#he would give it a name that reminded him of Will

[acid-ixx]

tell your baby, that i'm your baby. (a loving family, an unpalatable desire drabble)

ft. yandere damian wayne x gn! neglected spouse reader x yandere superfam

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

this is written in regards to one of my drabbles, i can't help but sigh at just how good the angst is for damian in this series.

because in loving family, unpalatable desire, you pretty much exclusively nickname him "dami, baby," from day one right after meeting him. you say it not in a way that you wish to overstep your boundaries at simply being his stepparent - you're aware, despite the ache in your chest admitting it, that you'll never come quite close to talia's standing in his heart, it's simply impossible with how she raised him her entire life before being dropped off in bruce's care - but because you find the boy adorable if you look past his intent at trying to murder you at every passing glance.

or maybe it's just you trying to cope with the pain of your situation, that you consider them all your beloved children, yet never being once called their parent throughout your entire marriage that breaks apart the illusion of a happy home life, that this wasn't the marriage you wanted at all; that you'll never bear a time in your life stuck in the manor seeing their genuine smiles directed at you even if you attempt to approach as patiently as possible in hopes your presence might be accepted— even if it results in awkward laughs at your cringy jokes at the dinner table, or one of damian's weapons nearly plunging the side of your head.

maybe, it's such a struggle to keep the flicker of light alive in your body whenever all your hardships fail, and all throughout you find your husband with lipstick stains all over his white collar every time he comes home that your mind forces itself to believe that with enough trial and error, maybe one of them could eventually tolerate, rather than pity you.

unfortunately, you chose damian, the one who you're convinced arguably despises you the most, of all people living or visiting the manor to run the test.

so in all the instances you chirp out his nickname, so fondly, so eminently heard across the walls of the manor, even in the spacious expanse of the gardens could your voice be heard from miles away, all because you wish to bond with him, praising his artworks with your grating voice, to give him intricate gifts you know will be discarded in the trash in front of you; you'll be met with a stubborn glare and mean comments about how he'll never consider you his parent, to relinquish your delusions at thinking he'll even let you past his walls, and how he'll never follow through the orders of a scum like you.

which is what you're forced to deal with every single day, coupled with harsh reminders of their happiness without the need for your presence beside them.

sometimes, his reactions could be his typical harsh comments, you've grown accustomed enough to differentiate what is harmless and what borders on violence; it's enough to know when to stop bothering him despite your best efforts. other times, it would be as intense as running a sword through the strands of your hair until he chops it at the end with a threat to cut off your tongue right after if you dare call him that putrid nickname again that cuts deeper than any wound.

with every trial of becoming closer to him, results in an even widening crack in your relationship with the young boy. and eventually, with enough sighs under your breath and harsh glares from him, you'll come into terms that you'll never form a cordial bond with the young boy. it's just impossible with how he views you, sheltered and undeserving because of your family's reputation of being money laundering scum.

at that period of time, you instead chose to strengthen your relationship with the reporter who saved you one day from the paparazzi's cruel interviews, the cute man from the daily planet whose name is clark kent with an even more adorable son, jon, who welcomed you with open arms and a tight hug on your stomach, muttering about how he's so excited to meet his new parent, just when you first stepped on the doors of your affair partner's home; that was enough to relinquish any anguish you felt at the manor replaced with absolute joy at what seems to be the first time you're considered the parent, part of a family, in a completely different household.

it helps erase the shadow of doubt that you may be cursed to never be accepted into an established family with just how bright, how comparable jon was to an overexcitable golden retriever, bonding with you since day one unlike all the other insufferable moments crammed into a jam-packed dinner table— only for your voice to be discarded and overpowered by others.

you start to call him your baby instead, completely in awe at the cute freckles littering his sun-kissed skin and the country boy accent he adopted from his dad. you couldn't help but hold his cheeks in your palms and kiss all over his face whilst you kneel to his level, laughing along with the giggles erupting from his throat that creates this harmonious melody in clark's ears, who watches you scoop the boy into your arms just to swing him back and forth in cuteness aggression, just how it always should've been with you.

clark pictures the moment together, capturing jon's smooshed face shadowed by your hair whilst you look at his, no, your son with inexplicable joy, eyes crinkled and shining brightly under the halo of the sunset.

and clark doesn't even have to see just much jon loves and cherishes you at first glance.

he wouldn't even dare compare you to his late mother, never once calling you a replacement or a homewrecker, placing you upon a pedestal you deserve to be instead; because let's face it, you simply live in the manor, but your true home is where clark and jon, and ma and pa kent are at. pictures of your little family are framed in your shared bedroom for you to graze your finger upon whenever you wish to reminisce the blessings bestowed upon meeting your affair partner at just by chance.

but you shouldn't have forgotten about damian that quickly, not when jon all-too suddenly shoves that photo of you in his wallet in front of his face, it made damian's mind go off in a tangent, in both curiosity and frustated yet unstated interrogations at your sudden disappearance (your grating voice don't call out to him anymore, and suddenly, the manor is quieter; he despises that feeling of emptiness more than he does of your nickname for him) then reappearance as jon's, funny, hah—!

jon's parent.

and in moments of careful investigation does he realize—

when you're with jon, his best friend, when he spies in on you at the little farm you now live in, currently alone with someone whom you call your true son, that he comes to realize just how much that nickname means so much to him, as your voice, with that soft tone, scold his friend with that familiar warmth you always used to direct at him with the softest of gaze, an angel unlike the sea of rich bastards he meets at the galas who only communicate with him to form connections, advantages by being associated with a family of the wayne's.

it's only when you're stripped away from him that he realizes how much he relishes your sweet occupancy into his heart, how there's always been an unbidden, forbidden chamber in his heart that beats for the love you offer him that was unlike the harsh environment he was born in.

he's never been adorned with such a delicate title that portrays him the opposite of what he's raised to be; damian has always been the blood son, son of the bat and heir to the demon king's throne, but never something as fond, as unforeseen as someone's baby.

it just thwarts the spark of hope in his heart and extends the lump in his throat at the scene that plays before him, the loving nickname you oh-so carefully address him now relinquished and graced to another boy, his friend no less�� who you considered yours, who he's aware is way more deserving of being called your baby rather than him, who had always denied you from the very start.

"jon, baby, you help me clean the windows tomorrow, alright, young man? it's stained with all your fingerprints!" you scold him as assertively as you can, kneeling down to his level and pinching his cheeks all while grinning at the boy. jon retorts with a tongue out his lips and a scrunch of his nose. it garners a laugh from you, one damian swore he's never heard sounded so desirable until now.

why are you calling jon your baby?

"not my fault, mom/dad! i get so excited to see you come home every time you have to return there!" damian seethes at the scene of jon's pouting and puppy-eyes looking up at you, that should've been him.

"can't you just stay here? forever?"

damian despises how he engraves the melody of your laughter in reply to jon's words, right into his eardrums, but omits the disgustingly sweet chirp in your voice calling jon, not him, your baby. his mind nips away at the memories at all the moments you addressed him too, and how he always rejected and corrected you to call him by his name like a proper person rather than a maniac pushing themself into his life.

he doesn't want to ever hear you address him, if it means it's not by his nickname that you now call jon.

damian couldn't even deny how the huge grin that stretches across your face at the sight of his best friend scalds him with bitterness, he wasn't even aware you're capable of such enjoyment, not when back at the manor your hesitant with even displaying a tinge of happiness— as if you're capable of doing so, not when he knows he's one of the main contributors for being the reason of your current affair.

and yet he wishes he could lie and say he didn't miss it, miss your expectant stare at him, the contrast of talia's comfort compared to yours, when the hugs you offer him, the gifts carefully curated to his preferences, the palpable love that never once wavered for your family that you could never call yours, they all seem like a distant dream now that you're away from them; from him.

it hurts watching you two communicate even further, for once it's him in the background watching like an outsider instead of you. for once, he understands what isolation feels like, what foreboding desires fester deep into his scarred soul that could only be cured with one of the softest cuddly hugs, the sweetest, flutter of your lashes as you stare oh-so fondly at jon like he meant the world to you, like it was only the two of you in the world embracing the light filtering through the windows, side by side, inseparable.

if there was one wish he could conjure, a desire he was trained to forfeit himself to feel that creeps its way into the depths of his guarded heart— it's that once you put jon into bed - even if it takes hours, even his heart feels like it's being squeezed out of blood watching your nightly, affectionate routine with jon; reading him bedtime stories, eating together, laughing lightly at the dinner table while you feed him your share of the plate, moments he never thought he felt compelled to spend with you - once he strikes at the perfect opportunity to talk to you, to confront your blunder of choosing them over him, of his woes towards your relationship—

he wishes, with unceasing faith, that you still love him enough to call him your baby once more.

a/n: let this blow up and i might just actually fix my schedule to give more updates. anyways, more damian wayne and jon kent content! one of my fave runs is with supersons and i love fluff paired with angst too so this is a win-win. pls leave in some comments about this series, since ngl i didn't give it as much love as i did for a&a 😭 so yes! mitski inspired chapter with more conflicting feelings. i'm still working around writer's block but everyone's undying support helps motivate me a lot!!!

taglist:

@starrydollita, @vellichorandhiraeth, @chericia, @queenofspades403, @naina326, @neerathebrightstar, @lilyalone, @sweetconnoisseurgardener, @nickey-diano, @tsuniio, @ssak-i, @kore-of-the-underworld, @lollipoppersposts, @peptox, @kdjhubby, @weirdcore-fantasy.

[yelenasbraid]

none of the bullshit — joe burrow

summary — you’re an athletic trainer with the bengals. joe’s taken a liking to you.

warnings — fem!reader, fluff, some good ol’ banter, implied smut, language, i sort of know what i’m talking about pls don’t come for me

tags — @wickedfun9 @softburrow @starsinthesky5 @joeburrowshaircurl @joeyfranchise @willowsnook @ebsmind @iosivb9 @blairsworld22 @kazsbrckkers

IT WAS COLD. Earlier, you were begging for the colder weather. The summer heat was no joke, but now, the colder winters were biting. You stood out on the practice field, layered up as best you could, keeping your eye on the players.

You were an athletic trainer for the Bengals, a damn good one you’d add. You had to put up with a lot of bullshit over the past couple of years, especially with a certain quarterback.

flashback to the summer

“This is the third time I’ve done this, Y/N. How is this helping me get anywhere?” Joe was frustrated. You’ve asked him to throw the ball the exact same way, three different times. It was his first time throwing after his injury and you were being cautious.

“You want to get out there and snap your wrist again?” You shot back, the summer heat beating down on the both of you. You didn’t have time for his complaints or his nonsense.

“No, but throwing ten yards isn’t going to do much,”

“You think I’m stupid? I know that. It’s called we’ll get there,” you chirped. His attitude was warranted, only sometimes. He saw the light at the end of the tunnel, but he thought it was closer than it really was. He also hated that you were right. Your wit has kept him sane, if he were to be honest with himself. It’s pushed him to be better, to do better.

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” he shook his head, going to throw the ball again.

End of flashback

You’ve watched Joe excel, watched as his wrist strengthened as he climbed the charts to be one of the best quarterbacks in the league. It was a thrill to see, even from the perspective of a witty athletic trainer.

“Cold?” you turned your head to watch a red-nosed Joe walk up to you.

“No, I’m actually sweating right now,” you sarcastically quipped, “yes I’m cold,”

“Sorry I asked,” Joe quipped, but a smirk painted his lips. He loved messing with you, mainly to see your pink cheeks and your smirk. As much as he messed with you, the feelings he had for you were very real. Having feelings for an athletic trainer wasn’t on his bingo card for the year, but here he was, never being able to pull himself from you. There was just something so magnetic about you.

“And you’re out here in shorts,” you scoffed, seeing the hoodie/jersey combo and the shorts he wore. He looked like he was taking a walk in the park when it was 50 degrees outside. It was below 30.

“It’s the high metabolism,” he came to stand next to you. He was much taller than you, and while he adored the height difference, he was well aware you could kick his ass.

“I think it’s the cockiness getting to you,” you muttered, earning a scoff from Joe.

“Wow,” he laughed, “I’ll make sure to put your name in for most supportive athletic trainer of the year,”

“Thanks, I deserve it,” you chuckled, looking up at him. He would agree with you; you did deserve it. Through his injury, the bullshit he put you through, you deserved some type of award. He wanted to be the one to give it to you, to see your face soften and your eyes widen.

“Yeah, you do,” he admitted, turning his face away from looking at you. There was a buzz between you, and you looked over at him. You watched as his breaths came out in puffs, how his cheeks, ears and nose were painted red. He wasn’t bad to look at, but you to remind yourself that you couldn’t indulge in those feelings. You’d lose your job.

You turned back to the field, feeling your heart slam against your chest. Now you were warm, your palms sweaty and your cheeks red. One of the coaches blew the whistle, signaling the end of the break and the beginning of the second half of practice.

—

Your cheeks were rosy, and you were warmer at the end of practice. You threw with Joe some more, gave him some strengthening techniques, and continued on with the banter that usually came from you both.

You grabbed your things, including a practice bag, and hoisted it on your shoulder. You looked back at Joe, who was standing with Ja’marr and Tee, a laugh spilling from his lips. He looked so cozy, so relaxed, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter.

You looked away, shaking your head. It wasn’t going to happen. You were an athletic trainer and he was a player, not just any player, the star player. You walked off of the field, a pep in your step as you started towards the facility.

“Boo,” you heard a voice in your ear, making you jump. You snapped your head over, and saw the towering quarterback next to you.

“Asshole,” you shoved him, your heart slamming in your chest from his scare and from him.

