with your favorite people will help you forget just how much you missed Rafe in the first place.

#jj writes #outer banks agere #little!reader #caregiver!rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron

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ivysprophecy · 1 month ago

Text

Am I Okay? Chapter Three

a/n: hi again! if you havent guessed already this chapter is going to include the gala i mentioned in part twelve! (which is linked) now as author im going to state clearly that this is not their first date 'canonically', however, its what i MYSELF consider their first date. <3

warnings: i dont think there are any, but i did add a little somethin somethin at the end ;) and i should mention this ones gonna be in rafes pov ;) im in no way saying that rafe is my character

word count: 1241

this shouldnt feel as daunting as it does right now. shes just a friend. its just a dinner party, theres no commitments attached or technicalities to worry over.

its just me and her making a boring evening more exciting.

thats all.

i knock on the door and wait patiently for her to answer. i did come a bit early so i wouldnt be surprised if she was still getting ready.

she has a tendency to get swept up in the music shes listening to when shes at her vanity.

but as soon as she opens that door and i turn to see her... i suddenly forget all the convincing was doing.

cause i know after tonight theres gonna be no more hiding just how into her i am. she looks incredible.

it does something to me knowing its the dress i bought her.

"hi," thats all she says and i swear i forgot how to breathe. how does she do this to me?

"hey," my smile widens, "you look... gorgeous. really you look great."

"cant take all the credit, the dress was all your doing. im just wearing it."

"and you wear it beautifully," just like that, a natural blush replaces the artificial pink on her cheeks "we should get going, are you ready or do you need more time? i can wait."

"i think im ready..." she searches through her purse, going over its contents making sure she has everything. "yep, im ready."

"perfect," i close the door behind her as she walks out, "its a little jarring to see you without your boots."

she chuckles as i open the car door for her, "i tried to clean up as nice as i could."

"you clean up just fine cowgirl," i cant hide my smile.

the drive to the event was that comfortable kind of quiet. i always let her take aux when we drive together. country music definitely isnt my favorite but she could play a lot worse.

besides she throws in the occasional kid cudi or metro boomin for me.

shes thoughtful like that.

"oh theres valet? how fancy," the valet opens her door for her before i can even get out of the car. i suppose thats his job.

"thats kinda how these things go. theyre a bit much."

"well i think its refreshing being so spoiled. dads done a lot of fancy business but nothing like this. its fun."

taking her hand, i lead her up the stairs into the building, "ill spoil you as much as you want cowgirl."

"youre such a sweet talker city boy. for someone who, supposedly, is a serial bachelor youre a total flirt."

"nah, i only flirt with you," i tell her, truthfully. part of me said it to see her all flustered but really there isnt a point in lying about it.

i know everyones got me figured out already, the guys and their girls are better gossipers than the real housewives. not that id know anything about the real housewives. i definitely dont watch that shit.

"thats exactly what im talking about," shes giggling as we walk into the giant room filled to the brim with investors, partners, staff, clients, a bunch of people i really want to avoid. i was about to lead her over to the bar when we run into someone conveniently.

her father. that i work with. awesome.

"cameron! thought i wouldnt be able to catch you tonig- y/n? pumpkin what are you doing here?"

"dad! were in public can you maybe not call me that-"

i let a smile peak through, "pumpkin?" its just too easy to tease her.

"rafe," she sends me a warning, and you know she means business when she uses my "government name" as she likes to call it.

i throw my hands up in defense jokingly.

"its good to see you y/l/n," i reach out to shake her dads hand, "i invited her, hoping a friendly face would make the night more barrable. i hope thats alright with you."

"nah its good for her. she needs to get out more. i trust youll take care of her."

"dad!" she raises her tone while keeping a hushed voice, "dont talk about me like im not here. please."

"you kids have fun tonight," her dad wraps an arm around her before pressing a small kiss to her temple before shaking my hand again, "good to see you rafe. take care of my little girl."

i nod with a smile as he walks away, heading over to a table of some other clients i recognize.

"unbelievable! rafe im so sorry that was embarrassing. he doesnt know how to act normal. i shouldnt let him out of the house. i need to put him in a home."

"cowgirl, youre rambling. its fine, i get it. hes a dad its his job to embarrass you a little."

she rolls her eyes leading the way back to the bar like we intended in the first place. leaning against the bar she tells the bartender her order and mine, already knowing id like a whiskey.

how am i not supposed to like this girl so much when she knows me so well? i dont care if we come from two completely different backgrounds. a part of me knows this is the girl for me.

taking our drinks i lead her over to our table for the night, pulling out her seat for her to sit when suddenly i see some investors walking my way.

i knew id have to work a little tonight but it doesnt stop me being disappointed from being pulled away from her.

the night goes on, i introduce her to a few of the people i know better than others, but i give her the chance to mingle when she wants too. shes so well spoken and holds her own well.

shes mesmerizing.

at one point i return from the restroom, and when i come back i see that after i stepped away one of the investors sons is making conversation with her.

hes far too close to her for my liking, touching her arm subtly, desperately trying to make her laugh. but i can see shes only doing it to be polite.

i step up right beside her, my hand naturally falling to the small of her back. innocently of course.

"jared! good to see you man, your dad let you come?"

theres nothing i love to see more than his confidence faulter. he needed to be put in his place, what can i say?

im just happy i was the one to get to do it.

"yea... yea he did. it was good seeing you rafe. nice meeting you...?" he smiled in her direction, asking for one more chance silently, i couldnt contain my laughter.

"have a nice night jared. tell your dad ill see him at mondays meeting," and with that i lead her away in the direction of our table.

"you didnt have to be so rude to him you know?"

"cowgirl, that was hardly rude of me. i was doing him a favor."

she plasters on an offended face, pretending to clutch her pearls, "how dare you, im a catch. hed be so lucky to have me, and so would you."

god, shes such a tease.

believe me gorgeous. i know id be so lucky to have you. its all i think about.

[ masterlist ]

#rafe cameron ruin me challenge #rafe cameron smau #rafe cameron fanfiction #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #my writing <3

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hollowed-theory-hall · 10 days ago

Note

I've been reading your posts for awhile now and I genuinely enjoy reading your takes especially with Harry's characterization. so I've been wondering what are your thoughts on the lupin family? especially with teddy? although I still kinda dislike his parents' relationship i still think he's an interesting character and i wished people talked about him more outside of shipping. What would his relationship with harry be growing up? Also Lyall's death was never really confirmed, only hope's was so do you think he and Andromeda raised teddy instead of harry? It still feels odd that remus chose a 17 year old to be his son's godfather surely there were other suitable candidates than a literal teenager.

Thank you so much 💕

So, this is like entirely in my headcanon space since I did not watch/read Cursed Child and I'm not planning to. I don't consider any of the post-book material canon at all except the Quidditch World Cup in 2014, which I accept since it's fun and doesn't go out of its way to ruin established characters. I enjoyed reading it more than the epilogue, so that's something.

That being said, I often prefer to ignore many aspects of the epilogue and the World Cup article when headcanoning post-books events. I also don't engage much with next-gen stuff since I'm more interested in Harry's generation, but I do have some thoughts about Teddy.

With all this out of the way, let's talk about the Lupins.

So, I like Remadora, I think they're alright for the little we see of them. Tonks just deserves so much better than Lupin in my mind. I mean, he wanted to leave her, after he got her pregnant, for his own sense of inadequacy, guilt, and allergy to taking responsibility. Harry was so justified in ripping Remus a new one.

Now, I mentioned here, how I think Remus didn't make Harry Teddy's godfather because he thought Harry was ready (though Harry is more mature and responsible at 17 than Remus is at 37, so...), but as a way to promise Harry that he isn't going to push him, or Tonks, or anyone who loves him away anymore. It was Remus trying to apologize in a weird way that didn't really land. Especially since he goes and dies right after. (can you tell Remus is my least favorite marauder?)

Now, I find it really hard to imagine Remus as a father for Teddy had he lived. Like, I can see Tonks being a cool mom and her and Teddy matching hair colors when walking together and messing with people (and I think she could become more responsible had she lived longer). Remus is a harder one for me to envision as a parent. I mean, I think he'd be relieved that Teddy wasn't born a werewolf, but whenever he'd look at Teddy and Nymphadora, I think Remus couldn't help but feel sorry for himself and like he doesn't deserve them. While making Harry Teddy's godfather was meant to be a sort of promise, I can't see Remus fixing his habits so quickly. I mean, he'd try. But I can also see him, trying to up and leave a few times only to be talked out of it by various characters.

I think his behavior is going to put a lot of stress on Tonks too. Like, While I think they do love each other, I don't know how well their relationship would work in the long run if Remus doesn't bother to work on himself and get his fucking act together.

But in the books they both died, so Teddy is spared the mess his parents' relationship likely would've been and is instead stuck with a different mess of being an orphan with a 17-year-old caretaker. (This kid cannot win. Maybe because both his parents were kinda irresponsible and didn't quite get a grasp on adulthood when he was born)

So, post-DH, Remus and Tonks are dead, Ted Tonks is dead and we are left with a grieving Andromeda who lost all her family (again), a grieving Harry who just keeps losing people, and a newly orphaned barely a-year-old Teddy Lupin.

I think Teddy is an interesting mirror to baby Harry and Neville in a way. His parents died/couldn't take care of him because of Voldemort/his followers and he was left with only a godfather/grandmother. Teddy got both and his godfather isn't in Azkaban, so he has it a little better.

I like to imagine Harry makes sure to be super involved with Teddy's childhood, but I can't imagine a 17-year-old (almost 18) Harry post-war and maybe going back to Hogwarts for 8th year (depends on headcanon) being in a state to take care of a baby full time. I like to think Andy helps out in that first year a lot. I think Andy needs someone, some family to get her through loss. And I think Harry could enjoy Andy's company too. I'm sure she has plenty of stories about a young Sirius, and maybe even a young James, and in my headcanon, Andy somewhat adopts Harry as an extra son too.

Which means she ends up seeing way more Weasleys than she ever expected to. I think the Weasleys, who just lost Fred would understand a lot. I mean, both Andy and Molly lost a child and other family. I want Andromeda be more involved with all of them post-canon. That's my wish.

So Harry is Teddy's official guardian, but he spends loads of time with his grandma and the Weasleys growing up probably. Like, I don't mind him and Victoire being together, though I wouldn't necessarily have been my preferred choice, but I don't really care. They're probably childhood besties because they grew up together.

As for Teddy's relationship with Harry, I think Harry would end up treating him more like a much younger brother than a son. I mean, when Teddy would be 10, Harry would just be 27. Don't get me wrong, Harry could, technically, be his dad, but I think their dynamic is going to be different than that of Harry with his own children. Just because of how young and traumatized Harry is when he gets Teddy.

So, I think their relationship would have its tense points, but they'd also love each other. Like, you know Harry would do his best. He'd be super protective over Teddy, Andy would be, too. Like, no one messes with this kid.

But I also kinda want Teddy making a: "you're not my dad" joke/comment when Harry tries to send him to his room or something and Harry doesn't know if he wants to laugh or cry the first time it happens. But I think it would become a recurring joke Harry laughs from.

I think the first years would be the roughest. Everyone's grieving and trying to settle back into a semblance of normal life. Harry never really had a "normal life" he's gonna have no idea what to do with himself and I think Teddy could be a purpose he dedicates himself to. I think these two and Andy could all help each other figure their lives out. But as Teddy grows older and things settle down, it becomes easier.

While I think Harry and Teddy would end up really close, it's not going to be exactly the same relationship Harry and Sirius had. Teddy is going to have a happy childhood, Harry and Andy wouldn't let it be any other way, so he won't have the same grief and trauma Harry did as a child. Like, their dynamic would be less desperate, I think. Like, Harry wouldn't need to stay in a cave and eat rats for Teddy, their situation would be way chiller. Like, I think Harry would be constantly confused about how Teddy ended up being such a cool kid/teen because he doesn't think he could've raised him like that and he would joke about it with Teddy who'd be all sarcastic like: "Obviously, I raised myself here,"

Like, I imagine Teddy with his mother's punk fashion sense and goofiness (the goofiness I believe was 100% shared by Ted Tonks), Remus' voice and constant self-doubt, Andromeda's posture (he sits with his back perfectly straight, okay, Andy didn't let him slouch by the table), and Harry's sarcasm. He's like this mix of them and still his own person.

I think Teddy is likely to go through quite a lot of personal phases to try and figure out his own identity and how he portrays himself. Becouse everyone treats him as the godson of the famed boy who lived, but his dead parents were the last Metamorphmagus and a Werewolf. And he is very close to his grandma, who is a disowned daughter of House Black. Like, this is a kid rip for angst about who he is and who people see him as and him being a Metamorphmagus really leans into it.

Like, a young Teddy making sure to look like Harry in public because he's proud of the connection. Or Teddy mimicking Remus or Tonks' appearance from photos when he thinks about them and misses them or wants to remind strangers who his parents actually are becouse they seem to forget. Like, that could be super fun.

I think Harry's kids would really like Teddy. He's like a cool older cousin/brother who lives with them. Like, I can see them really looking up to him and Teddy would complain to Harry about being followed around by a 3-year-old that won't leave him alone and Harry would just find the whole thing amusing.

(I can also see a post-war Andromeda getting back in touch with Narcissa, so you could involve the Malfoys too if you felt like it. Though I feel like Teddy would just, not like Lucius much)

(Also also, I think Lyall is dead. I feel like if he was alive we would know, yk?)

#harry potter #hp #hp meta #asks #anonymous #hollowedtheory #harry james potter #remus lupin #nymphadora tonks #teddy lupin #andormeda tonks #andromeda black #hp next gen

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dulc3vida · 9 months ago

Text

you.

rafe cameron x bunny!reader

part 1. this is my au so don't think too much about canon lore. characters, times, events, ect... might not match but PLEASE JUST ENJOY THE STORY PLEASE JUST GIVE IT A CHANCE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASe

warning: 18+ read at your own risk. this is a dark fic loosely inspired by the tv show you. dubious content lies ahead, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

UNC Chapel Hill: September, Sophomore Year

there was nothing rafe cameron hated more than being tutored. it made him feel stupid, needing someone to explain and break down concepts that others understood easily. ward used to lose his mind trying to find rafe new tutors because in all honesty, when rafe felt cornered or helpless, he got nasty. saying the rudest things that made these well-paid, private tutors basically discard a paycheck, was one of the first times rafe ever felt true power. the first time he ever came close to knowing what his dad felt like, even though his dad had a much better reputation than rafe ever would.

rafe especially hated english. the books were boring and he could never be bothered to sumbit more than a half baked essay regarding the text. that's how he ended up in the study room in the library sitting across from you. he remembered you from class, the TA. you always sat besides prof. callahans desk and you looked younger than any TA he had ever had, probably even his age. your face was familiar but rafe couldn't put his finger on it. you were clean, you smelled good, and your nails were done which meant you had the time and money to take care of that kind of thing when most college students forget to feed themselves. you occasionally looked up from the signup sheet as the minutes ticked 5 past 3pm, where only rafe's name was signed.

"i guess we can start now." you mumbled, flipping your notebook open. "this weeks quiz is going to cover part 1 of crime and punishment. have you... started the reading?"

rafe's hard gaze bored into yours and he shook his head without another word. he was thinking about how cute and neurotic the way you had your notes organized was and how soft you spoke to him. were you scared of him? rafe was intrigued.

"okay, no biggie. we can just start there. did you check out a copy of the book?" you asked, pulling out your own copy that was bursting at the seam with sticky notes and colored tabs. again, rafe wordlessly shook his head. "good thing we're in the library. come on, let's go see if they have any left."

rafe followed close behind you, you could practically feel him breathing down your neck as you walked through rows of books before finding the one you were looking for. you showed rafe how to check a book out before returning to the study room. "okay. let's start."

you began dissecting the book from the very beginning, soft voice describing the historical context of the book. rafe was surprised at how well he was keeping up. it didn't hurt that you were cute, nose all blushed and button, scrunching up whenever you couldn't read your own handwriting in your notes. a pair of clear framed glasses sat on the bridge of your nose which you constantly adjusted due to your eyelashes hitting the glass. you had a habit of licking and biting your lips, applying lipgloss on every "brain break" as you called it. maybe all this time, all he needed was a cute tutor that he could stand looking at.

in between writing notes and flipping through the book, he caught glimpses of a "j" necklace dangling in your cleavage. did your name start with a j?

"what's your name?" rafe asked once the two of you began packing your things up. it was now 7:30 with the sun beginning to set. you told him and he repeated it under his breath.

"my friends call me bunny though." if you're bunny, who is j? you tossed your bag over your shoulder and let your hair down from the claw clip that was holding it up. it billowed over your shoulders and you tucked a few stray strands behind your ears after taking your glasses off. you weren't the shy good girl he met at the beginning of the session, no, you were different. good girl in front of everyone but he knew there was another energy in you that he wanted- no he needed to see. rafe watched you leave, staying a few steps behind, where he could comfortably watch you and before he knew it, you were jumping into the passenger side of a beat up old brown van that pulled up, and leaning over to give whoever was driving a kiss.

rafe felt a familiar, red hot anger wash over him. the first time he felt that anger was when sarah was born and ward wouldn't stop fawning over her. ward basically forgot he had a son when sarah was born which made rafe incredibly insecure. that insecurity built a home inside rafe's heart, where any little inconvenience could turn it into an ugly monster with sharp teeth and a desire to tear everything in sight into fucking pieces. this time, the monster was awakened at the reality of you having a boyfriend.

against his better judgement, rafe ran to his truck the second you took off, speeding down the road he saw you drive down. it took him a minute, but he managed to find the shitbox on wheels you were riding around in. he made sure to stay far enough away to where it didn't seem suspicious, but close enough to where he wouldn't lose you again.

he wouldn't lose you again.

he repeated that phrase to himself as he drove into jacksonville and while he parked his car a few spaces from the van in a place where your little group was fully visible. you came to the beach. there was 3 guys, 1 girl, and you. gone were your leggings, tank top, and cardigan. instead, you donned a pair of cutoff jean shorts, a bikini top, and a huge smile on your face as you settled yourself in the blonde boys lap.

rafe thought he recognized the group you were with, but he was hoping his eyes were just playing tricks. of course, it could never be that simple because rafe did know them. the pogues. what were they doing on the mainland? he hadn't seen them in a while and was getting used to not having to see or smell them other than when he went home for holidays.

jj, he knew worked in the cafeteria ever since he graduated earlier in the spring, which is probably how he met you. rafe had never been fond of jj, in fact, rafe lived to antagonize jj back on the island (if he cared for the cafeteria food, he would probably be in there a lot more to mess with him) so him having you felt like poorly timed karma. to be completely honest, rafe hadn't expected such a dramatic shift of power dynamics when coming to college because now there was at least 10 other rafe's who were dating the girls he should have been dating. he did just fine at parties, more than fine, but he was starting to get tired of drunk girls who just lied there all limp and sweaty or threw up on his dick (happened twice freshman year and he didn't enjoy it like he thought he would). the first decent, eligible girl he meets is getting her pussy dug out by jj maybank of all people and it felt like someone, somewhere was laughing at his misfortune. it almost made him want to give up on you.

almost.

he would never let jj maybank win at anything, let alone your heart. there was just something about you that he couldn't let go. the only thing he couldn't figure out was why everyone else was here too? none of them had a chance of getting into chapel hill. you either had to have perfect grades, be incredibly wealthy, or be a legacy student. thankfully, rafe managed to be 2/3 of those things.

rafe sat back in his seat and just observed you. he cracked his windows open and tried to listen to your conversation but he was too far to hear anything other than laughter and unintelligible voices. he pulled his phone out and typed your name into instagram, easily finding your very public page.

rafe decided to do some digging. he would start at the bottom. scrolling all the way back through a very curated feed (rafe could tell you pick and choose which of your old posts get to stay up and which ones ruin the feed) rafe felt his heart sink.

he knew you.

OBX: Summer 2018

"come on, bunny, i don't wanna go without you." your friend, esther, pleaded. she had been invited to rafe camerons party, a coveted event where anything and everything happened. esther was dating rafe's friend kelce, who invited her to the party.

"you're not even gonna talk to me so what's the point in going." you responded, filing your nails while you laid in bed.

"honestly, when's the last time you really went out? you only ever go to the country club and don't say your parents make you because last time you weren't even with your parents."

"well, the old men buy me drinks if i talk to them and make them laugh. sometimes they give me money. one of them gave me this tiffany bracelet." you stuck your wrist out to show off the silver bracelet with the heart tag which was branded with the company's insignia.

"that's kinda gross." esther scrunched her nose. you only shrugged your shoulders.

"so is going to a party at rafe camerons house. jungle juice is probably roofied" rafe had been the stereotypical jock douchebag who only hung out with other jocks, cheerleaders, or other impossibly gorgeous girls. you saw right through him which is why you never caved. not when he invited you to his lunch table, not when he asked you out, not when he tried to grind against you on the dancefloor at junior prom and called you a bitch when you pushed him away. at some point, rafe stopped trying trying with you and turned his attention and "where my hug at?" energy towards other girls who were much more susceptible.

"so we'll pregame. just please don't make me go alone." in a flash, esther sat on top of you and pinned your arms down while a string of "please, please, pretty please with a cherry on top!" tumbled out of her mouth.

"OKAY!" you had enough, but were still giggling. "i'll go, just get off of me so i can change."

"yay!" esther rolled off of you. "wear the black one, the one that makes you look slutty."

"aren't we supposed to be getting you laid?" you asked, looking through your closet that was practically overflowing with expensive name brands.

esther looked down at her hands. "me and kelce already..."

"no way. really?" she nodded and you squealed rushing over to hug her. "babe i'm so proud of you! wait- why do you need me there then?"

"its the first time i'm meeting his friends and i'm nervous." she explained, now looking through your clothes with you. "i need a buffer, yknow, a cute friend who can keep my boyfriends friends occupied."

you blinked. "so basically, you're whoring me out?"

"you just told me that you talk to old men for money and gifts."

"yeah and they don't even get to see me in my little black dress."

when you arrived at the party, it was in full swing. rafe caneron's parties had a reputation. booze flowed, drugs were shared, and there were enough rooms in the house for every couple to get busy in. it was the perfect haven for teen delinquency.

you were unimpressed, as per usual, with rafe's antics. he had been in the pool when you arrived, a girl on either side of him while he smoked a joint.

"how long do i have to stay?"

"until you start enjoying yourself."

you went to the bar. grabbing a red solo cup, you mixed yourself a drink of cherry vodka and coke. you chugged it, always having the attitude that when it came to alcohol you had to get right to the point. when you finished it, you made yourself another one.

"excuse me." a hand gently placed itself on the small of your back which made you jump. "my bad, didn't mean to scare ya- hey you're esthers friend right?" it was topper. "i just saw her with kelce. i'm topper." he stuck his hand out.

"bunny." you took it.

"whatcha got there?"

"chery vodka and coke."

"nah nah nah- you like the cherry vodka?" you nodded and he took your cup from you. "let me make you a drink."

"okay." you watched his every move as he fixed cherry vodka, cranberry juice, and lime in a brand new cup. "thank you. what is this?"

"it's called a cherry bounce. cheers to you, bunny. hopefully this isn't the last time i see you."

you only smiled at him, tight lipped and gently tapped your cup against his before taking a drink. "topper, this is really good. make me another?"

"you're not even done with that one yet." with that, you drank the rest of your cup. "okay, party girl." he took your cup back and fixed you another. "you wanna dance?"

you hated to admit it, but you actually were having a good time with topper. he was funny, kind, nice to look at, and he was a good dancer. the night was going so good, until esther invited you and topper to sesh with her, kelce, and rafe as the party died down.

it wasn't the sesh that was bad, no, you even managed to be polite and sociable with rafe. it was after the sesh when your drinks had caught up with you and you needed to pee. "esther can you show me where the bathroom is?" you asked but it fell on deaf ears as esther and kelce were mouth fucking.

"c'mon. i'll show you." rafe got up and began walking inside the house without another word. you quickly followed, only wanting to relieve your bladder and be alone for a few minutes to gather yourself and your thoughts that were racing on account of the sativa blunt you had just smoked.

rafe walked up the stairs, basically torturing your bladder with every step until he got into his room. "just use this one."

you were too desperate to argue about whatever his intentions were bringing you here so you went in and almost tripped over yourself getting to the toilet. you made it through, no accidents happening and feeling a lot more gone than when you walked up the stairs.

you stepped back into rafes room and he was sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for you. "you okay? you were in there for a while."

"yeah." you stumbled over to sit next to him but he got up and went to his window. "just a little dizzy."

"everyone fell asleep." rafe watched his friends make themselves comfortable on the outside couch on this hot summer night. you climbed over his bed and looked out the window at the sight of your friend asleep on her boyfriend's chest and topper asleep, hugging a pillow.

"do i get a prize?" he cocked his head at you. "for being the last one awake at a rafe cameron party?"

"what do you want?" rafe asked you seriously and you sighed, lying back against his navy blue sheets.