“Oh come on, you’re just a lil jumpy,” he teased. He liked seeing you all riled up, but he wasn’t stupid. He respected you enough to stop when you asked, or even when your body language betrayed you.

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes, walking next to him. He kept his pace with yours, even though it was slower due to the height difference.

As he walked next to you, he felt his stomach tie itself into knots. He usually didn’t get nervous; he was confident enough in his abilities to focus. But now? He faltered. You were beautiful, in every way, and the way you handled his antics just made his feelings ten times stronger for you.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet,” you hummed as you walked with him. The silence that was between you was tense, and it buzzed with unsaid feelings. What those feelings were, you couldn’t tell.

“Just thinking about all the ways to annoy you tomorrow,” he dramatically sighed, but it wasn’t completely true. He thought about you, the way your eyes sparkled in the sun, the way your face blushed under the cool weather. He found himself, at points, thinking about what it would feel like to kiss you, to have you as his.

“I knew it was preplanned,” you teased, giving him a smirk.

“Everything’s preplanned. I don’t do anything without thinking first.”

“That’s a lie,” you laughed, earning a scoff and a gentle shove from him.

“You’re supposed to support me, not break me down,” he pouted, and you mockingly pouted back.

“Aww, poor baby,” you huffed, and he only shook his head. You both neared the facility doors, and as warmth enveloped you both, so did Joe’s feelings intensify. He pursed his lips, flexing his hands as he tried to control the impulse to kiss you, to shove you against the wall and take you.

“Y/N?” he asked, and you turned to face him. It was just you two, standing in the hallway. Everyone else had gone ahead.

“Yeah?” you prompted, watching him. You picked out uncertainty in his eyes, the way his lips were tightly pressed together. Something was weighing heavy on him. But he looked at you, his eyes blank, his face pale. He forgot the words. His tongue was thick, like cotton in his mouth.

“Nothing, I’ll see you later,” he smiled, and brushed past you to the locker room. His heart hammered in his chest and his palms were sweaty. His mind was in a fog, consumed at the thought of you. He chickened out, and he’d beat himself up about it for the rest of the day.

You were left standing, confused and empty. You watched as he left, his form retreating down the hallway before he disappeared. Part of you hoped, based off of the look in his eyes, that he’d tell you that your feelings for him were reciprocated. Part of you hoped that he’d say something, but he didn’t.

You walked back to your office, a smaller room along a hallway. You unlocked your door, walking in to the warmer room. Your desk was in front of you, a window behind it, letting soft light into the room. Two guest chairs stood in front of your desk, and a small table held a coffee maker.

It was the bare minimum, but you were lucky you had an office.

You set the bag down, sitting down at your computer. You needed to write your reports, to check reports that have been submitted, but you couldn’t focus. Your mind drifted to Joe, to his eyes, to how he so easily talked to you, his arms, his thighs.

You dug the heels of your palms into your eyes.

You opened up your emails, trying to distract yourself from the thoughts of Joe. He was your coworker, not someone to become romantically involved with. No matter how he made you feel, no matter how attractive he was.

You didn’t know how much you got done, but your eyes never left your laptop until you heard a knock on your door. Your eyes lifted from your laptop, watching as Joe opened your door. His hair was wet, his skin a warm tan. He was dressed comfortably; sweats and a sweatshirt.

“What’s up?” you asked, pursing your lips.

“I just wanted to stop by before I left,” he said, stepping into your office and softly shutting the door behind him. His heart slammed against his chest. He was only ever nervous around you, except when it came to practice. He was in his element, he knew what he was doing and that distracted him from you. Now, as he stood in your office, he didn’t have his football knowledge to back him up.

“Oh,” you smiled, “is there something bothering you?” you asked him, concern furrowing your brow. You couldn’t think that Joe would come and see you for any other reason than football, or his wrist. He wouldn’t come and see you because he wanted to.

“Yeah, can you check my wrist before I go?” he asked you. He didn’t need his wrist checked. He was totally fine. He’s been fine for weeks.

“Sure, yeah,” you stood up, meeting him in the center of your office, “but I thought you’ve been fine for weeks,” you hummed as you took his extended wrist.

“I was, but it felt really tight after my shower,” he swallowed. Your soft hands against his wrist, the way your fingers gently pressed to see where his supposed pain was, it sent shocks throughout his body.

“Ok,” you hummed, turning over his wrist. You didn’t see any swelling, you didn’t feel any heat, and he didn’t react to your pressure.

“I don’t feel anything,” you told him, meeting his eyes, “there isn’t obvious pain,” you added, but as your eyes met, tension buzzed between you. Your stomach twisted, your heart skipped a beat. You fought the urge to look at his lips.

“That’s good,” he sighed, nodding his head. He could feel the tension, the way you looked at him, the way his heart skipped beats. He inhaled deeply to try and control his breathing. His free hand, with a slight tremble, reached up and caressed your cheek. His light touch sent shivers down your spine, and as much as you should fight it, you didn’t. You stepped closer to him, keeping your eyes on him.

He softly placed his lips on yours, and for a moment you stiffened. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect him to kiss you, to do the very thing you’ve wanted to do for a while. He parted from you, feeling you stiffen.

“I’m sorry-” he was interrupted by your hands grabbing the collar of his sweatshirt, pulling his lips to yours with a hunger like no other. He immediately kissed you back, one of his hands cupping the back of your neck, pulling you closer. You tasted sweet and it made his body thrum with his need for you. The need he’s been shoving aside for months.

Your lips danced together with a roughness and passion you’ve never experienced. Your hands looped around his neck, keeping yourself as close as you could be to him. His hunger for you could be felt as his hands moved to grip your hips. He began walking you back, keeping his lips on yours. When your hips hit your desk, you gasped, and it allowed his tongue to slip into your mouth. You moaned as his tongue explored your mouth tasting more of you.

He slowly pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. He panted, his breath fanning your face.

“Is the door locked?” you asked, looking into his eyes.

“I don’t know, why?”

“Because we’re gonna need it to be,” you hummed, the look in your eyes telling him all he needed to know. He’s never locked a door so fast in his life. He came back over, and smashed his lips back to yours with a newfound hunger. His fingers played with the hem of your shirt, and in that moment, you were glad that door was locked. You were also glad you were an athletic trainer; you’d need to be able to do your own stretches later when he took your ability to walk.

[kumasakka]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❝ 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐘 𝐖𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐘 ! ❞

⋆.˚ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. isagi yoichi x reader , bachira meguru x reader , itoshi rin x reader .

⋆.˚ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. the moment he realized that he has the biggest crush on you.

⋆.˚ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. ~2.2k words . 0.7-0.8k words each.

⋆.˚ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. drabble for each on. fluff. f!reader. spoiler - free ! safe for minors ! crappy writing. isagi, bachira and rin may seem ooc.

ISAGI YOICHI. when he misunderstood something on valentine's day—

　HE realizes that he has the biggest crush on you when you walked towards him on valentine's day with a beautiful decorated, red box in your hands. Actually it was like a normal day for him—considering that he didn't receive any chocolate.

Well it's not like he minded anyway. Again, valentine's day was always just like another day in school. Yeah but that was until he saw you at the end of the day in all your glory with chocolate in your hand, a bright smile on your lips.

The sun itself shone down on the school, capturing your beauty just right, reminding him of those typical romance movies you never stop talking about. Nonetheless, was that chocolate in your hand? Is that box... for him?

Did you actually like him? He thought the rumors were fake? You never gave any signs that you were crushing on him so he never gave those rumors much thought. And now it seems like he should've prepared for this day!

Nevermind, he can give you tenfold back on white day. The only thing he should do is remain calm and sort his messed up thoughts. At the end, he couldn't help but flush as you stood infront of him, your hand with the box stretched out for him.

"Ah, [n-name]..!" he stuttered.

"Here, 'chi." you paused for a moment, making his heart beat even faster, "a boy confessed to me and gave me chocolate. But I don't feel like eating them, so I'm giving it to you."

It came crashing down. The colors of his face drained. His soul almost flew out of his body. "You okay?" you questioned, a little concerned about the state your friend was in. "Hey, wanna go to the nurse office real quick?! Don't die, Yoichi!"

"I-It's alright... I'm alright..." he blurted out to less your worries, "sure... I'll take those chocolates..."

Even though he assured you he was fine while accepting the box, you were still concerned about his dire state. But you eventually figured out why he was so shocked after forcing him to spill out what his problem was.

"Pfft— You're so silly!" you laughed your ass off, slapping his back firmly which made him yelp out in pain. Not that it really hurt, he was just being dramatic. You think. "Quit being dramatic."

"Hey, you slapped my back! And it did hurt..."

You still think your slap wasn't that painful after he scooted further away from you. "Stop exaggerating." you deadpanned before standing up from the bench, surprising him slightly by the abrupt movement. "Wait here."

With that, you left. Wow, did you really take your leave after slapping his back? Was he actually exaggerating? His back still hurts though. "Did I really just mess up my chance?" he asked himself, his breath hitched, "is she mad?"

Okay, please tell Isagi Yoichi he did not lose his bestfriend since primary school over something that petty. Well, he did thought you had a crush on him. But he would've accepted! Wait, he would've dated you? His best friend? What.

"Calm down and stop overthinking. She will come back." he muttered under his breath, hiding his face in his hands as he bent forward to support his elbows on top of his knees. "after all, she demanded that I should wait. I'm a bit distressed, that's all."

Maybe he should ask you out instead of the other way around. Yeah, maybe he should shoot his shot. You wouldn't reject him, would you? "Maybe I am delusional." he huffed, the blush slowly crept up to his cheeks.

All of a sudden—he felt something cold against his neck that resulted in him flinching. It was too cold for his liking. "Ah, cold!" he immediately sprang up from the bench as a reflex and took a few steps away.

Only to see you behind the seat with a confused expression.

"[name], stop scaring me! This isn't the first time I told you to quit!"

"What were you mumbling to yourself?" you huffed before throwing him something to his direction.

Isagi didn't had time to react but was fast enough to catch the box you had thrown. "Is that chocolate?" he blinked for a moment, not being able to tear his eyes away from the velvet box. This little box was prettier than the other one.

"Yeah. Thought it might cheer you up." you opened the can of cold soda you brought with you. "It's valentine's day, so a little present from your dearest friend won't hurt."

Taking in the sight infront of him, he felt how his face slightly heated up. "Thanks." was this a confession? Was this the confession he needed to be called delusional now? The box was really pretty. Even though it's bought.

"Make sure to pay back tenfold on white day, yes?" you teased him.

"Of course." he answered.

You were surprised by his beaming smile, not expecting this kind of response. So you returned his smile.

After that day, he saw you in an entirely different light. And you did so too.

After all, you're the funniest and prettiest! You're also the one who talked with him without hesitation on your first day of school even though your friends warned you about his weird behaviour. But you shrugged your shoulders with a playful smile.

BACHIRA MEGURU. when he took in the sincerity in your eyes—

　BACHIRA liked you. Not the romantic like-like, rather the plantonic like-like as a friend. But he somehow liked you more than a friend, less than a lover. Something inbetween probably. Again, not that he cares though.

You've been pretty good friends since then, always sitting next to him during most of the classes. And he's also the first one who gets asked by you if you wanna team up for the next school project—warning, he never does one thing to.

The only thing he'd do while you're doing the project is yap, yap and yap. You're doing the whole work. But he does help you if you need opinion or anything else. "Can you hand me the glue?" or "Scissors." or "What do you think? Is the text too small?"

Fast forward—you've grown to be pretty good friends. Silly jokes and banters never came to an end, the laughs were light and pleasant to the ears, shared hugs were warm and cuddly. People assumed you were a couple to be honest.

"Why did the crab cross the road? It didn’t—it used the sidewalk." he mimicked the tongs of a crab, arousing a laugh out of you.

"You're so silly, Meguru!" you laughed.

The jokes would've reminded someone of a dad joke, but for you, it was a first-class joke from the best comedian. Your shoulders slightly shook before you tried to calm yourself down, your aura beamed brightly like his as you smiled.

"Never stop being funny."

"Yes, ma'am!" he grinned, folding his arms on the table, "I had a joke about paper today, but it was tearable!"

One thing Bachira loved was that you shared a humor, laughing at the dumbest jokes together was like a dream for him. "You're so cute!" you squealed, grabbing his surprise soft cheeks. "Your cheeks are the best, man! Ahh!"

Not to mention, whenever you came close, he would notice the twinkle in your eyes—a twinkle that allowed him to believe your unmatched kindness and sincerity were genuine. Genuine for him and him alone.

People do say, eyes are the window of the owner's heart and soul. And Bachira always decided which person had good or bad intentions through their eyes. They were either carrying hatred in them or sincerity like you.

To be frank, he can see a person's heart the clearest through their eyes. And sometimes, when you're talking about things you love, he can't help but stare into your eyes the entire time and admire how they began to shine.

Unfortunately, he's unable to listen what you were saying, making you repeat things very often. Just like right now. "—guru? Meguru, are you zoning out again?" you asked, a little concerned about his attention span.

"What did you say?" he chimed in with a innocent smile, looking like a baby chick that was chirping.

"Ah nevermind!" you huffed, crossing your arms.

It's then when he realized he was being oblivious to his feelings all the time. Did he ever notice how pretty you are up close? Is this what people call crush? If it is, Bachira thinks he fell real deep for you. Like he has he biggest crush on you.

His grin faded for a second staring at your eyes that were filled with worry. "You okay?" you asked, touching his shoulder gently. Wow, he just fell in love with your eyes—they were genuine. Of course. We're talking about you.

"[name]..." he paused to jump on top of you, latching himself onto you, "I love you so much!"

"H-Hey, we're faLING!" you lost your balance.

And yet, he didn't let go.

Rin is also the one who thinks, wow how did she do this? Like, bringing him to the cinema to watch some damn romance movie. He would've rather watched the new horror movie that's out, but you wouldn't quit whining about the new lovey-dovey movie.

ITOSHI RIN. when he caught himself imagining a future with you—

　RIN thinks you're delusional. You're always talking about your dream man and then giggle like a highschool girl, ignoring the fact that you currently are a highschool girl. You were a bit— scratch that, you were delusional with those standards.

Sitting next to next each other, his eyes bore itself into the big screen that displayed some tragic scene. What a typical story. What a tragic scene. He cannot sit there anymore, the seat felt itchy and his mind drifted away.

Not long until he'll fall asleep. He can't though, not after hearing a quiet sob from his right. His eyes wandered to the side, only for them to land on your face—covered with tears as you sobbed like always when something sad happend.

You looked like the actress on the movie who also was crying because their love was impossible, forbidden love. "Quit crying like a baby." he whispered to not disturb other people, handing over a handkerchief for you.

"Thanks..." you mumbled and wiped your tears away.

“Wait for me, my lady...”

Rin continued to watch how the knight was giving the lady a handkerchief, his personal one he spent hours one to craft and decorate. "Once we'll see each other again, you can give it back. But I prefer you'd keep it." the knight swept her hair behind her hair.

"Please come back quickly." she plead.

"I will. That's a promise."

Suddenly, he felt someone lightly shaking his shoulder. It was you, giving him back his handkerchief. "Keep it." he paused. Just like in the movie. Did he catch himself locked in because of that movie? "Err..." he trailed off, knitting his eyebrows in confusion.

"Here." seems like you didn't hear it. "Or should I wash it before returning it?"

Quietly, he took back his handkerchief while shaking his head. "It's fine..." he grumbled under his breath, gripping onto the piece of cloth. His cheeks heated up because of the embarrassment he just said. He was not the knight in the movie.

But he secretly wouldn't mind if you're the lady. He also wouldn't mind, seeing you in the crowd of people, cheering his name during a match. He wouldn't mind if you kissed him for every goal he scored. He wouldn't—you infected him.

Did... did Rin just imagined you as a couple? You must have infected him with those thoughts. It's your fault. But he was wondering what kind of wedding dress would suit you perfectly. He could already hear the bells ringing—shit.

He deadpanned before hiding the upper part of his face with his hand. What is he thinking about? He was already imagining you two during your wedding. You would've looked beautiful though—and he said you were delusional!

"Rin, can I get my drink?" your voice snapped him out of your mind, asking for his drink. Why the heck does he have your drink?

"Huh?" he furrowed his eyebrows, giving you a drink—not seeing there was acutally a second drink.

"It's the wrong one... Did you buy sprite?" you returned the drink. "Rin, you gave me your drink."

Shoot.

"Sorry." he apologized, giving you the other one. Shit. Did you share an indirect kiss? He was drinking out of that one earlier! His face heated up because of... embarrassment? He is being lukewarm as fuck.

"Hope you don't mind that I drank out of your cup..." you whispered.

"I don't." he answered without hesitation.

The only thing he minds is that he caught himself slacking. "I'm going to the bathroom." he excused himself, standing up and quickly made his way out of here as you watched him in concern. Since when was the cinema so hot?

No Rin. You just realized that you had the biggest crush on [name].

"Did I do something wrong?" you muttered before returning to the movie. "Nevermind, it's an Itoshi we're talking about. He can deal with it."

At the end of all Rin knew—your love wouldn't be impossible.

© 2024 kumasakka — do not plagiarize , copy , modify , translate our work !

a/n's — frame lock here I come !!!

[ghouljams]

Your Failure, His Rebirth

Tags: knight!Ghost x princess!reader, blood and violence, minor character death, medieval medicine, terrible parenting, allusions to Ghost's past, knight!Keegan x f!oc, king!Konig Summary: Sometimes the universe works in your favor, sometimes it forces you into a role you were never meant to play. a/n: look I know he wouldn't say that, that's why he's reading off the teleprompter while I hold him at gunpoint.

Blood hits the ground and is covered by Ghost’s armored knee as he struggles to stay up. Struggles for his next move.

It happens so quickly.

Your hands shake where they press to the fence keeping you from the field 

but your feet are sure

and your body knows how to jump the barricade as surely as it swings onto a horse.

You’re deaf to the shouting behind you. Uncaring of the hands that grab for you as you run. The ground lurches under you. The wind roars in your ears, racing your blood for which can leave you faster.

Your fingers wrap around the hilt of the knife on Ghost’s hip, ripping it from the sheath as you turn to face your would-be husband.

Your breath comes in hiccups, gulped down with the same fear that threatens to paralyze you. Your hands shake but your grip is tight as you hold the knife up towards Graves’ throat.

The blade of his sword brushes your dress, the razor’s edge leaving thin slices in the fabric. You hope it cuts you, gives you some bite to gnash your teeth against. You don’t see how it would be any more painful than his win.

The stands are raucous. Screaming and shouting hits your ear like the crash of waves, ebbing and flowing with each breath. Everything is too loud, too bright, too alive when you feel like you’re dying, like your belly’s been slit and it’s everything you can do just to keep standing.

You grip the hand holding the knife with your other, trying to stop the shaking. All it does is double it.

“Come on now darlin’,” Graves coos, his voice dripping with mirth, “What do you think you’ll do with that?”

“I’ll kill you,” You assure him, “I’ll kill you and then I’ll kill myself.” After all, if Ghost is going to meet his end, it’s only fitting that you follow him.

Graves tips his head to laugh. Malice fills the air. Ghost says your name, the only softness that could find you in this grave you’ve dug, and Graves twists his hand. Hearing the squelch of Ghost’s skin turns your stomach, frays your nerves. Ghost grunts against the pain, you’re sure it must be torture.

“Hush now. Royalty is talkin’,” Graves reminds him, holding a finger to his helm, uncaring that your knife hovers dangerously in front of him. His hand drops to his side before he turns his attention back to you.

“I like a little fight in my horses too, makes it more fun breaking you in.“ He tilts his head, showing you the soft pink of his neck. “Go on, let’s see if you can do it.”

You can feel the tears stinging your eyes, pushing forwards against your lash line. You will the knife forward. Grit your teeth with determination and beg your body to just move. Your hand feels so unsteady, your nose clogged with the scent of iron, he’s pointing the way, it should be easy to kill him. 

The memory of blood seeping over your hands pulls at you. The warmth of it, almost sticky the way it clung so desperately to your skin. That damn Baron’s last attempt at keeping himself alive, blood released from his body in a way it never should have been still trying to stick to the body, any body really, in a plea to cling to life. Skin had never broken so easily, had never felt so penetrable, so delicate, had never changed itself from barrier to entryway, had never sickened you quite the same as it did when your knife met it.

You remember the bile rising in your throat, the same as it does now. You know the panic still. You’re not meant to hold such instruments.

Ghost had saved you then. He dealt the killing blow. Or, at least said he did. But the blood that pooled under the crumpled body had reached towards you. A damning accusation. It had known, as well as you did now, the sins that had been committed by your hand. Sins you could still feel under your fingernails, pressing at your skin in the hopes that it too would part.

You can’t do it.

Your breath shudders.

Your knife lowers.

You feel the sick unseen smile that Graves wears under his helm, the knowledge that he’s won, like a death shroud.

And you feel Ghost’s hand just as fast,

the wrap of his fingers around yours,

And the thrust of your knife, 

his knife, 

into Graves’ throat.

The blood that comes now is like a fountain.

It sprays over you with a sickly gurgle. You hardly have time to blink and your eyes sting with the shock of blood you couldn’t avoid. Ghost’s hand wrenches yours to the side to slit his opponent’s throat, and your eyes follow it. The jagged edge of Grave’s neck, the wheeze of his windpipe, the instant drop of his sword to grasp at his neck, you feel your body shudder with the convulsion of it. 

You can’t drop the knife, Ghost’s grip makes sure of that. Your knuckles creak under the strain of his hold, your fingers going numb the same way the rest of you is. 

You can’t keep a breath in. Each gasp feels tighter than the last.

Ghost leans his weight on you as he stands, and you feel blood soak your back, your dress cut to the skin as he rips Graves’ sword from his side. You barely feel the warmth of your own blood under the rapid cooling of theirs.

Ghost points Graves’ sword at the priest, his weight against your back, his hand still holding yours, your world holding himself up on your shoulders. Your Atlas passing you the Earth.

“Call it,” He growls.

“Sir- Sir Simon Riley, is- is,” The priest stutters, glancing at your father still back in the stands, his face is white with the same shock that grips you, “has bested-” he tries again, “-Sir Phillip Graves is unable to continue-”

“Dead,” You correct, your voice little more than a whisper, “he’s dead.”

The priest nods, gesturing to the crowd with a flourish, “Your victor: Sir Simon Riley!”

The explosion of rabid excitement from the crowd deafens you, each voyeur throwing their own comments into the ring. Some cheer. Others curse. You couldn’t piece any single voice together, all of them seemed to bleed into the ringing that filled your ears, but you got the gist: villain, beast, heel. Blood they begged for, but murder… You didn’t understand the line that they drew, what was the difference? They cheered for Ghost’s injury, but screeched at Graves’ death. Blood was blood. Wasn’t it?

It all felt the same sticking to your skin.

Tunneled your vision until you couldn’t see anything but the blood soaking your empty fingers.

Your lady-in-waiting holds your face in shaking hands. Her handkerchief wiping your brow, over your cheeks, her lips move silently as she takes your hands to wipe them as well. Keegan swipes your --Ghost’s-- knife from where you’d unfeelingly dropped it to the dirt and slips the blade into his belt. 

The ringing is starting to leave your ears, replaced by your lady-in-waiting’s sobbing. “My lady,” repeated over and over through her tears. It’s only then that you realize the weight of your knight has left you.

You turn to look at the dirt, praying you don’t find him lying there, dead.

“Where’s Ghost?” You find your voice long enough to ask. 

“With the physician,” Keegan replies. His hand finds the back of your lady-in-waiting’s neck, turning her sobs to sniffles. She keeps wiping at your hands, the bloodied handkerchief doesn’t clean anymore, it smears. Bloodying and unbloodying your hands with each swipe.

You cast your gaze around. They land on the retreating shoulders of your knight. His armor hanging awkwardly off his body, his side still bloodied and leaking. He leans his weight onto another knight, one arm around the man’s shoulder, the other around the doctor that helps him limp back towards the tents. You pull your hands from your lady-in-waiting to run after him, and she pulls you right back.

“My lady,” Her voice rises in a panic.

“I have to make sure he’s alright,” You tell her thoughtlessly.

“You’ll have to do more than that,” Your father’s voice booms behind you. Again you feel your blood drain from your body. Your shoes squish in the bloody mud, you’re sure most of it must be from your own shock with how quickly it seems to rush from you. You turn to find your father, your mother beside him, her hands clenched so tight in her skirts that the fabric is starting to protest. 

“Have you any idea of the mess you’ve made?” Your father asks, his teeth grit. “Throwing my kingdom to a dog with no master. Who knows what he’ll do to us.”

“And you’re any better? Bringing in foreign brutes to try and- and-” You gesture vaguely to König who hovers behind your parents, then to yourself, “You think a man like that wouldn’t kill me before my wedding night?”

König scratches his cheek under the chain mask he wears, muttering in German, “Ah, I miss my wife.” You don’t know what the fuck he’s saying but the weary-nostalgic look he gives your bloodied dress doesn’t make you think it’s anything good.

“You think Graves would have been any better?” You ask, your gaze steadily kept off the corpse at your feet.

“Graves was loyal to-”

“To himself!” You cut your father off, “You truly think that man had the kingdom’s best wishes in mind while brutalizing his opponents?”

“And you think a Riley does?” Your father asks, his tone flat, accusatory. 

“No,” You relent, anger rising in your throat. You’ve never cared where Ghost came from, the reputation that hung like a sword over his family’s crest. Ghost has more than proved himself, more than shown his capabilities, and more than shown where his allegiance lies. “But he doesn’t have to care about the kingdom,” You harden your voice, Ghost doesn’t care for the crown except when it sits on your head, “he’ll care for the people because he cares for me.”

Your father shakes his head, opens his mouth to speak, and freezes. König’s knife dimples his neck, exerting the slightest pointed force to press the skin without breaking it. The German looms behind him, bending over his shoulder to cock his head and watch the pallor of your father’s face as the blood drains from it. The chainmail of his mask hangs haphazardly to the side, and you watch the sickly smile that splits his mouth, showing his teeth as he speaks.

“You are a weak fool,” He seethes, “What battles have you fought to earn your kingdom? What foes have you slaughtered?” The knife presses more firmly against your father’s throat and you feel your stomach flip, your heart clench, at the blood that blooms and falls over his skin. As much as you may hate the man, you don’t want to watch anyone else die. “I have often thought that crowns should be won.” 

Your father, proud and steady, has never felt the kiss of a sword. His throne was handed to him, and though he once trained in fighting, he’s never seen battle. You watch the man that you have always looked at as a pillar of steadfast rule, of divine right, crumble in the face of a little blood. A man who would sell his own child in a time of peace, looks like such a small evil next to König.

You’re starting to think perhaps thrones should be won too.

“But the-”

“Do not start caring for your people now Herr König,” König drawls, the words thick on his accented tongue, “it is-” he pauses, looking for the word.

“Embarrassing?” You suggest, your father tries to glare, any malice already snuffed by his fear.

“Yes, embarrassing.” König agrees. He points his knife your way and gestures at you, “Go on little maus, go find your prize.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You grab your skirt in still shivering fists and run towards the knights’ lodgings.