"for you to not be such an asshole." you murmured and stared at the ceiling. "i mean, you're really cute but you ruin it by being... you."

"i knew you had a thing for me." rafe must have only heard half of what you were saying because he was taking his place back next to you on his bed. "c'mere." he patted his lap and it didn't take much more coaxing than that to get you crawling into his lap. he positioned himself the way he wanted you, straddling him with your crotch right on top of his. "been waiting for you to finally come around." he trailed his hands up and down from your waist to your ass. "y'gonna let me inside that pretty pussy babe?" rafe whispered in your ear, sending all your intoxicated arousal straight to your core.

if you had been in a clearer state of mind, you would have never even been in rafe's room, but here you were letting him guide your hips to grind against you through the thin layer of your black lacy panties. your short dress had already ridden up your thighs, exposing you even more than you already were.

unexpectedly, rafe tugged the top of your dress down and leaned down to take a nipple into his mouth. when he grazed his teeth against your sensitive, hardened peak, you gasped and jolted against him. "rafe." you whispered, trying to get his attention because your head was spinning. instead, his hand found a place between your legs and pushed your panties to the side, dragging his fingers through your folds and spreading your wetness. he used it to rub your clit in circles, encouraged by your whimpers in his ear. "oh rafe..." you felt your orgasm building quickly due to your drunken state, but you also felt a pit building in your stomach. this felt wrong.

you blinked and you were on your back. your dress had found a place across your stomach and your panties were torn off of you without your knowledge. you closed your eyes, hoping if he thought you were asleep that he would just stop.

of course, things would not be that simple.

while your eyes were closed, rafe got undressed and slipped a condom over his cock. he grabbed a pillow and placed it under your hips to prop your pussy up for him at the perfect angle. he took his cock and tapped it against your clit. "wake up, sleepy girl." you only whined and tried to close your legs but he forced himself between them so you couldn't.

your eyes snapped open when you felt the intrusion of his cock. "uhhh..." you let out a mixture of a moan and a whine. the stretch burned because no matter how wet you were, rafe was objectively big, especially the mushroom tip of it. you didn't know if it was the liquor, the weed, or what, but you could basically picture what it looked like based on the way it felt inside you.

rafe gave you no time to adjust and set a punishing pace off the bat. he had one of his large hands splayed over your stomach, pushing down and making you let out a short, loud moan. "let me hear you. wanna hear how good i fuck this pussy." rafe grunted while thrusting in and out.

you, in your state, were incredibly embarrassed no matter how good he hit your spots so you were barely letting any noise escape your mouth.

"always playing hard to get... you're gushing around my cock... and making a mess on my sheets... but you still act all stuck up..." rafe spat at you through his teeth and you let out another high pitched whine. he punctuated each word with a hard thrust, his balls now slapping your ass with vigor. "gotta put you in your place, huh?"

he flipped you over and pulled you onto all fours. his hand splayed across your back this time and pushed your chest into the bed, creating a beautiful arch to your back. "so fuckin pretty." he moaned when the slid back into your tight warmth. the change of position did nothing to help you hold onto the little composure you had as he was now deeper than before, mushroom tip generously rubbing against your g-spot and his balls now smacking your clit. you were too far gone to care how you looked throwing your hips back against his. "fucking slut." he grunted, grabbing a handful of your hair. "y'wanted this huh? yeah, yeah, you been needing this huh?"

you could only moan as he painfully gripped your hair and pushed himself balls deep, rolling his hips against yours. "you like the way i fuck you baby?"

"mhm..." you had your eyes closed as you focused on the tension building in your stomach. a heavy hand landed a smack against your ass.

"use your words. you like my cock?"

"i love it..." you desperately moaned out.

"good girl." rafe pushed your head back into the bed and drilled his cock into you brutally. you were struggling to hold your hips up, but rafe held you up with one arm. "fuck... m'gonna cum. y'gonna let me cum in this pussy?" rafe grunted and pulled out, sliding the condom off before thrusting back into you. "there we go." he spoke through gritted teeth. "thatagirl, pussy feels like heaven."

you felt the difference and opened your mouth to protest but all that came out was unintelligible pants and moans.

then you saw white.

your orgasm washed over you, making your pussy clench and flutter and cream around rafes cock. you felt rafes hips stutter against yours and then you felt hot ropes of cum paint your insides. you couldn't stop moaning because rafe was still inside you, slowly thrusting and rubbing your clit. "so fucking tight..." he commented as he watched the way your pussy suctioned his cock and pulled out.

against your knowledge, rafe had been recording since he got you in doggy and was still recording. "shit..." he groaned as he focused the camera on your glistening pussy. a drop of his cum came dribbling out and he pushed it back in, earning a soft "ahhh..." from you. he played with your sensitive cunt until you came again for the camera and passed out.

when you woke up, you were alone. for a brief moment, you hadn't remembered what happened and were just confused as to where you were. you peered around the room and saw your dress and torn panties and it all came rushing back. the drinks, the sesh, having sex with rafe cameron. he must have changed you because you didn't remember putting on one of his shirts or sweats.

you checked your phone and your parents had been blowing you up since 8am. it was noon. you had missed calls from esther and a series of texts that said she couldn't find you in the morning and hopes you made it home safe. "shit." you groaned and got out of bed, legs sore from the sex you could only remember flashes of. you tidied the room up and changed back into your clothes before walking downstairs with your heels in hand. you slowed as you reached the foyer, hearing voices from the parlor.

"i don't know dude, doesn't feel right to watch this."

"she was totally cool with it, c'mon."

"you're gonna wanna see this."

you recognized the voices as topper, rafe, and kelce. then a video began playing and at first it just sounded like porn, then you realized it was your moans streaming through rafes phone.

"you like the way i fuck you?"

"mhm..."

"use your words. you like my cock?"

"i love it..."

"good girl."

you felt sick to your stomach as you heard the boys commenting on the video. how could you be so stupid? of course rafe would record you without permission while you were off your ass last night. you only blamed yourself as you walked home from tannyhill.

the video followed you around over the summer and you only managed to escape it when you went off to college.

rafe never thought twice about you after that.

JACKSONVILLE: Present.

rafe stared at your instagram feed in utter disbelief. he hadn't thought about you or the video since that summer. he honestly forgot it even happened. he wasn't a douchebag, he was a handsome young man who took all the opportunities presented to him (as he told himself). was sending the video around immature and stupid? probably. he was a kid though. everyone makes mistakes, or at least that's what he tried to tell himself as he looked through old pictures of you. did you remember him? you must have. you looked different from the last time he saw you but he looked the same. you definitely knew who he was the second he came into the study room and he didn't know how to feel about that. it made his job easier and harder. he already had a connection with you, but he would have to go through a grueling apology process that he really didn't care for. he just needed to have you.

as he scrolled into the more recent stuff, he couldn't help but notice that you didn't post jj on here at all. the page was a monument to you, all the better, and you were gorgeous on here. 2k followers with 1k likes on every post you made and comments that varied from "you're so gorgeous" to "just give me one chance." you had a highlight titled "my <3" and there was only one picture of you holding jj's hand with the song "melting" by kali uchis which was posted only a month ago.

he left your profile and went into his camera roll, into the hidden folder and scrolled back to 2018. he found the video and pressed play, his cock getting hard immediately and straining against his pants. soon enough, he had his phone pressed to his ear and his hand down his pants as he watched you and kie gathering firewood. soon enough, he was cumming in his hand to the sound of you saying that you loved his cock.

rafe managed to clean up a little and continued to watch you, well into the night as you and your friends built a bonfire and smoked a joint. it was midnight when you all had decided to leave. he followed the dirty old van back to campus and learned where your dorm was, watching you and jj head in.

rafe made it back to his dorm at around 3:30am. the more he learned, the more questions he had. rafe fell asleep with only one thing on his mind.

you.

#rafe cameron x bunny!reader #rafe cameron prompt #dark rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader

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strawberrystepmom · 9 months ago

Text

pairing: Suguru Geto x F!Reader

word count: 9.7k

contents: Canon compliant up to the events of JJK0, cult leader!Suguru, naive reader, slight age difference between reader and Geto (5 years), reader can see curses/has cursed energy but it is kept intentionally vague

cw: dark content | emotional manipulation, dubious consent, voyeurism, oral sex (m!receiving), spit, violence, descriptions of anxiety, mentions of religion and religious imagery, mind fuck-y

notes: so this is a remaster/full repost of unkindness that was on my old blog! i only got up to like the third segment in that post so i figured why not do it all at once. thank you for reading if you do and i hope that you enjoy my little story! ♡ | crossposted to ao3

When you were eight years old, sitting in your mother’s lap as she combed through your wet hair, you remember telling her about a recurring dream you had been having for weeks. You were nervous to tell her, your little hands balled into fists as they rested against your nightgown clad thighs.

“A raven,” you recount to her as she nods and gently uses the bristles of the comb to detangle a knot. “Bigger than any bird I’ve ever seen is in this dream every night, flying around over my head.” Your mother sighs and reassuringly pats your head. You hear the spritz of a spray bottle from behind you, a synthetic green apple scent filling your nostrils.

Telling her filled your stomach with anxiety, an issue you didn’t know you had at the time. You figured the world was just scary back then. You wish you could go back and tell yourself how right you were. About how scary the world is, anyway. To tell yourself about how everything will eventually end up likely wouldn’t change the outcome but at least you could say a few things.

“The raven comes to the ground eventually. He doesn’t fly over your head forever, instead he glides by your side.”

“The visions you’ve seen are real, you aren’t crazy.”

The most unbelievable thing of all?

“You end up in love and you end up losing yourself along the way.”

Back then though, you only had your mom and her words to illuminate the darkness you felt lurked around every corner.

“Have you ever heard of omens?”

Shaking your head, you turn to look at your mom who is tapping the edge of the comb against the heel of her hand. She’s chewing the inside of her cheek and you can tell she’s deciding what to say next to comfort you. Your mom has never been good at this kind of thing, a woman who never envisioned she would have a child with so much angst and fear.

“Sometimes we receive signs that something is going to happen in our lives even if we don’t understand them,” she starts. You hear her mouth open, as if she wants to add something additional, but you hear it snap shut as if she thought better of it. You nod once, signaling your understanding and she gets back to work at the stubborn tangle at the base of your skull without another word shared between the two of you.

You hate that this is the most vivid memory from your childhood.

You hate that you still have the dream.

You wake with a gasp, looking around and blinking as warm morning light filters through the window. Feeling around the bed, you wonder if Suguru is already up and moving for the day as your hands touch the duvet where he should be. It’s cold, as if nobody was there in the first place. Knowing that may have been the case anyway, you sigh and rub your hands over your face.

“Suguru?”

His name leaves your lips in a tentative manner and you look around the room to make sure he isn’t looking at the early morning sun or standing there watching you sleep. No matter how much of your life you spend with him, you’ll never get used to the feeling of those black diamond eyes following you everywhere you go. But finally, you are seen.

Four years spent with him and no one sees you like he does.

You were 18 years old, a few months from graduating high school, when Suguru approached you. The sight of a stranger raised your hackles, scared of the world at large at that point in your life, and you were concerned trouble was coming for you. All of the omens in your dreams would finally come true at the hands of this beautiful man, rising to his full height which is nearly towering over you. His hair was shorter then than it is now, just past his shoulders and tied in a neat half bun off of his face.

He looked like less of a god now than he did then but you knew it. The omnipresent feeling of him sticks in your bones. It’s the confidence that makes you stand with your back straight, that guides you through the worst of the days where he’s nowhere to be found.

Unable to find him, you shuffle back to the futon and lay down amongst blankets that smell like him. You’ve never been able to place the scent but you know it’s his. Wrapping yourself in the duvet, you let your mind wander back to all of those years ago.

“I know this seems sudden but I wanted to ask you about your gift.”

Mention of your gift, not that you’d ever call it that, makes you freeze. He notices your expression, wide eyed and haunted, and he fights the urge to smile at you. Just as he and everyone else suspected, you have no idea what you’re capable of. It would be a failing worthy of death to let Gojo find you first. Suguru couldn’t risk the bird dog finding his canary and dropping her off, bloodied and broken, on the doorstep of the Sorcerer community.

He wouldn’t allow it.

“M..my gift?” You repeat with uncertainty and he nods, bun bobbing against the back of his head as he does so. The situation is withering, a handsome stranger asking you about a secret you’ve kept hidden for your whole life while the sun beats down and makes you sweat. You wonder if you’re about to be killed.

“You are an exceptional young woman, do you know that?”