The losing knights are licking their wounds when you get to their tents. They nurse scrapes and bruises, split lips and cut brows, bruises already purpling over their ribs as their pages assist them in discarding their armor. They pay you little mind, but those that do… You can feel their eyes tracking you, imagining what they might have had if they weren’t up against such formidable foes. 

You don’t give them a second thought, pushing the flap for the physician’s tent to the side in order to duck inside.

Your eyes find Ghost immediately. Stripped down to his breeches, the wide plane of his back tensed as the physician pokes and prods at the deep gash that runs through his side. Blood oozes out of the hole in his back, the tensed muscle so beautifully displayed under his skin now fills in a deep red between its torn edges. The physician leans in to sniff at the wound and Ghost’s already tensed muscles seem to tense further, as if even the sound of it might hurt him. No. His chest expands a fraction before the tension is back, squeezing tight at his ribs like a vice. It’s breathing that’s hurting him.

The mess of his blond hair is drenched with sweat, his skin smeared with blood and dirt, he looks the picture of a man beaten into the ground, and yet he positively glows in the dim light of the tent. Your new king. 

You take a hesitant step forward and the physician glances at you. Only to stop his work and dip his head in a bow that forces Ghost to turn and look as well. You watch the painful twist of his muscles as he moves, the squeeze of blood from his wound. There’s a darkness in his eyes, a pale-ness to his cheeks, it must be excruciating. You can’t help hurrying to him, throwing your arms around his slick shoulders and burying your face against his neck. 

Your dress is already bloody, your nerves already frayed, what else can you do but look for his pulse’s quick thump.

Ghost’s hand squeezes your wrist. Clean. 

“My lady,” He murmurs, “Let the physician work.”

He has more hair on him than you’d thought. You feel it vaguely when you shake your head, the light strands of hair on his shoulders tickle your nose, and you can feel where it’s been slicked close to his skin running down his spine the same way you feel your dress stick to you. You feel terribly childish, failed somehow. Why do you still feel like you’ve lost even with your prize in your arms? 

His hand doesn’t leave you, doesn’t push you away, he makes no noise of discontent at your flagrant disregard of his order, and you wonder how much of his comment was more for the physician’s benefit than his own. 

“She’s alright sir,” The physician informs Ghost, “Can move to your lap when I tackle the back.” Ghost grunts and you peek over your arms to watch the physician. His fingers are prodding Ghost’s wound again. The cut looks just as bad from the front, the skin bowed in and sliced long from the wiggle of Graves’ sword, and the muscle streaked with blood. Pulling your own needle and thread through his skin feels like a distant memory now.

How had you managed to hold your stomach then, when you find it so fragile now.

“I’m sorry,” Ghost grits, as the physician packs herbs into the wound and pinches the edges, “There’s blood on your hands because of me.”

“Royalty mustn’t apologize.” You mumble. His fingers squeeze your wrist lightly.

Ghost is quiet, only the wet pull of threads through skin filling the silence between you. There’s no comfort in the rub of his thumb over your wrist, and the longer you stand there the more pointedly you feel the drying mud of blood and fabric congealing against your skin. It’s unignorable and uninterrupted. There is only the chill of tacky discomfort that sticks to you.

“Ghost?” You ask nervously, the air feeling heavy, bearing down on your shoulders like a terrible weight.

He breathes and it feels like a noose being fitted to your neck. You squeeze your arms tighter around his shoulders, begging him to be as selfish as you feel, to give you this one thing, to not let you go now. 

“It will follow you,” He says finally, his words cutting through the anxious tension in your shoulders, “You’ll scrub your hands and still feel blood under your nails, you’ll ask yourself if there wasn’t someone better, a hand that didn’t hold you like a weapon.”

“I made my choice,” You press, “you’re my sword, and if I can’t be-”

“I’m your knight,” He clarifies, “and I have loved you far past what is acceptable for a knight-” he hisses through his teeth at the physician’s work, his voice faltering for only a second, “-but I’m still your knight. Not the other way around.”

Despite yourself you smile, your cheeks hot and your stomach giddy. He’s reprimanding you, his voice anything but sweet and yet you can only focus on one thing. Love. You repeat it to yourself like a mantra. Love, love, love. Far past what’s acceptable, far past what’s expected, what’s necessary, far past what’s proper. Love, love, love. From your knight who’s always held his hands steady and now seems to shake down to his fingertips as the physician presses herbs between the stitches of his wound.

“I love you,” You whisper, sure he’ll hear you. He always has.

“I know,” He tugs at your wrist, raising it to his lips to scrape his teeth over your pulse, you wonder if he can feel the way it hammers under his lips, “and I’ll be dead in the fucking ground before I let anyone take you from me now.”

[toxicanonymity]

forest floor

(early) raider!Joel x f!reader - 1360 words

A/N: Can read alone, but in series context, this answers, when sweet pea escapes, what if Joel finds her before fedra does? The smut is greatly enhanced by this media. Ty anon. I also wanna shoutout those asks who wanted this before.

WARNINGS: 18+ angst, pursuit, inner conflict, manhandling, dubcon unsafe piv, hair pulling, spit, choking adjacent.

You can't take anything from Joel Miller. When he sees you're missing, his stomach drops. His face gets cold, all his muscles tense.  His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath, then cracks his neck with a sharp tilt of his head. He can't believe you would do this. Someone must have taken you. He has half a mind to go into the house and do a head count, see who else is missing. But there's no time for that. Not a second to waste.

He scans the treeline. That's where someone would go if they were smart. That's where they'd take you if they didn't want the wrath of God, and worse - the wrath of Joel. With his rifle on his back, arms pumped up, he heads into the woods, stalking you like an animal - eyes wide open, cursing his impaired hearing.  He'll find them. Them. You couldn't have run, that's not how things are. He takes care of you, protects you, and you know it's for your own good. He can tell by the way you tilt your hips for him, push back on him, and sigh. He can tell 'cause in your sleep, you feel safe in his arms. You'll even lay your little hand on his arm sometimes.

When Joel the hunter calls out, "Stop right there," you're not running as fast as you can. Not even close. "Don't wanna hurt ya," he booms. "But I will if I have to."  You don't want to run, not really, not from Joel. It was a look from Jackson that put you over the edge. You'd already heard him talking about you with his buddy. And then, when Joel was occupied, he came over and stared you down, head to toe. Wet his lips and bit his teeth. "You aren't supposed to look at me," you reminded him. He snickered quietly, took a step back, looking at your body, then turned and left you alone.

You want to believe Joel can protect you. But the feeling that you *should* run still pulls at you. How could you willingly stay, surrounded by all these disgusting men who look at you like a piece of meat to carve up?  You *have to* run, just this once. And if you aren't meant to escape, you'll get caught. And you'll be good for him. If he lets you, you realize and your mouth goes dry. Your stomach twists at the realization that if he can't have you, surely no one can.  You stumble and trip on a fallen branch.

You start to get up, and hear a click that makes you sick. Hit with a tsunami of regret, you hang your head. Why'd you do this? The snap of twigs under his heavy boots looms closer. You collapse into the ground and he says, "Stay." 

His faint shadow eclipses you, obscured mostly by the forest, but you can make out a tilt of his head before he drops to his knees, straddling you. His hand clamps around the back of your neck. “What the hell are ya doin’? Tryin’ to get bit or worse?”

I'm sorry,” you choke out into the leaves tickling your mouth. 

“Don't you move an inch.” He grabs the back of your shirt as though it's the scruff of your neck, and when he's lifted your chest up, he wraps an arm around it. He gropes your breast, and desire swells in your loins. Maybe he'll just fuck you, if you're lucky. 

He manhandles you, flipping you over into your back, then wraps his hand under your chin. Not a full-on choke, but a threat. His head hovers over yours with eyes like dark thunderheads. A breeze rustles the leaves and it feels like the wind of a storm. 

“I'm sorry,” you repeat. 

He studies your face and repeats, “you're sorry,” with a dismissive nod.

“God *damnit*, sweet pea.” The pet name gives you hope. He squeezes a little tighter. Even then, it doesn't feel like he wants to hurt you. You even wonder if he knows he's putting pressure in just the right place to feel a little good. But his eyes tell a different story - it's not about making you feel good. His voice becomes calm, but grave. "You ain't gonna try this again," he warns.

"I won't," you whisper. "I wasn't thinking straight." His nose twitches with a snarl as he searches your eyes. He punctuates the warning with a tighter squeeze, and you cough.

His hand leaves your neck and urgently undoes your pants. “How sorry are ya?” He asks darkly as he yanks them down. 

“Real sorry,” you answer, “I dunno what I was thinking, I-”

“Lost your goddamn mind,” he answers as he pulls your pants off, and your panties along with them. He throws them aside with disgust that he even has to mess with them. He lets you keep the shoes, and it makes you wonder if he’s not going to let you put your pants back on. Is he going to take you back to the house like this? Your shirt will probably cover you, but...

"There's dangerous people out here," he says.

Joel pulls down his own jeans, freeing his fat cock, mostly erect. You bend your knees up and make room for him. By habit you expect to earn a good girl, but you don't deserve one, not right now.

He slams all the way into you with a grunt, propelling you back a couple of inches, leaves clinging to your hair as your head slides across them. You wince with the burn, but you're wetter than you think you should be, and it doesn't take long for your body to catch up, even though he allows you no time. He lets out an animalistic grunt with each thrust. His first few thrusts aren't fast but they're sharp and deep, so deep, like he's stabbing you with his cock. He pauses and dick throbs against your tight walls and further stiffens, grows, full mast.

Then he picks up the pace and doesn't let up on the power. As he fucks you, he gets even stiffer, louder, more animalistic. He pounds you hard and rough, balls slapping against you. He's feral and loud. He looks down at your body, not at your eyes. He slows down only to pull your shirt up over your tits and watches them bounce with each thrust. When he does look at your face, he scowls. He grabs a fist full of your hair, holding it tight in his fist with his forearm braced on the ground. He growls, "you're mine."

Then he bottoms out brutally and his other hand squeezes your jaw so your mouth opens. He spits, and you nearly choke on his spit. As you swallow, he says, "don't you ever forget it."

He growls and grunts and pounds you deep and sharp, unrelenting in pace and power. Your walls give a warning twitch, and you're torn between letting yourself cum or not - on one hand, maybe it'd calm him down. On the other hand, you're ashamed--too bad, turns out you can't help it. You hold your lips together as it begins then release them with a sigh as your climax continues.

He doesn't let up at first. But as you squeeze his cock, his breathing changes, and soon his grunts turn into moans as he erupts. Even his moans are animalistic, vibrating like the growl of a bear. His face is still mad, but begins to soften as he finishes, leaving your insides warmly coated with his seed.

He pulls out right away and quickly puts it back in his pants, before putting yours on, nothing gentle about it. He gets up and manhandles you to your feet, and with a firm hand around your arm, he marches you forward, back up the hill toward the house. His voice is dark - "We'll talk about this later."

You can feel it - there's something worse to come. You can't take anything from Joel. Can't ever take anything that's his. Especially not yourself.

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Thank you so much for reading! Your feedback means a lot to me if you're able 🙏🏼 your casual comment could help give me the energy and confidence to write my next fic. Love y'all. 🖤

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

solo chan masturbation

warnings: gn reader, mentions of oral, unprotected sex, imagined sex while someone else is in the room? idk how to explain that lol

an: am i posting a smutty drabble at 9am on a sunday? the lords day? yes, yes i am. in christopher’s name we pray.

masterlist

‼ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⚠︎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ‼ adults only • mdni ‼ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⚠︎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ‼

chris leaned back in his chair, legs spread wide, hands rubbing over his clothed bulge. he liked to take his time, would much rather go home to you, or at the very least give you a call. but it was late and he knew you were asleep. he needed to finish this track. it was due tomorrow, but he couldn’t focus. his cock was so painfully hard.

he closed his eyes, doing his best to picture you kneeling in front of of him, hidden under the desk. it was a fantasy he conjured up quite often actually. your cute little hands hooking in the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down to his ankles. he did just that, lifting his hips off the chair to scoot his clothing down his legs. he imagined your face, your pretty eyes, looking up at him from under his cock. your little tongue giving quick licks to his balls as his heavy shaft rested against your cheek.

his fingertips ghosted over his leaking tip as he imagined it. he reminded himself he needed to be quick. he had work to do. he couldn’t wear himself out too much. just a quickie. just enough to clear you from his system for a little while so he could focus.

as he wrapped his hand around himself, he imagined it was your lips. he imagined he was sliding into your warm mouth, instead of his fist. one of your favorite things to do was have him in your mouth, he knew that. so it happened frequently and he could picture it vividly in his mind. what your tongue felt like as it laid flat against the underside of his shaft, teasing the vein that ran to his tip.

sometimes when he was feeling impatient, he would tangle his fingers in your hair and force you to take him down your throat. the tip of your nose brushing his little dark curls at his base as you gagged around him. he loved the sound of it. loved the feeling of your drool sliding down his skin, dripping onto the floor.

“fuck..” he breathed, eyes shut tight, lost in his fantasy.

sometimes he would let himself wonder what it would be like to have you suck him off under the desk while there were other people in the room. of course, he would never actually do this. but sometimes, like in this moment, he let his mind wander to the thought of you taking all of him, your lips brushing against his balls, as seungmin recorded his part in the booth.

he imagined your groans leaking out from around his cock, trying to remain quiet as you touched yourself over your clothes as you pleased him. he thought about what it would be like to give seungmin direction, tell him to hold this note longer, pronounce this word like this, as he fucked himself into your mouth.

would he be able to keep it a secret? would he be able to hold himself back? or would he have to tell seungmin that his part was finished, just so he could get him to leave. so he could pull you up from the floor and bend you over the desk, your face against the keyboard, accidentally erasing all the work he just did with seungmin. but he wouldn’t care.

he imagined burying his cock deep inside you, finally getting some relief.