The background noise of the world fades out, the sound of the spring birds chirping disappearing as you blink once, twice, and you notice those dark eyes fixated on you. You blanch and avert your eyes. Were you even allowed to look at him? Dressed in such nice clothing with such a regal demeanor? Shaking your head, you play off the awkwardness with a humorless chuckle.

“You must be looking for someone else, sir.” Bowing your head as a sign of respect, you turn to walk away. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Before you can turn on your heel to walk away, you feel a large palm rest on your shoulder. You take note of the weight of it, the feel against your bones, and you wonder why this is happening to you? You are so afraid but you can’t run, you don’t have the guts for it. What do you do now?

Nothing. You do nothing, just as you’ve done your entire life. You let this strange man grab you, hold you, speak to you. Humiliation rises like bile in your throat and you turn to face him, astounded again by his beauty. The sunlight catches his dark eyelashes, warmth emanating from him. How can you walk away? You won’t walk away.

“I don’t want this to be more strange than it already is,” he starts, voice deep and dreamy. You could get lost in the baritone and the way it wraps around you but you choose instead to focus on his words to try and understand what he wants from you. “But I know you have something nobody else has. Abilities.”

He’s correct but you wonder how he could possibly know about your struggles. You have kept them to yourself for years even to the detriment of your own well being. Your mother and father both assume you’re deranged and there are times where you’ve wholeheartedly agreed with them since you began seeing the things that haunt you at every turn when you were 5.

“How do you know about that?”

The man shakes his head and holds his free hand ahead of him. “Why don’t you walk with me and we can talk some more?”

How can you say no with his hand on your shoulder? Turning on your heel to face him, you keep quiet and wait for further instructions. Your naturally submissive tendencies are serving you well in this situation and Geto doesn't hide his smug smile. You are perfect and he knew it.

As the two of you begin to pick up pace walking side by side, you anxiously keep your eyes glued to the ground. Being able to visualize each of your steps is keeping you calm and if you look down, there's less of a chance you'll see whatever is out there to scare you.

"Look at me."

He doesn't ask, he commands, and you listen. For the first time, you notice something perching on his shoulder. It's formless for the most part and less terrifying than what you usually see attached to others as they pass by you but you're intrigued nonetheless.

"Do you know about that....thing?" Pointing to his shoulder, he nods at you and you breathe a sigh of relief. "You see them also?"

A chuckle is his response and you ponder what it means while you wait for him to clear up your confusion. "I don't just see them, I control them."

The figure disappears quickly and you gasp, searching around your own feet and your shoulders to make sure he didn't order it in your direction to harm you.

"How?"

Despite your trepidation, Suguru can see the way that your eyes sparkle at the thought of someone being like you. He knows how it felt for him, too.

"I can show you and so can my friends." He watches your nose scrunch in confusion at his words and he laughs, amused. The sound is musical and uplifting and you feel yourself lightening up for the first time maybe in your entire life. Knowing you aren't alone has shifted your perspective more than you realized it would.

"There are more of you?"

"A couple dozen, yeah."

Nodding, you think for a moment. What if he can actually help you? What if these people are actually like you? What if you can find a place that suits you for the first time in 18 whole years?

"How can you help me?"

The man turns to you, knowing smirk in place across his mouth. “I can show you better than I can tell you.”

You hate her.

Never in your life has such a bitter feeling gathered in the pit of your stomach. Your face flames every time Manami walks by, you can feel it and you know she can see it. Tonight, you are more glad than ever to be on kitchen duty even if it means having to listen to her cackle from the other side of the wall.

“Geto-sama!”

She sing-songs across the tatami with a giggle as Suguru traipses by en-route to have dinner with the group, seating himself at the head of the table as everyone else files in around it. You fight the urge to roll your eyes from where you’re standing next to Mimiko and Nanako, pouring hojicha into tea cups.

“Geto-sama,” you mock under your breath and Nanako giggles, dishing rice into bowls at your side. The two of you giggle together, a secret shared, as she begins to bring the dishes to the table for service. Sorting your tea cups, you count how many more servings you need as you look around the doorframe to see who is waiting.

Your relationship with Geto’s most trusted inner circle has expanded greatly since you first arrived months ago.

They knew better than to be outwardly distrustful of you. Aside from the twins, every one of them had set out to find Suguru and his group on their own. He found you. He brought you. He touted your abilities long before you arrived.

“She’s the perfect blank slate,” he gushed over dinner one night as the other members of the group listened enraptured. “We got to her just in time, too. My source says that Gojo was planning on paying her a visit.”

Your arrival was underwhelming. Greeted at the end of the footpath that leads to the front door by Miguel, Larue, Mimiko, and Nanako while Manami glowered from the porch with folded arms, you weren’t immediately made to feel welcome by anyone except for Suguru who continued to guide you along the property with your arm looped in his. She was scoping you out, taking an assessment. She believed you to be no threat. She believed wrong.

Tinkering with the last cup on the counter, you take one look into the dining room again and the realization that your usual spot is full makes you chuckle humorlessly. Not that you’re surprised, Manami has done all but piss all over Geto to mark her territory but the sight makes a bitter, sour feeling turn in your guts just the same. Your nose scrunches as if you’ve smelled something bad and you don’t immediately hear when someone else enters the kitchen to pick up the tea cups you are still filling.

“About ready?”

The voice you recognize as belonging to Mimiko calms you and you respond with a nod, wrapping your hand around the warmest cup as you take a breath and plaster a smile on. This one goes to the man himself and you feel eyes upon you as you offer it to him with a bow. His hand lingers on top of yours for a moment and you’re glad your face is pointed toward the ground, your flustered look hidden as long as you don’t make eye contact.

“We’re just waiting on you,” he chides lightly, always a stickler for timeliness. You lift your head to his view enough to offer an apologetic half smile. He pats the side of your face with his tea-warmed hand and your smile grows. Your eyes meet his rich, umber colored pair and you feel at peace. “Manami will be out of your spot by the time you get back.”

A small “oooooooh” breaks out around the table but the tension is quickly killed with a sharp look from Suguru. Everyone quietly begins shuffling their utensils and you don’t stick around to watch Manami’s rejection, scurrying back to the kitchen to gather your own rice and tea.

“I want to share a few moments after dinner, if you’d all like to stick around.”

Suguru’s words inspire nods and happy, affirmative hums and you catch the tail end of them as you settle next to him at the table. Your opposition glares icily from the other end of the table, the same look she kept plastered on her face the day you arrived, and you meet her eyes long enough to offer a sweet smile before bowing your head in thanks for the meal you were about to share.

“I’d especially like for you to stay,” he looks across the table at Manami who nods once before turning back to her plate. Her lips are pursed and her eyebrows are knit together in irritation but smugness glimmers in her eyes. “You too,” he says and you turn your head to see him glancing down at you. Fondness crinkles the corners of his eyes slightly and you shrink into yourself with a nod and a shy smile. “Of course.”

The rest of dinner goes as you’ve come to expect. The twins giggle and joke with every other member of the group and you all sit beneath the watchful eyes of your leader who sips at his own tea with a barely visible over the edge of his cup smirk but you can see it from where you sit. You can see the corners of his mouth upturned just enough it makes your heart flutter in your chest.

He looks down at you and thinks about how vulnerable you look. How little you hide, your emotions and yourself alike. Were you like this before he met you or is this his influence? He takes credit. He knows the way you flash fake nice shit eating grins in Manami’s direction is for his sake. His sweet little bird isn’t afraid to fight and he hoped that would be the case.

“Since we’re all here, I wanted to discuss a few things,” Geto clears his throat and sets his cup on the table in front of him. He basks as he feels every eye in the room turn toward him but none make him feel more intoxicated than yours. When he casts you a glance, you smile shyly. He wonders if you’ll do that forever, look at him as if he’s a savior on a big white horse. He hopes so.

“I want to make some changes in what we’ll all be doing around here,” his voice rings proud and clearly and you fight the urge to prop your head up with your hand girlishly to get a better look at him. A few people shift in their seated positions but you don’t glance around to find out who, gaze fixed upon the person you want to witness the most.

“Manami, your duties are changing.” Replacing the sound of shifting clothing is small gasping and murmuring. Manami has been Geto’s assistant for close to two years, a coveted spot amongst anyone in the group. “You will still be my personal assistant but only for off compound events and daytime hours.”

Grateful for your own refusal to look at the rest of the table, you can tune out the uncomfortable chatting. “I know this may be surprising but we have many things ahead of us we need to prepare for,” he starts and the noise quiets. “Manami is one of the brightest among us and she will excel no matter what she’s doing.”

Hearing him praise someone else makes your back stiffen, the urge to pick at the seam of your t-shirt making your fingers twist in the fabric idly. You’re grateful your grip is beneath the table, hidden from view. No one will suspect how you feel as long as you’re careful but you gasp as you feel two large, soft hands untangle your fingers from your shirt and squeeze them between their palms. Looking up you’re greeted by the handsome, vulpine smile of Geto and you feel another gentle squeeze of your hands.

You take a deep breath and ground yourself, focusing on his words as he opens his mouth.

“You will be my new on-premises and evenings assistant.” Despite your shock and the look on your face that shows it clear as day, you nod. “I would love to,” you clarify and he squeezes your hands once more as he rises and drops your clammy fingers back into your lap.

Standing at his full height, Geto smiles as he looks over the faces of everyone sitting around him. Even Manami is working to hide her pout, looking toward the ground but keeping a smile plastered on her face. You sit with your legs tucked beneath you, a shred of hope illuminating parts of you that you once saw as dark and empty.

You get to spend most of your day with Geto, most of your evenings too. Perhaps in that time he will finally have the opportunity to tell you about your gift. In 6 months you’ve learned as much as you knew the day you arrived but that may be soon to change. Giddiness makes you smile slightly, your face beaming as you keep it looking up.

Suguru extends his hand in your direction and your smile grows wider. Gingerly placing your palm in his, he helps you rise as he places his hands on either side of your face. You strain your neck glancing up at him, you’re only chest level or so to his massive form and you can feel him using his grip on your cheeks to lower your head. Once you’re gazing at the floor his lips graze your forehead and you gasp, fire erupting through your limbs.

“I’m going to teach you so much,” he coos as he uses his grip to turn your face back toward him. His eyes drink in the sight of you - the tip of your nose, the shape of your lips, and he smirks so quickly you swear you only imagined it. His thumbs graze your cheeks before he drops his grip and looks over your head at everyone else. That tall, dark shadow rests directly over you, though.

“You’re all dismissed, thank you for a lovely evening.”

Everyone stands and you stay facing Geto until all of the footsteps have filed out, waiting for his permission to leave next. You flinch slightly when his hands grip your face again, a natural reflex to the surprise of his touch, and he gazes at you silently for so long you stop keeping time. It could have been seconds, it could have been days - you will never know but you will accept it nevertheless.

“Come see me tomorrow morning,” he whispers and you nod. You can see his eyes flit from your eyes to your mouth and you wonder what he’s thinking. He dips his head slightly and you can feel his lips brush gently against yours, a kiss almost too small to be qualified as one. You shiver, his thumbs digging into the plump flesh of your cheeks.

“Yes sir.”

“Say that again,” he mutters against your lips. The vibrations of his words are directly on your skin and the heat that erupted in your limbs before has become a full blown fire, your face hot and your palms sticking together. “Yes sir.”

He presses another kiss to your forehead and releases his grip, straightening his back out as he walks toward the door and offers you a bow of his head. “Get some rest.”

You make certain he’s gone before you touch your fingers to your lips, your eyes fluttering shut as you commit the feel of his soft mouth on yours to memory. You won’t be sleeping tonight.

“Geto-sama?”

The sound of your meek voice alerts Suguru to your presence and he looks up from his usual place by the open sliding door between his room and the porch attached to it, a light breeze blowing his hair off of his shoulder. He looks ethereal and resembles a hero from a book you obsessively read as a child. Rescuing a sweet young woman from a life marred by sadness, the hero hauls her off to a place where she can be happy.

The irony isn’t lost on you.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” you start, clasping your hands together in front of you and he rises to standing, elegance exuding from him even in the most mundane of situations. He approaches you and gently rubs the back of your head and you fight the urge to lean into the touch. No amount of him feels like enough.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” he responds with a serene smile, one you’ve noticed is just for you. He doesn’t smile at anyone else like that, not even Manami, and smugness rises in you for a split second before he speaks again. “What can I do for you?”

Clearing your throat, you look toward the ground and keep your hands linked. Geto recognizes the posture, something you do frequently when you want to speak, and he waits with his own hands joined inside of the sleeves of his yukata robes. He loves how naturally you submit to him, how you won’t even meet his eyes.

“Why am I here?”