“shh.” he whispered aloud to the empty room, talking to imaginary you. “just let me— fuck. just let me use you.”

the sound of him fucking his fist filled the dark studio. but in his mind you were begging him to cum, begging him to fill you up.

the thought of your fucked out expression as you looked over your shoulder at him, your lust filled eyes and messy hair, your drool covered chin, sent him over the edge.

“fuck.. fuck i’m cumming..” his cock twitched in his hand and he quickly reached for a tissue from the box he kept just for this reason. he placed it against his tip, catching all of his release. what a waste, he thought. it belonged deep inside you, not in this tissue. that was your cum. it belonged to you.

he caught his breath, cleaning himself up and tossing the tissue into the trash. the embarrassment washed over him then as he opened his eyes and returned to the real world. the studio was still dark and empty, the clock read 3:45 am instead of 3:15, and his computer was still open to the song that had been frustrating him so.

though embarrassed, he also felt relieved, his body felt relaxed. he pulled his shorts back up and straightened himself in his chair. he was determined to get this finished.

so he could go home and fuck you properly.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

♡ pls reblog if you liked it! it truly helps a lot and makes me smile :) ♡

©hyunjins-orange-slice-too i do not give permission for this work or any of my work to be translated, copied, or reposted.

[bookyeom]

whatever you say, boyfriend - chs

pairing: vernon x reader word count: 1.6k warnings: none really. lots of kissing author’s note: um… happy 2025? 🥲 i haven’t posted in forever, but here she is: part three! i would recommend reading both part one and part two for it to make sense :)

The knock on your door sounds. You’d been expecting it, but that doesn’t mean you’re ready for it.

You pad over to the door, opening it just enough to peek through, and when your eyes meet, Vernon absolutely lights up. It makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, the way his smile widens just at the sight of you. He’s thrown on a hoodie, his hair is tousled from the wind, and he looks so cute that you suddenly panic. He’s in front of you, he came. You suddenly can’t seem to open the door any further.

He stares at you, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly as you watch each other. “Are you going to let me in?” He finally asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe.”

Vernon huffs out a laugh, which makes you smile a bit, too.

“Y/N,” he says slowly, “I need you to let me in.” He’s grinning now as he adds, “How can we be romantic if you don’t let me in?”

Your heart stutters against your chest. You open the door wider, enough for him to slip through. You avoid his eyes as you shut the door, before you’re pressing yourself against it. He laughs again as he slips out of his shoes — ever polite — and the sound makes you look up.

“Y/N,” he says your name again when your eyes meet. “It’s just me.”

“Yeah,” you say softly, and he takes a step towards you. He’s beaming at you in the softest, most confident, most Vernon-esque of ways. You could only ever dream of being so confident.

“Hi,” he breathes, and you can’t help but smile at that, letting out a soft huff of laughter. At the sound, his fingers find yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Hi.” Your voice is shy, timid even, as you return the greeting, but you don’t avert your eyes. You’re nervous, but this is Vernon. He wants this, too, you remind yourself. He’s all soft brown eyes and dark, long lashes, and you suddenly remember the last time you were this close to him. Your eyes fall to his lips at the memory, and he seems to be thinking the exact same thing, because it only takes him half a second to close the gap.

The kiss is chaste but it’s long and slow, his lips pressed to yours in a way that makes your toes curl. And when he pulls away and whispers, “Hi, baby,” you can’t help the way your knees buckle, just a little, before you recover and surge forward to kiss him again.

It’s you who tries to pull away first this time, but Vernon’s hand lifts to slide into the hair at the nape of your neck to keep you there just a little bit longer, earning him a soft gasp from you. You’re lost for breath when he breaks away. Neither of you speak for a minute, and you watch as his eyes trace lazily across your face. You know your face is flushed red, but somehow you can’t find it in you to care when he’s looking at you like this.

“Did you put on makeup?” He finally speaks, breaking the silence, and it takes you a second to register what he’s said.

You blink at him, your eyebrows furrowed as you say, “Huh?”

He repeats himself, smile growing. “Did you put on makeup since we called a half hour ago?”

Oh.

If you weren't embarrassed before, you are now. The smirk on his face lets you know that he already knows the answer to his question — and that it pleases him a great deal. You let out a whine, falling forward to rest your head against the front of his sweater in embarrassment.

“Cute,” he says against your hair. You whine again, pulling away from him and pouting. He laughs, squeezing your arms before heading into your living room as if he hadn’t just kissed you senseless in your front hall. You stare at him as he calls back over his shoulder, “You’re cute. With or without makeup.”

You follow him, embarrassed that he’d called you out but now reeling at him calling you cute. First, he’d called you baby with ease, and now he’s paying you flirty compliments without a second thought. You are not going to survive this.

You don’t know what you expected, but Vernon doesn’t kiss you again for what feels like forever. In fact, everything is relatively normal for a hangout with the two of you, except that he’s got you pulled into his side while you try to pick a movie. Or, rather — while he tries to pick a movie. All you can do is think about how close he is to you, about how much you want to be kissing him again. About how calm he seems about all of this.

Vernon seems to realize you’re not fully with him when he repeats his question for the third time. “Y/N?” He tries, a hand moving to squeeze your knee, and you jump a little. “You good?” When your eyes meet his, you know it’s over for you. He furrows his brows again, removes his hand from your leg and shifts away from you as he opens his mouth to say, “If you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to —“

“Can you kiss me again?”

You’ve caught him off guard, you can tell, because his mouth hangs open for a moment, blinking down at you. Your cheeks are flaming red, you’re certain of it.

“Sorry! If you don’t want to we can just—“

“Baby,” he breathes out, voice low and breathless, before his hand is on your face and his mouth is on yours again. It surprises you, the fierceness of it, and your hand flies to grasp his wrist as he kisses you. He kisses you, slow and deep, pulling away after what both feels like forever and absolutely not long enough just to say, “You don’t even have to ask.”

It’s you that pulls him back in this time.

You don’t know how long you spend making out with Vernon on your couch — you don’t care to check. You think it’s hours, maybe, and you only stop when it’s physically impossible for either of you to breathe. When he pulls away, hair a mess from where you’d gotten bold enough to run your fingers through it, he simply looks you over, dazed smile wide on his lips as he does.

“Pretty,” he says easily, pressing another kiss against your mouth before settling back to take a breather. Somehow, that’s what gets you.

You settle back against him, much more at ease this time, but when you feel Vernon’s eyes on you, you know he can tell something is still up with you.

“Hey.” You look up at him, and he pokes you gently in the middle of your forehead. “What’s going on in there?”

You flush. You hate that he knows you so well. “I’m just…”

“Yeah?”

You’re silent for a moment or two. Your eyes fly to his when you feel his thumb gently pull your lip free from where you’ve been chewing at it.

“We just made out on your couch for a substantial amount of time,” he says nonchalantly. “I’d hope you can tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“See,” you protest, “that. How is it so… easy for you?”

Vernon’s eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

You gesture between the two of you. “This.”

“Well,” he says after a moment, “you're easy to be with.”

“Vernon,” you whine. “That’s not what I meant.”

He shrugs. “I mean it. Being with you like this,” he emphasizes, “is easy.”

“Okay, but how?”

You watch as he thinks before he answers, eyebrows knit together in that Vernon way of his. It’s one thing you love about him — he’s always been a bit of an enigma, but so, so patient with you when you need help figuring him out. “I don’t really know how to explain it any other way,” he starts after a moment. “I just… want to kiss you, so I do. I want to tell you that you’re pretty, so I do. I’ve been thinking about these things for so long that it just feels normal, I guess.”

You ponder his words, your tummy fluttering at his simple explanation. “How long?”

“Hmm?”

“How long have you felt this way?”

Vernon hums, fingers lifting to run through his hair. “I’m not sure exactly when it started, honestly, but… it’s been a while.’

”I had no idea,” you admit quietly, and Vernon’s mouth quirks up.

”Clearly.”

“Hey,” you protest with a pout, and he laughs, but reaches out to grasp your fingers. “I guess I’m just unsure,” you say softly. “About what this all means.”

Vernon nods. “It means that I’ve liked you for a very long time,” he says, straight and to the point. Your cheeks flush, and he says his next words quietly. “It means that you need to tell me now if you don’t want to be more than friends.”

“I do,” you say quickly, and Vernon’s mouth quirks up at the side. “I just… want to keep you as my friend, too.”

“A friend you kiss and hold hands with and go out on dates with sounds pretty great to me.”

You smile at that. “Yeah, it does.”

He watches you for a moment, his face growing a bit more serious. “I’m still your friend,” he reassures you quietly, and you nod.

“A special kind of friend.” You’re smiling even more now, and his expression shifts to mirror yours again as you wiggle your eyebrows.

Vernon leans back against the couch. “If only there was a word for that.”

“If only.”

You beam at him from across the couch, and his eyebrows raise in a teasing challenge. You don’t mind letting him win this one as you break, as you close the distance and cuddle back into his side, the smile on your face so wide it hurts as you say your next words.

“Great. Now pick a movie, boyfriend.”

A/N: it’s been so long, so sorry if you don’t want to be tagged! just shoot me a message if you wanna be removed :)

@tae-bebe @wheeboo @waldau-archived @iluvseokmin @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @seohomrwolf @pan-de-seungcheol @minisugakoobies @wqnwoos @gyuminusone @christinewithluv @darkypooo @lvlystars @bewoyewo

Don’t be afraid to let me know what you think!

[tokoyamisstuff]

Voice of Treason

1,7k. words | f! (player 222) Reader | angst | yandere behavior | pregnancy | mentions of death | not proofread

Squid Game S2 Spoilers ahead!

A/N: just a lil' drabble written on my phone, but this man got a chokehold on me so I needed to get it out of my system

A bloodcurling scream echoed through the hallways as you witness player 390's lifeless body drop to the ground.

You didn't even know his real name.

Both you and 456 had been forced on your knees, wailing on the ground as you mourned the death of your allies, well aware your own demise was imminent.

This whole ordeal was futile from the start, but you had decided that you'd follow this reckless fool to the grave rather than dying for the sick entertainment of a rich elite without even putting up a fight.

"Where is 001? What did you do to him, you bastard?!"

In-ho's face dropped behind the angular plastic of his mask, taken aback by your worry for him despite of your own hopeless situation. "Why do you care?" the distorted voice spoke callous despite his inner turmoil. "The man you got to know is long dead."

You collapse at this revelation and you let out heartbroken sobs, hugging your belly as if to cling to the last thing that kept you from spiraling into despair.

Gi-hun observed your interaction with great pity. It was understandable to develop feelings for another while trapped in such an insane life-and-death situation, especially since 001 had been especially protective of you due to your circumstance.

But player 456 that has become a mentor towards you had warned you several times to not give in to this irrational sentiment, reminding you that the man you fell for had an expecting wife waiting for him back home.

"Take them away" he orders his henchmen, withdrawing the gun before tearing his eyes away from you. "The game needs to continue."

"Take him" the man dressed in all-black ordered his henchmen, gesturing towards player 001 before busying himself with you again. "The game needs to continue."

Gi-hun's pleads to spare you if not for the unborn child's sake went on deaf ears as a bag was put over his head and he was dragged away.

The Frontman lifted his gun again, the shaking of his hand barely noticeable as the barrel stroke almost gently across your cheek, a black trail of gunpowder trailing his movement. With one swift movement he put it underneath your chin, forcing you to look up to him one final time.

In a last act of resistance you spat at the man's feet, your relentless glare imbued with hatred as it bore into his skull. "You're a monster!"

"I know."

And yet he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger.

While you assumed sadistic glee as his motivator, In-ho was shocked with himself, caught in a labyrinth of his own mind. After a while of letting those conflicting emotions ravage his heart, he withdrew his weapon, signalizing the guard behind you to knock you out before sending a bullet straight to his head.

What he plans to do cannot allow any witnesses, even among his own ranks.

*~´*~´*~´*

God knows how much time had passed since then, but when you finally regained consciousness, only one question was burning urgently:

Why are you still alive?

You jolted up in a rush of adrenaline, scanning the unfamiliar room you were brought to. The interior was almost completely dipped in pitch black, even the furniture was no exception.

A new game, maybe?

Eventually your eyes caught the silhouette lurking in a corner of the room, leaned over in a huge armchair. That damned mask of his did nothing to hide the piercing glare you could feel underneath.

Feeling your rapid breaths and how your body started to tremble uncontrollably, panic threatened to consume your every sense.

Your mind was invaded with countless horrid scenarios to why a deranged man like him would take you back to - as it appeared - his private bedchamber.

The sheer sight of him was a nightmare, but seeing him approaching you with firm, deliberate steps shook you to the core. He pries off one of his gloves, laying them on the nightstand besides you with his whole demeanour perfectly composed.

A violent tremor jolts through your body as he reached out for you, however he merely places his hand onto your belly, unable to hold back a muffled gasp as he feels it kick beneath his palm.

"I had a doctor check on you while you were unconscious" he disclosed as if it was some sort of generous act. "The baby is perfectly fine. A little fighter, like it's mother."

It was meant to be a placating gesture but it had the complete opposite effect on you, not daring to guess the reason for his sudden interest.

Your face contorts in disgust and you shuffle away from his touch, pulling your knees to your chest and wrap the blanket over your belly, as if to shield it from this homicidal maniac. "Why- What do you want from me, you fucking lunatic?!"