If he’s surprised by your question, he doesn’t show it, but he does take a few strides to your side to place a comforting arm around your shoulder. Against your better judgment, you lean against him. Sides pressed together, you’re surprised when you feel the most minuscule squeeze of reassurance. Your heart threatens to burst as he leads you to where he was sitting and invites you to sit across from him, the two of you looking out at the sun setting on the horizon.

“Before I answer,” he adjusts his sitting position and turns to face you. The golden hour warmth hits his face and you swear, not for the first time, you are glancing at a deity. Something, someone, greater than yourself. You shouldn’t be this close to him and you start to spiral but his voice brings you out of your own mind and into reality, your gaze shifting from the ground to him. “Will you tell me why you’re asking?”

Twisting your fingers together and sitting your hands in your lap, you sigh.

You’re uncertain of how much time has passed since you left your old life behind to join him and while you do finally feel at peace with yourself, the natural pull you feel toward the man who brought you here in the first place hasn’t dissipated in the way you expected it to. It feels like an unfulfilled hunger, a need more than a simple want at this point, but how can you begin to tell him that?

“I’m afraid that if I tell you, you’ll see me differently.”

Your words finally get a rise from Suguru and he quirks one of his dark brows. The crack in his cool headed exterior makes you giddy - is that because of you? You’re dumbfounded when his posture changes and he scoots closer to you, your knees nearly touching his. Should you pick yours up and press them against your chest? To quell your own anxiety, you decide to follow his lead. You will only move if he does.

“Nothing you say will change my opinion of you.” He reaches out and touches your knuckles with the tips of his fingers and you feel heat rise through every inch of your body. The touch makes you feel emotional and you break the intense eye contact between the two of you to stare at the ground, hoping it will hide the tears that are threatening to spill down your lash line. “I brought you here.”

Nodding, you lift your still joined fists together and wipe your eyes and down your cheek with the back of one of your hands. Although you are still looking down, you can see Geto moving from your periphery and you wonder what he’s going to do next.

Concerned your display is upsetting him, you sit still and try to regulate your breathing to keep from sobbing but errant tears still flow. You feel Suguru’s finger before you realize what’s happening and you flinch slightly beneath his touch as he wipes the wet tracks off of your skin. He wipes his finger along the fabric of your yukata robe before wrapping both of your fists in one of his much larger hands.

“Please be honest with me.”

Thinking back to what prompted this need for confirmation of what you mean to him, you dig your nails into your palm until you’re certain marks will be left. Manami, someone who spends almost as much time around Geto as you do, comes into your mind and you gnaw on your lower lip as you think about the jealousy churning in your gut. Why does she get to be there to help him make decisions? Why does she get to watch while he’s in meetings? Why did you see her leaving his room last week, hours before dawn?

Knowing it should be you is the emboldening thought you need to open your mouth.

“Do I mean anything to you?”

Feeling him squeeze your fists, the palm of his hand warm and comforting, you release the breath you’ve been holding. For better or worse, you’re about to find out and although your mind is racing, willing yourself to be calm comes easy in his presence. As if you needed further confirmation of everything he has done for you at a moment when you’re demanding something you feel unreasonable for wanting.

“You mean everything to me, you’re our future.”

His confirmation makes you weep. Tears flow freely, dripping down your cheeks and they hit the knuckle of Suguru’s thumb. You should feel guilty, you think, for putting him in a position to have to answer to you but cannot bring yourself to do it. You shouldn’t have had to wait more than a year to know but forgiveness is easy when it comes to him. If anyone should be sorry it’s you for questioning him in the first place and so you begin to ask for forgiveness.

“I’m so sorry for asking, Geto-sama.”

You feel him pulling you into his lap, his strong hands wrapping around your hips and the blood rushes into your face. Perching with uncertainty, your bottom rests against his thigh and it feels natural. All of the yearning couldn’t have prepared you for this feeling and you sigh as he brings one of his large hands to cup the back of your neck, his voice so close to your ear it makes goosebumps erupt across your skin.

“Call me Suguru from now on,” he whispers, a secret for your ears only. You feel his lips press against the space where your jaw and neck meet, another secret for the two of you to keep. Everyone on the compound would view you differently if they knew this was happening but you don’t care. You can’t care, not when he’s running his palms up your waist and unfastening your robe.

The opened door with a view of the outside doesn’t concern you as Suguru’s deft fingers work at the knot keeping you decent, the same breeze that rustles his hair that has always reminded you of feathers blowing across your bare chest as the robe is worked down around your waist. Your nipple stiffens and Geto reaches to pinch it between his thumb and index finger, making you yelp.

“How long have you wanted this, my little bird?” He wonders aloud and you almost feel as if he isn’t speaking to you at all, he merely wants you to listen and to witness. “Since you met me?”

He knows the truth just as he knows the way you’re looking at him. Eyes lidded, cheeks puffed out, lips wet with your own spit. You’re never going to leave his side.

“Tell me the truth,” he pinches your nipple once more and you arch your back, lip jutting out at the roughness of the feeling. Nobody has ever touched you like this before and the feeling is electric. Despite the fuzziness in your brain, the heady arousal clouding your every thought, you wet your lips with your tongue and speak.

“So long, Suguru.”

He smirks knowingly and lowers his head to suck your breast into his mouth, his warm tongue lapping at your skin. It’s nothing short of heaven, you think. This is how it always should have been. His hands travel from the dip of your waist to your hips, pulling the fabric of your robe further down to expose more of you to his hungry eyes. You reach out toward his face, your fingers tentatively brushing against his lower lip and he releases your nipple from his mouth.

“Can I touch you too?”

Another whisper, another secret. A predatory gleam shines in Suguru’s eyes and you wiggle against his lap, keeping your fingertips pressed against his mouth. He puckers and kisses them gently, reaching to grab your wrist. He places your hand against the bulge beneath his robes, covering your delicate fingers with his own.

“You can,” he uses his grip on your hand to press the heel against his hard cock and he hisses through his teeth. You admire the way his throat looks when his head is tipped back in pleasure, his Adam's apple bobbing. How is everything he does so effortlessly beautiful, you wonder. Your attention is recaptured by his voice. “But first, how long?”

Your wide eyed, parted lip expression only serves as further fuel for the blood pumping between his legs. You look so innocent, the same as you did when he felt the first of your defenses crumble, the day he approached you to come with him. It strikes him as funny that both times, your vulnerability is because he has put his hands on you. Nervously, you shift in his lap and he presses you closer to his body to keep you from going any further.

“Since the first day,” you admit, to him and yourself for the first time. He smirks, molding your hand around his bulge and you squeeze. Another hiss from him is all you want, the noise motivating you to offer yourself further. Using your free hand, you slip out of your robe the rest of the way and for the first time, you're bare to his eyes.

"Look at you." Your face heats and you feel your posture collapse in on itself, shoulders slumping after being so seen. "Show me how well you listen."

His command drips with condescension but you’re too awed to notice. When you nod, he gently nudges you off of his lap and you tuck your legs beneath you. Watching as he rises, you stay seated and admire the way those same lithe fingers that were just caressing your overheated skin work at the knot in his own robes.

Those dark eyes glance down at where you kneel on the ground and he gently smooths his hand over the top of your head and slides it into place along your cheek to cup your face. Using his grip to force you to look at him, you do and appear dazed. Transfixed, perhaps, would be better.

“I’ve always known,” Geto unfastens the knot in his robe fully and you gasp at the sight of his nude form backlit by dusk right outside the door. He’s tall and broad and you can’t look away. “That you would realize.”

Pumping his hand along his impressive length, you bite your tongue to keep from eagerly interrupting him. You want to touch him so badly, you have to sit on your hands like a child to keep from approaching sooner than you should. Before you can think any further about his words, he walks a few steps and the sticky head of his cock nearly brushes your soft, swollen mouth.

“I knew it was you from the moment we met.”

He hangs his head just low enough that you feel the words are truly meant just for you and you shiver. As you wait for further instruction, he squeezes your cheek and jaw in the palm of his hand. Your eyes don’t leave him once.

Suguru has always prided himself on his ability to break people down - to their core, their most base selves in every sense of the word. Usually there’s a moment where he can see in their eyes that they have been broken, cloudy and glossy. Yours have looked like that since he met you.

“This is what devotion gets you.” His words make you shiver as he uses his free hand to point the head of his cock at your lips, rubbing the sticky tip along your pouty mouth. Sitting still as stone and waiting for his directions, he gently pulls your face toward his pelvis and his tip pops into your mouth. A long, low moan leaves him and you squirm at the sound. “Just relax for me, okay?”

Suguru releases his grip on your cheek and moves to palm the back of your head, fingers finding an easy and natural grasp on your skull. You take a deep breath and look up at him with watery eyes and he chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re perfect,” he breathes toward the ceiling and you tense slightly as he uses his grip to move more of his cock between your lips. “Stay relaxed, baby. It’s okay.”

Your head bobs slightly and he groans again and you wonder what it will take to get him to make that noise again, the deep guttural moan sending shockwaves to your clit. You want to rut against something, to feel the pressure release in your stomach and between your legs, but Geto is your first priority.

Experimentally, you dip your face toward the dark hair at the base of his thick cock and you gag a bit as more of his length slips down your throat. The grip on the back of your head tightens and he gasps. Lifting your eyes in his direction for just a moment, you whine at the sight of him with his head thrown back in pleasure. Open mouthed, eyes shut tightly, every muscle in his neck bulging - you love it. If you were a more artistic person, you’d find a way to capture this forever but for now you commit the vision to memory and allow him to thrust his hips so that the remaining length of him dips fully between your lips. The tip of your nose brushes his pubic hair and you moan and gag around his length, tears slipping out of the corners of your eyes. Using the thumb of his free hand, Suguru brushes your tears away and it makes you sob and gag.

“Oh, don’t give up on me now,” he comforts from above, brows furrowed as his hips jerk and your nose continually bumps against his pelvis. Finding a rhythm, he listens to the noises coming from between your lips with every stroke and he feels himself getting closer. His balls tense and his cock twitches and he isn’t willing to prolong the wait any longer than it has already been.

“Open up, keep your tongue out, just like that,” he instructs as he releases his cock from between your lips with a sticky and wet pop, jerking his hand along his spit covered shaft right above your lips and chin and nose. “Stay just like ahhh-,” his words are cut short with a pleasured shout as he shoots translucent ropes of cum across your spit soaked face. A splash lands across your tongue and you note the salty taste - something you’ll associate with just Suguru for as long as you live.

Wrist pumping until he feels fully emptied, he takes a deep breath and covers himself halfway. His lean torso is visible and you feel your cunt throb at the sight and part of you wonders if he’s going to do the same for you - if he’ll kneel between your legs and worship your pussy like he hasn’t had a meal in days.

“Miguel, Manami, you can come in now.”

The deep voice filling your ears makes you scramble to cover yourself with your arms, your breasts and back bare to the open sliding door. The pair make their entrance and you keep your face pointed toward the ground, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. Suguru pats the back of your head as he walks back toward the tatami and sits, patting the spot next to him for you.

“Had some other business to take care of, please forgive my rudeness.”

You stay frozen in place but you can feel the eyes of your compatriots on your sticky face, remnants of Geto clinging to your cheeks.

Days spent on the compound are simultaneously mind-numbingly boring and some of the busiest you’ve ever had.

Each morning, you rise with the sun and watch her from the window that is on the wall opposite where you lie. Most of the time you are on your side, arms wrapped around yourself, in your bed or Suguru’s depending on the events of the evening prior. He most often has you visit him in his quarters and you appreciate the near luxurious gift of privacy on those evenings. It’s far less private in your own room, thin walls separating yourself and whoever is in the room next to yours, although everyone seems to know exactly what Geto uses you for and has since your arrival.

He honors you by allowing you to love him, you remind yourself while the dark thoughts swirling in you churn. They’ll be chased away by the sun and by his presence when he returns to his room where you lay. His side of the futon is empty, already made up as if he were never there, so you allow your mind to wander. If he’s feeling generous, maybe today he will have lunch with you or even better, he’ll finally allow you to begin training your cursed energy into something more than a never-ending sinking feeling in your guts.

He promised you a very long time ago he would help you learn about your own abilities. It seems ungrateful to still long for usefulness considering you know exactly what your role is, yet you can’t help but wish to find this key to understand yourself that seems to always be out of reach.

Tracking the time fell away from you long ago, not long after the first time you were intimate with the man you so dutifully serve. Autumn gave way to winter which faded into a difficult to remember spring followed by the once again balmy days of summer. Again and again and again. Cicadas ring out across the secluded surroundings of the compound morning to night. You blink as they instruct you to rise, singing a tune even more rehearsed than the mechanical beeps of the alarms you used to set on your phone. How long has it been since you’ve had a phone?

Does it matter?

Months or years may have passed but you find that you don’t care all that much. Time passes the same without being able to watch it, a voice that sounds a lot like Geto’s reminds you in the back of your head. You are here forever as part of your purpose to serve his goals and time is just a construct.

When’s the last time you felt like yourself?

Last night, when his satisfaction was the only thing you had to be concerned about, you chide yourself silently. You sound ungrateful to your own ears even if you don’t speak, these endlessly appearing questions becoming more aggravating with each second that passes, and you are annoyed and angry when you rise from Suguru’s bed, re-knotting the tie of your yukata. The shoji is open and he stands just outside of it wearing a cotton robe of his own, sunlight silhouetting him.

He’s a God, you remind yourself, though it doesn’t kill the bitter taste in your mouth the way it usually does. Shuffling toward the door, you take a deep breath and call out his name from inside, his face turning toward you. This makes the bitter taste turn into something sweet you wish to taste again, a soft smile replacing your uncertain frown.

“Good morning,” he calls toward you, sweeping his hand out in front of you to indicate where he’d like you to be. You dutifully follow the wordless instructions and arrive at his side with a smile, squinting in the early morning light.

“Good morning, Suguru. How did you sleep?” Smiling down at you, he gently takes your hand. “As well as I always do when you’re in my bed.”

The compliment and his touch make you feel girlish, heat rising in your face. To be a God’s beloved concubine is an honor, one you rarely take for granted even in your weakest moments. He has given you purpose, motivation, and an understanding you would not have found in a world with people who are unlike you.

Yet that same pit in your stomach lingers. He can tell, narrowing his eyes when he glances at you again though you avert your gaze.

“What’s on your mind?”

A tight smile slips across your face, measured and careful; similar to the one you always give Manami when she’s swearing her devotion to him at dinner or after the congregation. You want to tell him the truth, to open up and make him understand your need to be useful, but the words stick inside of you.

“Nothing, I just didn’t sleep very well.”

It isn’t exactly a lie but he knows that it isn’t the entire truth and his blood runs cold wondering what you’re hiding. You are usually so placid around him, glassy eyes and subdued smiles with averted eyes, but he can feel the anxiety flaring from your body. Are you unhappy? Is the spell he has held over you weakening? Does he need to scare you into reminding you of where your place is, the way he has with so many others?

Tutting gently, he wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you to his side.

“Speak freely, I value everything you have to say.”

Lulled into a false sense of security, you look at him out of the corner of your eye.

“May I train with you today?”

Suguru laughs, lifting his hand and gently brushing his thumb against your chin. He’s always touching you when it’s just the two of you, hands rubbing your forearms or fingers pressed against your face. He’s a sculptor and what are you if not simply the clay he’s molding beneath his touch, smoothing out edges and reshaping you from the bottom up into something you aren’t sure you recognize anymore which is how he has always intended things to be. His perfect blank slate, he said so many years ago. There isn’t a time where you haven’t proven it to be true even if you need a reminder.

“Why?”

The tone of his voice makes you feel foolish for asking and your sidelong glance turns to the ground beneath you. Subservience is a practice and one you tend to be good at, evidence provided in the form of your refusal to make eye contact even when he begins speaking again.

“I’ll protect you from anything that could hurt you. You know that, right?” He furrows his brow, one of his hands wrapped around your forearm while the other remains on your chin. “You are safe here. Nothing here can or would hurt you, not while you’re in my care. Isn’t that enough for you? You demand training so you can, what? Fight?” Chuckling and finishing with a haughty sigh, he shakes his head. “You don’t have a fight in you, little girl. You never have.”

Defenses faltering, you laugh to yourself and up at him, sensitive eyes once again squinting when faced with the grace of the higher being in front of you. Of course he’s keeping you from having to enter battles you aren’t equipped for, isn’t that what he has been doing this entire time? Protecting you from those shadows that have lurked over your shoulder and kept you from sleeping since you were a child, comforting you, blessing you.

Your rudderlessness isn’t Suguru’s fault, it’s simply your own for assuming you know more than he does.

Nobody knows you like he does. They never will.

“Please forgive me, Geto-sama.”

You call him Suguru in pleasure and Geto-sama in exaltation, raising it to the heavens that put him on the earth. Moving to fall to your knees before him in apology for making him believe his protection isn’t enough, he stops you with a firm hand on your shoulder. His thumb digs into your collarbone, somewhere between painfully and pleasurably, and you remain standing on wobbly feet with a dumbfounded expression.

“I already have. For everything.”

There is so much you’ve done since you’ve arrived, so much to be forgiven for. Questioning him, doubting your place with him, doubting others, speaking with a jealous tongue and thinking poisonous thoughts. You accept his grace with a smile, tears rimming your eyes. You have always been told that forgiveness grants freedom, the wind at your back and the sun on your face. You feel it on this day, gazing up at a man who has saved you time and time again despite your own folly.

Nodding and sniffling, you shut your eyes to stop yourself from open mouthed sobbing in thanks. You don’t deserve this and never have.

“I’m going to tell you something I’ve told nobody else, okay?”

The assertion that he still trusts you despite your disrespect makes you emotional again, eyes opening and tears falling while you nod.

“I love you.”

I love your devotion to me, he means, though you’ll never read between the lines to consider that the truth is that you are just a pawn to a man you’ve dedicated your existence to pleasing. Your body, your words, even the way you enter a room have all been carefully trained to suit him. You’ve been broken by his hands and he is always in a hurry to remake you, fashioning you into something once again useful.

“That’s why you’re here, little bird. To be safe and loved, not to fight or grow jealous or be angry with me. Are you angry with me?” You shake your head quickly, leaning into his touch with furrowed brows. He drops his hand from your chin and wraps his arm around your waist. “Never, Suguru.”

“Then don’t ask about training again, understood? Trust me to take care of you.”

And trust you do, nodding and finally letting that open mouth sob escape. He does a bit more tutting and his large hands paw at your body, yanking at the knot keeping your robe closed, roughly cupping your breast when the fabric falls open. Tears drip down your cheeks and onto the back of his hand, just how he likes it, and his tongue pokes out from between his teeth as he glances down at you.

“Do you trust me?”

This isn’t even close to the first time that he has asked but he needs to know just how many pieces he has smashed you into. He flexes his hand, squeezing your breast, further punctuating the point he’s trying to make - every little bit of you is his to have, to control, to make, to break, to feel.

“More than anything, Suguru, I swear.” Your legs ache to once again fold and bring you to your knees, the way you best know how to prove your regret, but you remain standing, lower lip quivering. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Your apology is a mantra you repeat as his hand dips lower beneath your robe, grazing the soft skin of your stomach and hip. Roughly wrapping a hand around said hip, he pulls you against his body, cold glance locked on your puffy, wet eyes. Despite himself, he smirks down at you, head tilted to the side. His hair is a black curtain that falls over both of you, soft strands resting against your bare torso and arm.

“Do you love me?”

You do not have to think about your answer though it shakes when it leaves your mouth, your lungs begging you to gulp down enough air to replace what you’ve let escape through sobs.

“I love you so much.” You shake your head and sob again. “Please, please believe me”

You feel like a half-formed thing, ready to be made over however he sees fit.

“I believe you, no need to cry,” he assures you, grip on your hip tightening. You breathe through your open mouth and he takes the opportunity to bring his thumb to your face once again, pulling your jaw down and widening your mouth. You know what’s coming next, heat stirring from deep within you despite your sorrow, before he even commands it.

Your tongue lolls out of your mouth and he spits down onto the muscle.You roll it back into your mouth in an instant, grateful for the opportunity to have even the tiniest piece of him in you, his eyes following your throat as you swallow. Communion, consumption of him to purify yourself from the inside out. The ultimate apology until he can use your cunt to fulfill himself later, although he wants to take you now, right here, inviting everyone out to see the work of a master craftsman.

Sobs gradually give way to less powerful sniffles, you squint up at him with your skin exposed and his touch and his hair and his scent and wonder what you were even wishing would happen in the first place. That he’d train you to do what, exactly? This is what you were meant to do.

“Do you feel better?”

You nod and he smiles down at you, the same measured smirk he always wears. He leans down and kisses your forehead, pulling up the sleeve of your robe to give you some semblance of modesty but leaving it open as he ushers you back inside, sliding the shoji shut behind him. Suguru crowds you into the room, leading his nearly lost lamb toward the futon while untying his own robe.

“Now, apologize like you mean it.”

Now, you fall to your knees, grateful he’s allowed you to show how sorry you are in the shadows of his room instead of by the light of the sun.

“War is on the horizon.”

Sitting with your legs tucked beneath you at Suguru’s side on the elevated platform at the front of the room, you keep your eyes downcast while he addresses his congregation. This is your role, it has been for a very long time now, and you’ve learned to ignore curious onlookers or newcomers who will never be able to fathom such fanatical love.

You love him so much you silence yourself. You sit by his side, so quiet you may as well be nothing but air. You have never learned how to defend yourself or even delved into the curses that used to weigh you down; freedom from these responsibilities came in the form of surrendering yourself fully to him. Body, mind, soul, all tied to his whims. You are a puppet on a string and he is free to move you in whichever way he chooses.

Just the way you like it.

“I’ve officially made the declaration to Satoru Gojo himself.”

For the first time in years, you look up when you are meant to look down, the anxious murmuring of the crowd making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You know what happens when the congregation disagrees or questions their leader and he rises with a flourish, petting the back of your head gently before stepping off of the platform.

“Do I sense disagreement?”

Looking every bit the apex predator that he is, you dare keep your gaze trained on his back rather than the floor. His head swivels from one prostrate form to another, seeking out anyone who dares disagree with his plans. Foreheads touch the ground below them, the ultimate show of devotion, yet one head remains raised and Suguru chuckles as he approaches the newcomer.

You don’t know their name, you realize. You stopped bothering to learn the newcomer’s names given how little interaction you have with them. They’re nothing but faces to be forgotten about after they have spoken out of turn and met their end at the hands of the man standing with his chin held high.

“Is there something you’d like to say?”

Whatever boldness was previously etched into the face of the man kneeling before Suguru has very clearly disappeared but tension flares through the room regardless. You know that whatever choice he makes, however he chooses to deal with this foolish man, is exactly what he deserves. To spit in the face of God is bold and everyone has to learn their place eventually.

You certainly have.

“N-no, no. Please forgive me, Geto-sama.”

Suguru clicks his tongue, turning to face the rest of his family with his arms spread wide, face turned toward the ceiling. Your eyes are to be trained on the ground but you drink in the sight of him standing amongst the mortals who have always believed they know better than he does.

“What do you think I should do to the non-believer today?”

The question is rhetorical. At least, the silent room treats it that way, no one rushing to answer. Everyone knows to only speak when spoken to, even the inner circle who welcomed you years ago keep their foreheads pressed to the ground. He quietly pads through the crowd again, headed back toward you, and your eyes meet the ground swiftly to avoid being punished for looking at him out of turn.

“Look at me.”

Yours are the only pair of eyes he ever truly cares to have on him. Following the command, you glance up at him, remaining with your knees tucked beneath you and your hands folded in your lap. The way he looks down at you is as tender as he will ever get, even his softness is cold and harsh, but he speaks loudly enough that even the room behind him can hear that he values your opinion above the rest of them.

“What do you think I should do with him?”

Smiling back at him, your glassy eyes meet his and you say exactly what you know he wants to hear.

“Kill him, Suguru.”

Smirking, he reaches down to pinch your chin between his index finger and thumb like he always does when you are performing as expected. It isn’t a performance anymore, if it ever was, it’s simply the way you feel when it comes to those who oppose him. He wags your head back and forth before dropping the touch completely, turning around and leaving you facing his back.

Your eyes dart toward the ground once more. You were not instructed to look at him.

Geto walks through the rows of people once more, reaching to touch the backs of each of their heads while he passes, finally stopping in front of his target. His hands rest in the opposite sleeve of each of them and he bends at the waist, offering the same smile he gives to all of his victims.

“Well, unfortunately, your fate has been chosen. You may as well speak now while you still have the chance.”

A curse materializes, brought to this realm by the man in front of you, and you keep your eyes trained on the ground while screams and the sound of the rending of flesh fill the congregation room.

You’ll only look up once you’re instructed, as always.

#geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #kendall writes

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accirax · 2 months ago

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Analyzing DRDT's Ch2 Motive Diction

The fuck do I think I am, a time traveler? Why am I posting a theory about DRDT's Chapter 2 motive secrets now that Chapter 2 is finally complete? What's even the point in analyzing a motive that's over and done with?