There was a while of strained silence between your question and his answer.

"I told you to stay back, you foolish girl" he sighed, striping the hood from his head but his hand hesitated on the buckle of his mask. "But you insisted on joining this pathetic revolt."

The moment he unveiled his face your world scattered for the second time today, as you were confronted with the face of a dead man - at least the one you had mourned and wept for just shortly before.

Oh just seconds ago your greatest wish was to be able to see him one last time, to confess the things you had preserved until it felt like you'd burst with that secret admiration for him.

Right now however it was like staring straight into the abyss.

He forced his lips into a crooked bow, that fake excuse of a smile you had always thought to be remnant of the hardships he had to endure. But now you saw it - or rather him - for what it truly was.

This couldn't be real. It mustn't be real.

You replayed those words in your head over and over again, but they morphed into a nonsensical jumble, blurring with the overwhelming torment of confusion and betrayal.

He gazed at you with bated breath as he awaited your reaction, desperate to find any hint, at least a glimmer of affection in your features.

"Young-il?" you stammered with a meek, broken voice that buried him underneath a wave of shame he wasn't aware he could still feel.

He shakes his head. "No. My real name is Hwang In-ho...I'm sorry."

You knew the whole time, didnt you?

Something about him was off from the very start. The way he carried himself seemed to robotic, as if he was merely playing a role. Deep down you had always wondered about how his story never fully added up, so many times you ignored any suspicious behavior of his out of some twisted dependency.

And ever since you personally witnessed how he snapped the other contestant's neck without any remorse you had a plaqueing feeling that he wasn't who he claimed to be.

There was a wordless aggreement to keep quiet about this particular incident, due to your egoistical necessity of his protection.

That's when it dawned on you - he had already pulled you down to his level, made you his accomplice through your silence. And even now, all this time not even a single thought about the fate of your comrades had crossed your mind until now.

He only barely outranks you in selfish cruelty.

"Was-" you choke on a sob, feeling his thumb tenderly wipe away your tears just to be replaced with new ones. "Was it all a lie?"

"Not everything." In-ho spoke with a hint of melancholy in his bearing. "I did have an ill wife, back when I first participated. You remind me of her a lot actually...strong-willed and yet gentle." There was an undeniable reverence in his tone and the way his hand was still gracing your cheek. "I participated and won just for her...but when I returned, she was already gone."

You were torn between the seething anger and an irrational urge to comfort this grief-strickened man, in your shock the severity of his words not leaving you unscathed. "That- that still doesn't excuse a single one of your actions!" Refusing to give in you spat venom at him either way, reminding yourself the aching of your heart should be nothing but newfound hatred for the man.

"I'm aware" The Frontman neither aggrees nor denies your accusations, as it doesnt't matter to him at all. His voice is unbearably cold, the softness of his in it you were used to now replaced by a sharp edge. "I don't expect anything...no understanding or even acceptance. But i cant- won't let you go."

You could see it in his eyes that his stoic facade was crumbling, he was teetering on the brink of a bottomless pit, begging for a lifeline, needing for your presence to save him from the darkness within.

"I wanted to help you become the winner." In-ho takes a hold of your hands, squeezing them ever so slightly in the naive hope to convince you of his pure intentions. "That wasn't my plan initially, but I decided to risk it all to keep you safe. I swear I will protect you and our child, no matter what."

Our child. Such a small word yet such a huge impact. The implication sent a shiver down your spine, understanding it was like swallowing shards of glass.

In-Ho leans his forehead against yours, his own eyes glistening with usnhed tears. "You're my redemption, my salvation..." He trails off, suddenly grabbing the back of your neck, pulling your lips to crash over his. It was a searing kiss, one that demanded surrender, that commanded obedience, a vow to keep you at his side whether you want it or not.

You writhe against his hold as he cradles you in his arms, but his embrace is like a steel vice, suffocating and unyielding just as his love.

"I couldn't save her..." he rasps in a hoarse whisper, every syllable laced with utter determination. "Allow me to at least save you."

[namism]

their love language/s | headcanons

➳ categories: canonverse, gender neutral reader

➳ summary: Looking into everyone's top love language/s with Sanji, Nami, Law, Zoro, Kid, Koby, & Sabo.

➳ notes: thank you for 200 followers!! i don't write headcanons, but here's a special treat for everyone who's ever read, liked, and supported my fics! 🧡

Sanji: Words of Affirmation

Above everything, Sanji is a smooth talker.

He's incredibly good at romancing you through his words that it doesn't take long for you to completely fall head over heels for him.

Canonically, he calls people with different pet names. "Mellorine" is arguably the most creative. If he were with you (or were trying to flirt with you), he would definitely create a personal nickname that only he would call you.

That said, there is no defeating his terms of endearment. All of them are truly endearing.

Also, best believe that he's amazing at communication.

You know how couples need therapy because their communication sucks? Yeah, that's not happening in a relationship with Sanji.

If this man can flirt through words, then he can talk things out with you.

Overall, Sanji is a very romantic person, but he would work out the most with someone whose primary love language is words of affirmation.

Acts of service as second? Sure. Quality time as third? Sure, but overall, words of affirmation takes the cake.

His sweet talking is just something an ordinary person can't resist.

Nami: Quality time/Gift giving

Is this a hot take? Maybe, but Nami is definitely sweet to whoever she ends up falling for.

She values hanging out with her friends and the people she cares about, so it wouldn't be any different if it were with you, the person she's into. Something about spending time alone together is intimate for her.

On another note, Nami would totally be into giving gifts.

Being the treasurer of the ship apart from the navigator, everyone is aware that she's strict with where the Straw Hats' money goes. It's safe to say that this would be the case for her personal savings as well, even though she likes to treat herself every so often.

But being a shopaholic just means that she loves buying things not only for herself but also for you.

Nami would totally buy you gifts if she finds anything that reminds her of you, and you can imagine it playing out sweetly.

Who knew the frugal Nami would willingly spend money on someone she likes? It makes you feel incredibly special because she doesn't casually do that for other people.

Law: Quality time/Acts of service

If you were a member of Law's crew, he would definitely appreciate the one-on-one appointments with you whenever you needed a checkup or anything of the sort.

Call it unethical, but let's be serious—he's a pirate who happens to be a doctor (or is it the reverse?), his epithet is quite literally "Surgeon of Death," and above all else, he isn't doing anything malicious when you come to him.

Instead, it's all sweet and innocent. If Law were to like you, he initially wouldn't know how to act around you, so he's grateful for the quiet moments that you share together alone, no matter the circumstance.

He would enjoy your company and would totally think that being extra cautious and careful toward your health is a good way of subtly letting you know that he cares for you.

He would be the type to do things for you without being asked. Usually it would be medical related, but once he gets more comfortable about showing his feelings, best believe it would be more than just that.

Zoro: Acts of service

Zoro is the type to save people, so he would keep an eye on you every time danger arises.

While he would save any innocent person or civilian in danger, his decision to rescue you whenever you need rescuing comes from a more personal reason rather than simply playing a hero.

Newsflash: it's because he likes you.

He isn't the type to show his interest toward someone through other means anyway, so his best bet is showing it all through actions that you never asked for to begin with.

His feelings would become more obvious the more he does things for you without question, which he would be pleased by because it would mean that you're picking up on his signs.

He would work best with someone whose love language is servitude, especially if you're the type to appreciate the little things that people do out of genuine concern.

Kid: Physical touch/Words of affirmation

When it comes to Kid, he's heavy on physical touch if you already have an established relationship.

Of course, he wouldn't do anything if you guys aren't official yet—even though he's bolder at flirting than the average One Piece man, he wouldn't want to come off as creepy.

Hence, physical touch is the way to go once you're together. He would be the clingy type in his own unique fashion.

If you aren't together yet, he would show his love through words of affirmation.

However, it isn't anything like Sanji's sweet talking in a way that is straight out of a romance film. Kid has his own way of doing things, so he would affirm you through compliments that often have one or two cuss words in them, which end up sounding mean but isn't actually mean.

For example: "Great job, brat. You did a shitty job last time, so it's nice to see you outdoing yourself."

Kid is just that guy, but he can also be sweet if the moment calls for it

If you're into those kinds of things, then dating him would be no problem.

Koby: Acts of service

Koby wasn't dubbed "Koby the Hero" for nothing. This man is deemed a hero even outside of work because of what he does for you.

Koby would be the shy type in a relationship since he stutters as a habit, so he would comfortably express it through actions.

Similar to Zoro, if you need rescuing, then he will be there. He would do things for you out of kindness because he likes you.

His love for you would be innocent and sweet.

On that note, Koby would be the type to do the smallest things for you, so if you're the kind of person who would be driven insane by the smallest acts of kindness, then Koby's your guy.

He would hold the door for you, get a glass of water for you if you're thirsty, check up on you randomly, and ask you to continue speaking if you accidentally happen to talk over each other.

Koby does his best to express his feelings, so he hopes his actions are good enough.

Sabo: Acts of service

In a perfect world, Sabo would make an amazing Prince.

It would seem ironic given how he canonically hated the nobility (including his family) because of the way they looked down on the less fortunate, but if Sabo never left nobility, he would be a Disney Prince.

Sabo does things in service, so it would be no different for him to initiate acts of service toward you.

He would be the type to do things without expecting anything in return.

Similar to how he would drop everything should Luffy or Ace be in danger, he would immediately go out of his way to save you or tend to your needs if the situation calls for it.

It's his way of expressing that he cares for you, and he sure as hell would make sure that you know he's interested.

[ang3ltine]

𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 + 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐜 𐙚🧸ྀི

ft. No eul (guard 11) + Se mi (player 380) separately

warnings: suggestive themes but overall fluff

author's notes: thank you guys for the support!! I'm not even a good writer, but I'm glad you guys enjoy my work ♡

𝐍𝐨 𝐞𝐮𝐥 ִֶָ࣪☾.

{Sfw}

𐙚 No eul was hesitant to date you at first, not that there was anything wrong with you specifically. She just didn't want to disappoint you as she has trouble expressing herself. But you reassured her that it was ok to open up to you. It took a while but she eventually did and you two couldn't be happier.

𐙚 You guys obviously met at the amusement park that she used worked at duh. At the time you worked as a kinder garden teacher , bringing the kids to watch the parade. You had lost one of the kids and No eul had found him for you, he was a crying mess but safe nonetheless. Wanting to repay her you suggested to take her out to lunch the next day. She refused at first but soon agreed after you kept on insisting.

𐙚 No eul is pretty protective over you, not that you need it but she feels content on keeping you by her side. Always looking out for you ,if any creepy guy tried flirting with you she'd give them a stern glare and tell them to f off. If they still persisted, que No eul dragging his ass to a dark alleyway to beat him up.

" You didn't have to go that far," you say as you frantically looked around to see if there were any witnesses. "I know , but he deserved it," she simply stated while she headed towards the direction of your shared apartment to blow off some steam.

𐙚 pda isn't really her thing unless she's really pissed at someone flirting with you that she loses her cool and would dead ass look the person in the eyes while kissing you. Other than that she likes holding your hand and giving you small pecks on your cheek/forehead throughout the day.

𐙚 Dating spots/ideas: libraries, your apartment rooftop, cute cafes or sometimes you guys would travel to the countryside.

{Nsfw}

𐙚 oh boy, she's rough and assertive during intimacy. This is mostly due to her personality but she also likes your cute reactions whenever she goes down at you. She's open to anything as long as your OK with it. Lots of bandage and maybe gunplay if she has one. But if you just wanted to go slow and gentle then she will do so.

𝐒𝐞 𝐦𝐢 ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶

{Sfw}

𐙚 Let's be honest , you fell for her first, but she fell for you harder. Se mi's the one who asked you out first cause she found you cute and endearing, something that she's needs in her dull life.

𐙚 A group of gangsters who tried stealing from you which Se mi had noticed when she went by with her motorbike (yes she owns one its canon yall). She stepped in to save you and they ended up in a dumpster. That day was the day you felt a small spark between you both and Se mi felt it too.

𐙚 Omg you guys would definitely go to the nearest animal shelter and adopt a black female kitty. Her name would be Noir cause why not, also she reminds you so much of Se mi. The way the both act and look so similar baffled you but you didn't complain.

𐙚 Se mi would occasionally bring you bouquets of your favourite flowers and would gift you small presents/trinkets that remind her of you. One time she bought you her perfume that she wears so you would smell of her while she was away. Or you'd just steal her clothes (she smells of cherries/smoke).

𐙚 Big fan of pda, she'd have her hands all over you. Whether it was holding your waist/hand or resting her arm over your shoulder, bringing you into her chest. Totally would be smug about it whenever she'd see how flustered you were. If you didn't like pda then she would respect your opinion and stick with just holding your hand.

Dating spots/ideas: motorbike rides. I repeat motorbike ridess. Y'all would deffo be freaky on the bike but you didn't hear that from me. Beach dates, music festivals/concerts, funfairs and rides around the city. If Se mi wasn't broke then she'd take you to fancy restaurants, because you deserve all her love.

{Nsfw}

𐙚 Lordd, she's amazing in bed. Literally knows how to make you come undone with just her tongue and fingers. Would definitely lock eyes with you the whole time she's eating you out. She'd make you have eye contact with hers the whole time otherwise she won't let you cum. Has all sorts of toys to test on you and a special black dildo just for you. Shes never really gotten to this point with other partners so consider yourself lucky. Omg the piercing would just turn you on even more like hello?? She'd use it to her advantage.

"You slut, look at me not the ceiling" she'd drawled, making you whine and forced yourself to look back down at her. She had that damn smirk on her lips while she trusted her fingers into you hitting the right spot , making you squirt all over her face.