Well, believe it or not, this is actually a theory I wanted to write before Chapter 2 Part 2 came out, I just never got around to it. And now we have more confirmation as to which secrets actually go where! So, really, it's all according to keikaku.

The point of this theory is to look at the language used in presenting the motive secrets, and see what it can tell us about both the secret's owner, and possibly the mastermind/whoever wrote them. What subjectivity did the writer inject into the secrets' phrasing, and could any of the secrets be better or worse than we originally thought? Put on your best scrutinizing glasses, and we'll take a look!

The usual CWs for Chapter 2 motive discussion: death, suicide, eating disorders, self harm, and implied homophobia/transphobia. Oh, and spoilers for DRDT through the end of Chapter 2, naturally.

Also as usual, I'll be assuming that all of the secrets are correctly attributed as they were in canon, other than that Xander and Teruko have swapped such that Xander has survivor's guilt and Teruko has the killing game is all your fault. I'm gonna look like a real fool some chapters down the line if I'm wrong about that, but I feel like most of the fandom has consensus agreed that this is the case.

I'll be dissecting the words of each secret through the lenses of the three Fs-- factual truth, flavored truth, and forced opinion. If those categories aren't as inherently comprehensible as they could have been due to my want for a snappy moniker, let me explain them further.

Factual truth is just that-- a literal statement that must be taken at face value. Under the assumption that all of the secrets are the truth (and it's not that J isn't actually Mariabella's daughter or whatever), there isn't much to be analyzed here. The writer presented the story with no flavor.

"You are reading a DRDT theory."

Flavored truth comes in two main forms. The first refers to emotional truths. Someone's secret describes that they feel a certain way about a certain event. It's likely base-level true, but do they feel that way due to their own opinion, or were they forced to feel that way due to someone else's opinion? And, what exactly does that opinion mean?

"You were happy to read a DRDT theory."

The other option is for when what's written is factual truth, but overlaid with a weird emotional layer. Said layer might make the truth feel overexaggerated, therefore implying a subjective take on the subject. Basically, it's anything that logistically should have been factual truth, but that subjectively I felt had something more to it.

"You prioritized reading DRDT theories over your other responsibilities."

Combined, purple means fact-adjacent, but with a little something injected into it.

Forced Opinion is content injected directly from the writer's perspective, and it's what initially caught my eye and got me thinking about writing this analysis. There are a couple of instances in which the writer speaks directly to the reader without feeling the need to provide any level of verifiable fact. These statements exist only to convey the writer's desired tone.

"Why do you even enjoy DRDT theories?"

Some secrets use only one of these Fs, some use two, and some use all three. On that note, we'll be examining the secrets in reverse spiciness order, with the most straightforward secrets first and the most interesting ones saved for last. So, who has the most sauceless secret?

Charles

"Your older brother died, but you don't remember him at all."

Okay Elliot fans, don't kill me for inadvertently calling your boy sauceless.

It's not that Charles' secret doesn't contain intriguing information, but that the way in which that secret is presented doesn't tell us anything about the person who wrote it. It's not phrased as "how could you have forgotten your dead older brother?" or anything as dramatic as that. Both phrases are presented in a manner devoid of emotion or judgment. They're just two facts!

Rose

"You took on your talent to earn money for your family. But you've since put them in a lifetime of debt."

"Lifetime of debt" feels kind of accusatory, but it is true when the sum total is in the millions of dollars. I think this could have been written a lot more judgmentally than it was, which is why I ultimately left it as factual truth.

Whit

"Your mother is dead. You always omit that truth."

The use of "always" in "always omit that truth" could be called into question, but based on Whit's behavior so far, it seems to be pretty straight up. Honestly, if anything, I think the bluntness of this statement speaks more to the writer's opinions and goals than anything else.

"You hide your name and birthright to pretend that you aren't the daughter of Mariabella Rosales."

"Birthright" is defined as "a particular right of possession or privilege one has from birth," if anyone was curious. With the way our society is set up, J should inherit a large amount of money and soft power just by being Mariabella's daughter, so I think this is legit. It has a bit of an emotional tone of superiority to it, but nothing drastic.

Arei

"Blackmail, rumors, lying, stealing, slander. You did everything you could to ruin your sisters' lives."

Ooh, our first instance of flavored truth. We're welcoming it in with a pretty bland example, though-- one that I went back and forth on for a while with whether it should count as factual or flavored.

Ultimately, I decided that, if we hadn't had Arei spell out her backstory and secret for us, I'm sure I would have been speculating about what "ruin your sisters' lives" really meant, and to what degree it was true. I shouldn't disqualify purple text from being purple text just because it was proven true. However, because this really was proven to be Arei's main motivation, we can basically take it as fact.

Levi

"You're a murderer, and you hold no remorse."

A secret which obviously has both a factual and an emotional component, but is also pretty straightforward in how it presents that emotional component.

When I was originally scheming up this theory (before it was revealed to be Levi's), one of my big talking points was going to be about how the divide in this secret opened up the possibility for it to actually be two secrets in one: that the secret's owner was both a murderer, and, separately, held no remorse. That turned out to more or less be true, which was fun!

Eden

"Ever since you kissed her, you were afraid your sexuality would ruin your friendships."

Eden's secret has a pretty obvious factual part-- that she kissed a girl (and she liked it)-- and a pretty obvious emotional component-- that she was afraid it would ruin her friendships.

Much like Levi or Arei, the emotional component is very likely accurate. In this case it's not very dramatized: they didn't go as far as to say "ever since you kissed her, you knew it was a matter of time before your friends would leave you" or anything along those lines. Still, as an emotion-based secret, so there's always room for debate.

Ace

"Your body is falling apart, but you'll still refuse to eat."

"Your body is falling apart" is (probably) a fact, but it feels really emotional. That "probably" is what sold me on this needing to be purple, though. It's hard to say how much Ace's body really was falling apart prior to his death. I'm sure the situation wasn't great, but we know that Ace was still capable of overpowering Arei, lifting ~60 pounds, launching a slingshot, and cutely climbing up swingsets on top of the running, swimming, and general obstacle-course-ing featured in his execution. Ace surely wasn't healthy, but "falling apart" seems like a bit of an exaggeration, based on the knowledge we currently have.

If nothing else, the "but" and "still" paint a picture of Ace being aware that his body is malfunctioning but choosing to limit his calorie intake anyways, which is an emotional layer far beyond the likes of a blunt "you have an eating disorder."

Nico

"No one accepted you because of your identity. You were constantly mocked by your family, your peers, and everybody else."

Does this highlighting make sense to people? Nico being bullied for being nonbinary is (sadly) the truth, but there's a lot of emotional coding to it that isn't necessarily 100% accurate. Like, is it really true that no one Nico met previously ever accepted them? I'm not going to pretend like there aren't deeply transphobic places out there, but "constantly mocks" further makes it sound like not only did everyone hate them, everyone did so physically and/or vocally, as opposed to simply judging in silence.

The weirdest thing about Nico's secret to me is that the writer took what otherwise could have been a factual secret and turned it into a largely emotional one. The only straight up fact we can garner from this is "Nico was mocked by their family and peers because of their identity." What happened to "people threw rocks and laughed at you because of your identity"? That would have been a (more or less) concrete fact that illustrates the exact same idea. But instead, the writer went all in on dramatizing that everyone was against Nico. Is there a reason for that?

Veronika

"You only took on your talent to distract yourself from your incessant need to harm yourself for fun."

Veronika's secret is kinda like Nico's plus Ace's, so it's nice to be able to put it here. Like Nico's, it interweaves factual truth and flavored truth in a way that makes distinguishing between them uncertain. And, like Ace's, it deals with a factual mental illness combined with its subjective motivations.

The core truth of this secret is "you took on your talent to distract yourself from your need to harm yourself," which is what can be seen in blue. However, that has very different implications than "you only," "incessant," and "for fun" add. Of the three, I would rank "incessant" as the most factual, "you only" as the least factual," and "for fun" in the middle.

I do think that Veronika's need to harm herself did feel incessant, but whether it was really for fun is up for debate. It's even more debatable whether distracting herself from self-harm was her ONLY reason for becoming a horror fanatic, as there are many other potential motivators out there, such as a genuine interest in the craft, or even the generalized boredom Veika describes as opposed to just the self-harm angle. In the end, I don't know how helpful making that distinction is for Veronika, but I'll throw it out there.

Arturo

"Your younger sister killed herself because of you. You never should have left."

Our first instance of forced opinion marks where things really start to get juicy. Although, uh, before you interpret my analysis in a way I didn't mean, just because something is marked as opinion doesn't mean it isn't an opinion I agree with. If Arturo sticking around would have saved Felicity's life, then, yeah, he probably shouldn't have left. However, in essence, "you never should have left" isn't a fact, it's an opinion-- one that prioritizes Felicity's life over whatever benefits Arturo gained from running away.

Again! I would also prioritize Felicity's life over whatever motivation Arturo had, assuming that they wouldn't have just, like, both died if he'd stuck around. However, the fact that I hold that opinion tells you something about me and my beliefs. I'm someone who holds the popular opinion of valuing others' lives. And therefore, from the pink text, we can also surmise that the secret writer values others' lives, or at least is willing to leverage that common opinion in order to make others feel guilty.

The only concrete fact present in Arturo's secret is that his younger sister killed herself. The idea that she did so because of Arturo, to some extent, is probably true, but it's based on the emotions of a person that the secret writer probably never even met. Especially when combined with the pink text, the secret gives the vibes of repeating Arturo's dark thoughts back to him to make him feel even worse about the situation. The writer's embellishments of a simple fact were designed to hurt Arturo.

"You were quite the hopeless child. Dying once wasn't enough, so you attempted suicide three times."

Hu attempted suicide three times: true. Hu's emotional state while doing so was pretty abysmal: yeah, probably. Dying once wouldn't be enough to counteract what she did: ????????

Much like Arturo's, I imagine that the pink text in this case is supposed to mirror an emotional "truth" that Hu holds in her heart. Still, I can't call it anything close to a "fact," given that it's completely based on individual interpretations of penance and morality. And it's an absolutely buckwild thing to say, especially while providing no context as to why anyone would hold that opinion.

It's hard to know what further motives the writer may have had beyond making Hu feel bad when we don't know what Hu did that made her feel as if she needed to die. For instance, if Hu accidentally killed her childhood friend, then we could use that as a data point that the writer was harsher towards murderers. Or, if it was putting her family into financial trouble, we could contrast how the writer treated Rose's secret versus Hu's. However, as we currently have no leads on what Hu's done that she needs to pay for (as her secret quote tells us), there's nothing more to be gained here.

Min

"You always treated the competition with ruthlessness, but poisoning them to win was a bit too far, wasn't it?"

One interesting facet of Min's secret is that it contains one of the most obvious uses of the writer injecting their own opinion into the secret. Like, the entire secret isn't even a statement, it's a rhetorical question. You can feel the writer raising their eyebrow at Min challengingly.

Once again, the pink text is being used to judge and/or shame Min for what she did. I really can't see any other purpose for the pink text beyond doing that.

Xander

"You're constantly blaming yourself for the death of your parents and siblings. It doesn't matter that it's not your fault, just that you didn't go with them."

An even more interesting facet of Xander's text is that this is the only instance in which the pink text is... sort of nice? I mean, not really, as it's still majorly playing to his survivor's guilt in a way that I'm sure would have made him feel awful had he ever read it.

No, what I'm talking about is the "it's not your fault" aspect. I really struggled with which of the Fs to assign to it. From Visiting Graves, it seems like the cause of Xander's family's death was drinking unpotable water, which was likely infected by the Spurlings. Therefore, factually, it isn't his fault, and should be blue.

However, Xander certainly feels like the weight of his family's death was on his shoulders. His secret quote defines his "feelings of guilt for having survived a catastrophe in which others died," and he says in the Bonus Episode itself that "the worst part of it all was that [he] wasn't there." Technically, Xander's family's death being his fault is subjective-- no matter what Unnamed Student says, we can never know for sure that he couldn't have done something if he was there. He is an Ultimate, after all. For those reasons, I felt like maybe the immense emotional connection for Xander should make those words purple.

But then I thought, if the secret was supposed to reflect Xander's beliefs, it would say that the incident was his fault. The writer breaks form in this secret. As opposed to Arturo, Hu, and possibly Min (we don't technically know how she feels about the incident, but I'd imagine that she would agree it went too far), instead of judging the secret's owner in a way that appears to mirror the way that they judge themselves, the writer goes against what Xander would say of himself, injecting their own opinion. That's weird.