Ps. Let me if you guys want more hc's and send more requests if you like my work <3 also like, reblog or follow if you like my content ♡

[inawickedlittletown]

Oliver's road trip post made me think about what if after the break up Buck, instead of baking, just tells Bobby he needs some time off and he just packs up his Jeep and starts driving.

It's a little like when he left Pennsylvania except that this time he's going to come back...he just needs the time. He just can't be in LA where he's just constantly reminded of Tommy.

So he's out there camping and sleeping in his car and sometimes getting a hotel room. Along the way he finally starts to think about what it means for him to be bisexual. He stops at LGBTQ spaces and is even tempted - since he is single - to hook up with someone. He doesn't. Maybe he picks up a book to read when he stops places and maybe he meets people that give him perspective. They hear Buck's story and tell him where he went wrong with Tommy.

He winds up at some point picking up a doggie friend because a stray just started following him around and so at least he isn't alone. He names him Pilot.

He winds up extending the trip a couple of times and Bobby doesn't mind. Not like Buck ever took time off before so he has plenty of PTO accumulated. Along the way Buck does help some people out...he can't not. It's who he is.

When he talks to Eddie he doesn't ask about Tommy. Maddie tries to make him come back early by telling him that she's pregnant. Eddie tells him he might not be in LA when Buck returns, he's thinking about moving back to Texas.

Maybe Buck ends up all the way in Pennsylvania and he goes home to his parents. They think his dog is menace but they let Buck bring it inside the house anyway and Buck doesn't stay long but he also tells them about Tommy and they tell him he needs to just go home already.

He makes the drive back to LA, stopping at places and sight seeing and even visiting old friends. Maybe he even runs into Abby and so they get talking and Buck brings up Tommy and Abby finds the whole thing hilarious and then she shares a little about Tommy...stuff that he never told Buck but that he'd told Abby because they were engaged at one point so she had known him pretty well. And Abby maybe even admits that she turned a blind eye to who Tommy really was because she wanted the happy ending.

It gives Buck a lot to think about on the drive back and then when he gets to LA, he doesn't go to his apartment. He goes straight to Tommy's house.

Buck is a mess. He's been driving for hours and the last shower he took was at a run down motel. He hasn't shaved in days. His car smells like dog and dirty laundry and take-out. Actually, it's also flashing a whole bunch of lights at him and it's started to make a weird sound.

Tommy is shocked to see him, even more shocked to see the dog, and he's definitely concerned by the noise he heard the car making.

Buck tells him they need to talk and Tommy just nods and Buck tells him about the trip and about everything he discovered about himself and then he talks about his parents and then he talks about Abby and then he talks about Tommy and he talks about the two of them and he asks Tommy for a second chance.

Then, he asks Tommy if he wants a dog because technically speaking his apartment is no pets allowed.

Tommy says yes to both and then also demands Buck stay because Tommy wants to look at his car in the morning.

They eat dinner together and talk more after they give the dog a bath and Buck gets a shower. Buck feels like the whole thing has been too easy. When Buck asks Tommy what he's been up to the whole time Tommy just sighs.

"Waiting for you, apparently."

Because as it turns out, Tommy was just a little late to catch him before he left and then he figured Buck would come back. It gave him his own time to think and yeah some nights he worried about Buck out there on his own and he wondered if maybe he wasn't alone. He hated that he had no right to be mad if Buck did find someone else, but he couldn't help the jealousy that rose up and he couldn't help how angry he was at himself.

But he waited. He let himself have a tiny bit of hope because he'd realized within days of walking out of the loft that he'd made a huge mistake.

That night, they both take some time to reacquaint themselves with each other's bodies and they wake up tangled up with a dog whining for food. Neither of them would have it any other way.

[aplacefordreaming24]

WAAAAA HELLO HELLO HELLO

I have so many f/o's but I'll always happily take the chance to gush about my main. His name is Ted, and he's just- sigh. He's so perfect to me. I love him so much. He's the light of my life and I always feel better just thinking about him hehehe

My irl bf was the one who introduced me to him actually ;0 and it took *years* irl for me to really think about him the way I do now!!! Because originally I watched a playthrough of the game he comes from, and,,, ngl the light he's shown in that is kinda awful? Not the worst, but certainly not the best. But then, years later, I finally got around to reading the original story he comes from (It was a short story first called "I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream," and then it got turned into a game). And just. God. Idk. Something about him, just- clicked!

And like, you wouldn't think it would, because ngl he's kinda, worse in the story? But it was more just- why he is the way he is that clicked. The reasons behind how he behaves that you don't learn in the game. And so much of himself, his core character, was changed in the game. (Same with everyone, besides like, the villain). And for the first time, I saw someone who was very similar to me. I felt seen and understood by his true character, and it made me grow really sympathetic for him.

After the initial shock wore down, it all just kinda came crashing into "Omg I love him so much I just wanna make him so happy" ykyk?? The way his story ends is so tragic but I wanna believe that it isn't the end. That he'll end up happy, eventually, no matter how long it takes. And I wanna be the one waiting for him with open arms to bring him that happiness and support and love that he deserves and never got.

It's silly. It's dumb. A lot of the fandom is split on his character; some really love him like me, and others kinda hate the hell out of him. And it always kinda gets me down but yk, he's still my love. My prince. My one and only. I just try to think about comforting him and block people who hate him cause like. I get it. I get why you would. But that doesn't mean I have to, feel the same? At least I think so.

He has a lot of paranoia about people hating him. I do too, but I'm always there to remind him it's not true. I'll never hate him. He has my heart, and even if he chose someone else, I'd still love him. His happiness means more to me than some silly conditional thing.

Maybe that's a little unhealthy to say. But yk, I feel this way for all my relationships, friendships, etc. I'd rather you be happy without me than miserable around me. No point in sticking around; it does neither of us any good.

Idk. I could go on and on about my s/i and his relationship (If you've ever heard of Orpheus and Eurydice, they're very much like that, including the doomed aspect). How they're two sides of the same coin and such. But like- man. If I sit here and talk all day about him I'm not gonna get anything I need to do today done.

Sorry if this is long fnjdfjk really if you don't wanna respond you don't have to!! But ty for giving me a place to gush about him ;0

AND PLEASE FEEL FREE TO GUSH ABOUT YOU AND VERGIL TO ME TOO I'D LOVE TO HEAR IT!!! I LOVE LISTENING TO PEOPLE TALK ABOUT THEIR LOVES!!!

GUSH ABOUT YOUR F/O IN THE REBLOGS TO ME AND I WILL ACTUALLY LISTEN AND RESPOND TO THEM ACCORDINGLY BECAUSE YOU 🫵 DEAR READER DESERVE TO HAVE YOUR INTERESTS TREATED WITH RESPECT AND NOT JUST GET A "wow that's neat"

doubles and proshippers dni! Doubles you also deserve respect I'm just not very good at sharing I'm so sorry!

[fitzjamesbulletwound]

if you ever wanted to hear my every thought on fitzier you're in luck because here it is! this is extremely long so it's going under the cut and if you read it all, i love you

fitzier- shame, performance, and the freeing ordeal of being known 

oh man okay here we go everyone, if this sucks or is too stupid or too anything feel free to kill me

essentially what i want to try to convey here is that the reason crozier and fitzjames go from enemies to friends to lovers is because they both see each other and see themselves in each other in a way that frightens and compels them, hence the early enmity with a tinge of familiarity and desperation to connect thrown in. with the inevitable evolution of their relationship i really think it becomes about learning to be vulnerable with one another, to give each other space to be who they need to be, both to each other and their subordinates, and finally coming to a point where fitzjames, the most performative insecure character in the story (to me), bares his entire soul to crozier, whose own character development allows him to give james the gift of acceptance and compassion in that moment. i’m not going to go episode by episode like i did with my joplittle post but this is more or less in chronological order with maybe a few exceptions idk i get possessed when i write this stuff

the first scene we’ve got to look at is of course the dinner scene. james is absolutely showboating like no other in this scene but in his body language you can see he isn’t confident at all- fidgeting, gesturing, exaggerating, the voice he tends to put on in early episodes prevalent. but when crozier interrupts him you can see for a split second that james was actually excited to get attention from him until he realizes what he’s saying. in the early episodes james craves crozier’s attention and approval so badly because he knows that crozier doesn’t bullshit and he sees things for what they are and isn’t afraid to voice that either and despite the fact that this sometimes makes james uncomfortable as it is not in line with victorian ideals of emotional expression and masculinity, i think james, given the kind of man he is at the start of the story, craves the recognition of a man who he knows would see everything in him. early early early foreshadowing and story weaving for the cairn scene where he realizes “he can tell this man anything. it is possible”

what i also find fascinating about early james and francis is that they still refer to one another in a very familiar way despite the fact that they openly dislike each other- it’s always first name basis even when they’re arguing. also interesting to note that crozier in the beginning will often call him “fitzjames” in front of others when he’s discussing him when he’s not in the room, but later on he makes sure to always use his proper title when he’s talking about him in front of the men- showing james respect even when he dislikes him. i think he doesn’t understand at the time that james’s familiarity with him is an attempt at respect as well (the whole ‘don’t ever call me francis again’ scene). it might be a stretch but i do get the sense that from the very beginning they both tried at being friendly, even just for the sake of maintaining order in command.

when francis says “here technology still bends the knee to luck james” in ep 1 he says it with almost a mentor-like cadence. like yeah they’re both being a little bitchy here but god knows franklin wasn’t giving fitzjames any real or pertinent advice about surviving and navigating the fucking arctic so i find it interesting that crozier almost gently reminds him that yeah they’re making decent progress but that it would be foolish to let their guard down

one of my favorite early fitzier scenes is after dinner when crozier, franklin, and fitzjames are all on deck and fitzjames like sidles up to crozier and looks him up and down and just goes “goodnight francis” with that smirk on his face- he was trying so hard to flirt with him while also being an insufferable bitch with “try to shake the brown study”. but also james lingers so long waiting for francis to say something to him and then shakes his head and walks away to go bitch to franklin about him- i think he is truly hurt in this instance along with being angry and annoyed. and i love that complication because on one hand, i do think that fitzjames thinks that crozier owes him friendship or at the very least recognition because of who james believes himself to be, or at least who he’s trying to be- like he DOES probably see crozier as being beneath him as an irishman but i do think he genuinely wants his friendship and approval as well, for self serving reasons but not entirely. it’s about fitzjames and his desire to be seen by everyone around him in a certain light but also about his desire to be seen specifically by crozier because of who crozier is and how he acts in contrast to everyone else around them

next on the agenda is “dramatic opening shot”... fitzjames girl you are the most dramatic man in the fucking room. the projection is crazy. what this scene reveals most importantly i think is that another thing about francis that james is secretly very envious of is his ability to openly disagree with franklin. there are so many moments later on where you can see that james doesn’t fully believe in what franklin is saying or commanding (the way he looks at him when they realize they are trapped in the pack, the ways he looks at him when he tells fitzjames to escort silna off of erebus right after her father has died) and i think that he envies francis’s ability to challenge franklin and not care what the consequences are. anyway the staredown during this scene is crazy, the tension??

moving on… beginning of ep 1 crozier says “not if fitzjames is with us” in reference to jop saying dinner will be over before he knows it, and at the beginning of ep 2 fitzjames says “do you think francis will honor us with his presence today”- for two people who allegedly hate each other they sure do think about each other and find reasons to bring each other up in conversation a lot! 

ahh the scene with silna’s father- fitzjames is so interesting to me in this scene and really illustrates one of my favorite things about him in the earlier episodes which is that when he goes silent his face journeys are amazing and really convey his true feelings that he won’t say out loud for various reasons. he watches crozier so much in this scene and looks to him for understanding and guidance which is also interesting because i do think that in this scene he’s watching silna, a woman who he probably sees as subhuman and alien, reacting with such grief and tenderness to her father’s death and probably thinking of his relationship with his own father. i know a lot of people speculate that he was just feeling empathy for her there and i do think that’s part of it but i think that to show that in his mind would be to out himself as being “not fully english”. i think i make this point later on in the story too but fitzjames really does that classic white supremacist thing of distancing yourself from “otherness” in order to align yourself with imperialist beliefs and status- he does it with silna and he does it with crozier. sorry this is also turning into my fitzjames character study lol.

the scene where crozier walks out after his big blow up with franklin… i get that james really didn’t have any place to try to hide the fact that he was eavesdropping but i find it so interesting that he decides to turn to face francis and look him directly in the eye. from what we can see of his expression i personally think there was at least a small amount of sympathy there. another attempt to extend friendship and familiarity while actively participating in crozier’s humiliation… god i hate him lol. and the face that james is making when francis first walks out before he turns around is contemplative, not like smug or triumphant or anything like we might expect given how much he seems to dislike crozier at this point. and francis looking back at him… there’s no anger there, just sadness and humiliation and it sucks. i would truly do anything to be able to see james’s face there, in the script it says that crozier can tell how much james heard from the look on his face which like??? could mean so much.

okay the face journey when francis walks into the erebus wardroom after sir john dies… his eyes stay on fitzjames who’s obviously extremely distraught and i wonder if crozier has ever seen fitzjames show genuine emotion up until this point? crozier then looks to blanky, who also looks to fitzjames almost as if to say “look at him, attend to him” and the sorrow and vulnerability on francis’s face when he looks again to james who is of course also showing a vulnerability we haven’t seen from him before. i love the note in the script that fitzjames isn’t used to being this candid or vulnerable in front of a man he doesn’t respect but he does it anyway. and i don’t think he knows how much sympathy crozier does have for him despite how callous he may come across when he says to send out the rescue parties. they both just fail so spectacularly at communication and expression early on, it’s crazy to see

when francis begins reading from the eulogy and stumbles over his words fitzjames gives him a very sharp look… i think he clocks his alcoholism starting to really affect him right away but may also be looking to see if the stumble is due to emotion or the alcohol. ugh and the look he gives him at the end too… it’s so piercing and there’s an anger to it as well. almost a “please prove me wrong but i don’t believe at this point that you will”. because for better or worse now they are linked, intertwined, married and they have to find a way to make it work.