Of course, I could definitely be blowing this out of proportion. It could just be that Xander acknowledges that, factually, the incident was not his fault, and therefore he would actually agree with the "it's not your fault." Furthermore, the writer still follows this up with the "just that you didn't go with them," which matches with their usual judgmental attitude. They can't be that soft on Xander when they're still saying it would have been better if he died.

Still. You'd think that the writer would want to play up Xander's insecurities that he was at fault for his family's deaths. If Xander were alive and the motive had been handled properly, Xander would have picked up a paper that told him that his family's deaths were explicitly not his fault. Is that really what MonoTV would have wanted?

David

"You exist to manipulate others. Everyone else exists to be taken advantage of."

You might be surprised to see David's secret all the way down here, given how relatively simple it is. Just like Charles' secret, it's two pretty blunt statements, and it's all written in one color. The difference is that literally nothing in this secret is objective fact.

Disregarding 1) any arguments of determinism ("David was always destined to be a manipulator because he has no free will") and 2) the possibility that this is a soft confirmation of DRDT being in-universe fictional characters ("David was always destined to be a manipulator because he, as a character, is reading his scripted lines"), there is genuinely no way to historically or scientifically verify anything that's said in these secrets. It's based on emotions and emotions alone.

But, whose emotions are they? David certainly believes this to some extent, given that his admission that he's a "lying, manipulative, scumbaggy piece of shit." The sentence "everyone else exists to be taken advantage of" is really aggressive, and, in combination with his Ch2 heel turn, it's very easy (and potentially correct) to believe that these are David's home-brewed feelings.

However, keep in mind the writer's propensity for intentionally stirring up the secret holder's most hurtful thoughts (like Hu) and things they'd rather forget (like Arturo). There's nothing in the secret itself that tells us that David enjoys being destined to be a manipulator, even if he believes in that idea.

David: You were right. I'm a good for nothing liar. But I call those lies "motivational speeches" and everyone eats it up.

Much like how the secret itself could be David's opinion or someone else's, we don't know which parties hold the opinion that David is a "good for nothing."

Look, I'm not trying to say that David has done nothing wrong in his entire life, even if villain apologism is my side hustle. I just think it's important to ask ourselves what entity is declaring this secret as "fact," considering that nothing about it is actually provable. At the very least, it's sure hard to accurately tell the group the exact contents of your secret when it's not based on anything factual.

Arei: Why did you lie about your secret? David: I'm sorry? I don't quite understand.

(Can you tell I was convinced to finally put this theory to paper whilst working on a David analysis...?)

On that note, though, I'll leave further speculation about David for another post, lest I go too far down the rabbit hole here. I just think there's a lot of room for interpretation when it comes to the manipulator secret.

Teruko

"How could I even select what secret to make your motive? Just about everything you've done in your life is worth killing for. The killing game is all your fault."

And, surprising no one, Teruko's secret is at the very bottom. I don't even know where to start with this one.

We'll start at the beginning, I suppose-- Min's secret has one of the most obvious examples of the writer injecting their own opinion into the secret's text; this is the other. They even both have rhetorical questions! Twinsies :D

The first sentence has legit nothing to do with the "factual" contents of the secret at all. The entire sentence is 100% the writer's opinion. They even refer to themselves with the "I" pronoun!!! And the second sentence isn't much better. What's regarded as "worth killing for" is entirely up to the reader's opinion, and "just about" is incredibly vague. Is what Teruko's done 80% worth killing for? 90%? 100%, with a single exception?

I've also always thought that "killing for" was a weird choice. It should be "killing over," right? Killing for is like, "oh, I'd kill for a sandwich." Generally, it's seen as a positive thing, something you really want. If Teruko's life is worth killing for, that would put Teruko's life in place of the sandwich (lol). AKA, "oh, I'd kill for Teruko's life." Given what we know of Teruko's life-- that she's faced being orphaned, poverty, extreme injuries and more-- it's hard to imagine that anyone would willingly want that for themselves.

However, there are two ways I thought of to explain the word choice that don't involve assuming that the phrasing got messed up. The first is that the writer really covets Teruko's capacity to survive. As Teruko herself told us, she's the Lucky Student, so she can't die. "Kill for" could indicate that, despite all of the hardships Teruko has faced, the writer still believes that Teruko's constitution makes her life enviable and/or desirable.

The other is the more literal interpretation: that whatever Teruko has done has made others want to kill on her behalf. We already saw this once with Min, who felt compelled to attack Xander if it meant potentially saving Teruko's life. There's also our usual throughline from Prologue Hands Guy that ending the killing game and killing Teruko might be linked. Therefore, conversely, if there's anyone out there who's interested in the continuation of the killing game(s)-- XF-Ture Tech?-- it might stand to reason that they would be willing to kill in order to keep Teruko alive.

Both of these interpretations struggle with the lead-in of "just about everything you've done in your life," though. It's because both of them directly relate to Teruko's luck, which to me seems less like what she's done and more like who she is. But, the origins of Teruko's luck are undefined enough that I don't think I can use that to shoot either possibility down.

On to "the killing game is all your fault." I was tempted to make this sentence entirely pink, due to how likely it seems that this sentence is overexaggerated. Teruko is still a totally viable mastermind choice, to be clear. There are a lot of things that become a whole lot more convenient if Teruko is the mastermind, this secret included. However, if Teruko were a self-aware, despair-loving mastermind, why would she put a secret basically accusing her of such into the killing game?

You could argue that, if MonoTV were competent, no one would have seen this secret other than Teruko herself. It's still kinda weird to write that down for herself, though. It would have been a lot safer to just leave the secret off at "How could I even select what secret to make your motive? Just about everything you've done in your life is worth killing for." And, I don't think anyone who happened to see the secret would think too much of it. Perhaps Teruko wanted others to know she was the mastermind? If that were the case, why not correctly claim her secret when David asked her in 2-13?

(Once again, I really hope I'm right about this secret being Teruko's.)

In the end, I decided to just flag the "all" as being the writer's opinion, as an endeavor as grand and complicated as the killing game surely has more than one thing behind it. Every canon killing game, despite having a main instigator, had many other individuals aiding in its creation. And, the writer clearly has a vendetta against Teruko in this secret, so I'd be more surprised if they weren't overexaggerating her involvement to some degree.

However, "the killing game is your fault" remains in blue, even though we can't verify it to be true at the moment. If you recall, at the top, I decided to make the assumption that all of the secrets were true to at least some level, and this is where that kicks in for Teruko. Plus, if the writer (who is quite possibly the mastermind) believes that the killing game is at least partially Teruko's fault, then that's likely the case, no?

What Did We Learn?

Now that we're done with all of the secrets, let's turn it back to see if we can figure anything out about the writer. The ways in which secrets were handled can kinda be broken into tiers, like this:

Charles, Rose, Whit, and J all had 100% factual truth.

Arei, Levi, and Eden had some factual truth and some flavored truth, but the emotional truth was pretty easily verified as correct.

Ace, Nico, and Veronika had a mix of factual truth and flavored truth in a way where it was harder to parse what was feeling or fact.

Arturo, Hu, Min, and Xander had some factual truth, some flavored truth, and some forced opinion, all of which had some elements of assigning blame.

David and Teruko were struggling to present anything certifiably factual at all.

Meanwhile, if we try to categorize the secrets themselves:

Levi, Arturo, Min, and David all had secrets regarding harming others.

Ace, Veronika, and Hu all had secrets regarding harming themselves.

Rose, J, Arei, Charles, Whit, Arturo, and Xander all had secrets about their families, with the latter four relating to dead family members. (Levi also technically counts for this, but it's not explicitly mentioned in the secret.)

Eden and Nico have secrets relating to their identities and the crises they face because of them.

Teruko has a secret that's hard to define :/

What does this tell us? Well, honestly, not much. All of the people in the "straight facts" tier have secrets that relate to their families in non-violent ways, but that may just mean that the lower-stakes secrets were harder to dramatize. Everyone who dealt with a negative effect on a large group of people (Min with the competition, Xander with his large family and by extension town, David with... everyone, Teruko with those in a killing game) is near the bottom of the ranking, but it also follows that those with more grave secrets would face further scrutiny for it.

There's nothing as simple as "everyone whose secret referred to a death was harshly judged" or "everyone who harmed themselves was treated more kindly." Therefore, we can't really assign any of those straightforward beliefs to the writer. Alas.

However, assume with me for a moment that 1) the mastermind is the one who personally wrote out the secrets and 2) the mastermind of the killing game is one of its 16 contestants. Nothing too crazy, but those are both (kind of) assumptions.

(I know that, technically, MonoTV said "the real mastermind is one of you" at the end of the Prologue, which would mean that one of the 16 students has been confirmed to be the mastermind. However, I personally don't believe that's necessarily the case. You can read more about that in Mai's section of my (albeit outdated) Mastermind Ranking, if you wish.)

If the secret-writer is a mastermind hidden amongst the cast, that means that they must have written a secret about themselves. Which category would be the most likely category to find our mastermind in?

Well, the obvious answer is in the top tier, as they're the least suspicious. If you want to fly under the radar, give yourself a secret that won't be the talk of the town if it comes out of the bag. Veronika has already primed us to recognize that someone's secret doesn't have to be the worst thing they've ever done, which could be foreshadowing that we'll later learn that the mastermind's secret works the same.

In terms of the mastermind's specific identity, it's also interesting to consider which secrets had the most information packed into them. Most-if-not-all of these students attended Hope's Peak together as friends for a little while, but some were certainly closer than others. All of the secrets are secret, naturally, but to write a secret like David's, you have to know a lot about how his mind works, which implies closeness. The secrets that include something about how their owner thought or felt-- the "why," so to speak-- include Levi's, Eden's, Veronika's, Xander's, and David's. Conversely, you largely don't need to know anything about how Charles, Rose, Whit, J, Arei, Ace, or Nico thought or felt about their various circumstances, just that they happened. Arturo, Hu, Min, and Teruko are in sort of a weird place where the secret seems to reveal how they felt, but could also just be the writer feeling the same way.

In terms of the ones where you don't need to know anything, the results are a toss-up. You could argue that, if Whit were the mastermind, he could have hurt Charles way worse than he theoretically did, but you could also argue that Charles' secret was left more vague on purpose as a form of protection/favoritism.

However, the fact remains that, somehow, the person who wrote the secrets had to at least get into Levi, Eden, Veronika, Xander, and David's brains in order to transcribe how they felt about doing their various deeds. Who knows those five super well? Honestly, my first thought was Teruko, but it's also undeniable that a talent like David's or Whit's would lend itself well to understanding how others' minds work. And, of course, there's Mai, whose main talent thus far seems to be understanding others.

As a final note, I want to list a couple of secrets that I feel have anti-mastermind energy. Secrets you read and ask, "now, why would that person have written and released this information about themselves?" The level to which this is the case varies, but I'm going to include everyone I had the thought for. These people include:

Whit. Why would he tell everyone about a truth he prefers to omit?

J. Same thing: if she doesn't want everyone knowing she's Mariabella's daughter, why would she make that her secret? Why would she even create the opportunity for someone else to read that?

Eden. Less so than others (as, if she's in a supportive crowd, she might want this secret to get out), but if she's afraid of how people will treat her after learning she's a lesbian, why would she say it?

Nico. Same as Eden, basically.

Arturo. He really seems to want to forget this. Unless he's a mascohist-ermind (Ellis, is that you? /j /ref), I don't know why he'd remind himself, especially with such strong wording.

Teruko. Again, assuming she wants to keep this under wraps, why release that secret into the world?

You could also count Charles and/or Levi for this category. However, I decided that just because they seemingly forgot about the contents of their secret wouldn't mean that they would have no motivation to write it, which is really what I was judging.

Sorry if that wasn't as conclusive as you were hoping for! (/gen) If it were more conclusive, I probably would have made the theory earlier, or someone else would have had the same thought. As we learn more about the secrets in future installments like whether the Teruko/Xander swap thing is actually correct, these are the sorts of questions that I want to be keeping in mind.

And, of course, please take this analysis with a grain of salt! I always assume that everything in DRDT is 100% accurate to real-world logic because I really respect DRDTdev's storytelling. However, much like my note content analysis, I understand that going so far as to say "Charles can't be the mastermind because there's no way he'd know about how Veronika felt about her self harm" is quite possibly going too far. The most important facet of the secrets is that they made for an interesting story development, which they did! Any logic about how the in-universe secret-writer found out this information is just a cherry on top. But inspecting those cherries for quality is what we get up to 'round these parts.

Thank you for reading! And hopefully I'll find the time to write more DRDT stuff in the near future :)

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