ohhhh the fitzier dinner scene my beloved… “as i climbed the ridge” is such a parallel to james’s chinese sniper story scene!! AND this time it’s fitzjames who derisively interrupts crozier. The parallels, the callbacks… the look he gives fitzjames is crazy when fitzjames says “you should curb that for now” but what i find the most interesting about this scene is that the script makes a point to say that fitzjames was being sincere when he said that to crozier- there is care and concern there underneath the frustration and anger. and then it’s also wild that in that moment, fitzjames clearly reminds crozier of sophia. the way the narrative almost shifts to replace crozier’s love interest (sophia) with his burgeoning relationship with fitzjames is soooooo. i just love this scene because they are both trying so hard to be vulnerable and open with one another but they are both failing so spectacularly just like in the scene after sir john dies. they don’t have the respect and rapport between them yet to back up what they desperately want from each other- a connection. a camaraderie. leadership and capability. fitzjames tries to be sincere in his concern for francis but it is overshadowed by his frustration and anger towards what he views to be a sour outlook from crozier, and crozier attempts to be vulnerable with james by sharing about sophia only to be met with the knowledge that franklin has humiliated him yet again by discussing that topic with other people aboard the ship. and i think fitzjames does truly pity francis in that moment but it also frustrates him that that is the reason he’s here, for love, not for a yearning for adventure or glory- which i would venture to say is why fitzjames is there. fitzjames went on the expedition to prove his worth and francis went for love and they both ended up finding exactly those things from one another i’m dead.

oh and also why the fuck does fitzjames arch his slutty back against the wall when francis walks out of the room like that one scene in hannibal y’all know what i’m talking about. okay and i forgot about the way fitzjames jabs his finger at francis all up in his personal space which is just so unlike him. it is also worth noting that francis doesn’t get angry at this- he actually stills for a second and then continues to tell james what he was going to tell him. again there’s that strange familiarity they have despite the fact that they hate each other at this point. and that’s to say nothing of how they’re sitting in the first place which is so close to each other idk it just seems a little crazy to me?

i also find it so so interesting how james chooses to be honest with francis once he accidentally reveals that franklin discussed the whole sophia thing with him- he could’ve deflected and said like “oh yeah he mentioned it in passing’ or something like that but he chose to tell francis the truth of the conversation! francis really brings out an honest and candid side to james that we don’t see him put on for anyone else and i think it’s because deep down he knows that no matter how shitty, francis is always going to respect being told the truth vs. all of the obfuscating language that is so typical of the time. i think this is also why in the next episode francis insists that everyone leaves after he punches fitzjames and fitzjames is very resigned to it as well- they both know that it’s going to be ugly but they both want to hash out the truth of the situation for better or worse- like yeah they are at each other’s throats and they want the catharsis of screaming at each other because they’re so mad at each other here but i also think they crave honesty and candidness in their interactions- james because he feels like a fake and francis because it’s his nature- but both because it’s what they want from each other. and back to the dinner scene- just another look of genuine hurt from fitzjames when crozier says “keep your pity” plus the whole reason crozier even says that- i don’t think he expects pity from anyone at this point and doesn’t know how to respond to it.

in the scene where fitzjames says they should question silna about the creature crozier makes a point to say he agrees with him- he does this a couple of different times throughout the show and i think it’s a very small but important detail about how even when they aren’t on the best terms he makes sure to show james respect in front of the officers. and like yeah they end up yelling at each other here but i think that’s more james’s grief showing (again he shows emotion in front of/because of francis) and francis’s stress showing as well- that “we’re all exhausted” is very aimed at james but also an attempt to explain his own state of mind. they’re trying!!!!

the lashing scene- i don’t think we’ve ever seen fitzjames actually afraid of crozier but he definitely is here. he’s clenching his hands so hard throughout the whole scene and he keeps glancing at crozier as he allows the lashing to go on and even nervously gulps at one point. i think this along with crozier’s worsening addiction is a huge catalyst for where we find them and their dynamic in ep 5.

and speaking of which- at the beginning of the episode you can really see how their communication has just completely broken down. edward is basically bridging the gap between them and the resentment is growing. i know that the alcoholism is part of it, we can only assume that fitzjames started to keep his distance once he could tell it was getting bad, but i also think a lot of this is fall out from the lashing and how it affected the way fitzjames felt about crozier as stated earlier. and another aspect of the widening gap between fitzjames and crozier is how erebus is the very picture of order while terror is literally and figuratively falling apart 

the fact that fitzjames told collins to watch out for crozier running out of alcohol on terror is further evidence that fitzjames was around a bit to witness crozier’s alcoholism getting really bad and isolated himself after that. he’s angry but he knows it was coming

ugh man the fight scene- the fact that james came himself, alone, to terror to talk to francis as a friend (straight from his own mouth in the script of their argument) about the alcohol issue. even though james is furious and stressed and shouldering the whole expedition, he still attempts to care for francis, it just ends up blowing up in his face and that’s when he lashes out. the way he says “francis” at first before crozier freaks out on him is in such a sincere and gentle tone and just the fucking genuine hurt in his face and his tone of voice when francis tells him to never call him by his first name again. fitzjames cared when francis was at his fucking lowest but still held him responsible and that’s love baby.

the body language is crazy when they’re yelling at each other or i guess when fitzjames is reading francis lol- and the way crozier can’t take his eyes off fitzjames when he’s telling everyone to get out. he’s so ready for this fucking throw down because both of them have been holding this in for so long. crozier is amped up but fitzjames is resigned to finally getting it all out in the open. he wants it to happen and he knows it needs to. even after getting punched in the mouth by him (i don’t think it’s any accident that fitzjames literally bears a scar from that punch and that it comes back open when he’s dying of scurvy) fitzjames still calmly tells everyone yes get out and says what he needs to say. i love the transcript of their argument because it’s so brutal but it really illustrates a kind of fucked up intimacy that we aren’t 100% privy to between them. crozier knows exactly what to say to james to hurt him- telling him he doesn’t have friends, he has admirers and that james has always been mad that he isn’t one, that james is a coward despite the fact that james is facing this down no matter what it takes in order to literally save crozier’s life; and james knows that all he can do is soldier through and lay the truth of what is happening on francis in a way no one else has dared to except for silna minutes before. james really goes out of his comfort zone- being honest and sincere and vulnerable for the sake of the expedition but also for francis. and i’m reading this back and wondering if i’m being too generous to james here but tbh he had every right to be this angry at francis at this point in the story! 

ha fitzjames walks into the “i need to dry out meeting” looking all submissive and contrite… but for real his face is so open and entreating in this scene. he’s still annoyed but he wants so badly for things to go right. and you can see in francis’s expression that he is so ashamed to have to ask him 

mmm and part of fitzjames coming to love and respect crozier is seeing jopson’s devotion to him in this scene… he’s never seen crozier be admired the way franklin was and i think this is a whole new way for him to see him. and just in general here i think that james “reshuffles everything he thought about the man” and he admires crozier for the way he put his humility and vulnerability in front of him finally and admitted to his wrongs, something i also don’t think franklin would ever do and didn’t ever do, to his and the entire crew’s demise. fitzjames followed franklin and looked up to him in the pursuit of his own vanity and the narrative he tells himself to cover the shame, but he learns to respect and love francis because he watches his evolution as a captain and as a man without any of the obfuscating that he’s used to from authority figures. he watches francis claw his way out of his own shame, the shame that drives him forward and i wonder what kind of ideas that gave fitzjames and how it influenced his own decision to share everything about his past with francis later

what i love about the opening scene of ep 6 is that we see how fitzjames’s leadership has been influenced by franklin and francis but specifically how he is acting more like francis- he does do a little bit of the whole “how dare you bring up anything unpleasant” thing when he yells at jirv for mentioning the number of men and when he does the whole “oh it’s just winter, we’ll feel better with the first sunrise, encourage the men with that” thing but it’s interesting because although we’re hearing echoes of franklin here, fitzjames is still trying to be more honest and open to feedback than franklin was. he doesn’t exactly take jirv’s advice on rationing but he does ration a bit. he is doing the whole toxic positivity thing with his “use that to encourage the men” line but he is also recognizing how hard everything has been for everyone and using an actual tangible event to lift spirits rather than referring to meaningless bullshit about god and country. and the simple fact that he seeks blanky’s advice and knowledge is more than sir john would ever have done in a scenario like this. he understands from blanky’s story about ross that he himself hasn’t been doing enough to combat the horror of their situation for the men, he understands that he must do more. even the way he asks ‘what do you mean’ when blanky says ross had no sympathy for the ill. to not care for the ill is an alien concept to him. tt’s so interesting because fitzjames occupies a space not dissimilar to francis’s- he has access and power in the hierarchy of the discovery service but, within his own mind, he is still an outsider. crozier on the other hand is a visible and tangible outsider due to his birth and his nationality. everyone can see it and i think that’s also part of why fitzjames is so antagonistic towards francis in the beginning- the projection goes crazy and in the true spirit of colonialism and white supremacy, james believes that if he can make himself as far apart from someone like francis as possible and align himself with men like franklin and barrow despite sharing way more similarities with francis than he does with them, he can succeed in upholding himself as the vision of victorian masculinity and social worthiness that he so desperately tries to emulate- this is what i was thinking about during the scene with silna’s father where he’s reluctant to fully show his (partial) sympathy to her

the line from the script that kills me is when it says a clock has begun for fitzjames once he discovers the blood in his hair… god it kills me, he knew he was dying for months. for literal months and who knows if he even told anyone but… i do think he had to have told francis at some point. it makes me so sick, it’s literally why the cairn walk scene happens- he knew he was dying, he knew it and one of the last things he wanted before he died was for someone to see him, truly see him flaws and mistakes and vanity and all before he died. and he wanted that person to be francis

gotta include the scene where james tells edward that francis was right about walking out- this is a huge turning point from ep 1

it’s so funny that when crozier and fitzjames see each other at carnival you can tell james is like “oh shit i’m in trouble” but crozier is just slightly amused seeing him like that and even though he finds the carnival strange and sees how reckless it was, he doesn’t chide james or the men about it even though that’s cleary what james is expecting. crozier empathizes with their longing for home and their need to do something happy and uses that momentum to tell the men about walking out and doing his best to reassure them about their chances. the way fitzjames looks up at him and nods along with him- i don’t think we’ve seen fitzjames look at him like that yet up until this point. he is seeing francis for who he can be as a competent captain and we are seeing crozier really step into that role. i also think that francis was relieved that fitzjames saw the urgency in walking out and that he wasn’t going to have to convince him the way he would’ve had to convince franklin. their leadership is finally syncing up here, built on humility (francis admitting he had an addiction and choosing to do something about it, fitzjames admitting how wrong he was about francis and his use of caution and logic) and respect (i do think crozier respected fitzjames for trying to build morale to the best of his ability and i think fitzjames respected francis finally behaving like the captain he needed him to be) 

during the fire there’s a small moment where james is frozen- no doubt from ptsd which he deserves- and francis sends him ahead to look for an exit, telling him to go. he fucking loves him!!!!

poor fitzjames.. like yes the ghosts of his colonial past and all that of course which i will never not fully support him being subjected to but damn. and i don’t think he shrugs francis off because it’s francis or because he’s angry with them, he is punishing himself and francis sees that and lets him do what will help ease his own guilt and pain. tt is a moment of understanding between them i believe- fitzjames showing vulnerability in front of a man he now respects while adding another failure to his own personal checklist he keeps against himself (i can only imagine he does anyway). francis’s attempt to show him care and understanding while not undercutting his usefulness is also such an inspired choice for what he knows of fitzjames. you can really see the care starting to sprout between them here. i can only imagine what the rest of the winter was like but i feel like by episode 7, their dynamic has just completely changed, their entire vibe is different. and their love couldn’t have happened until they left the ships so it came at the worst and best time. 

and by ep 7 their dynamic has just so completely shifted. even the fact that they are supervising the packing for the walk together and this may be real delusional hours but sending edward ahead to make the first camp instead of one of them going is a little interesting to me. i believe he’s technically the next in line for leadership after fitzjames but like did francis and james want to spend time together? with crozier finally dried out and knowing james’s time is almost up? them finally in a comfortable and friendly place? i love their conversation during the packing scene because fitzjames is voicing a concern to francis who calmly explains his reasoning and when fitzjames continues to press his own doubts they remain civil, familiar, acknowledge one another’s thought processes etc. a scene like this could NEVER have happened in episode 1 or 2. i looooong to know what they were like together during the winter after carnival 

you all know i am INSANE about the fitzier hand holding scene, no one can match my freak on this. tt makes my stomach flutter every time i see it. it is my pride and prejudice hand clenching scene. first i want to acknowledge the quote from the script- “at one point, the only thing keeping fitzjames from sliding back into oblivion is crozier’s hand, but half the importance about the act is that fitzjames reached for it.” this KILLS me more than anything else from the script. and honestly at this point in the story i am becoming convinced that james told crozier about the scurvy, they knew the whole fucking time, they knew. they are literally marching to their deaths, against all odds still going, still trying and they are falling in love. the way james gazes up at francis in awe when he sees the offered hand and doesn’t stop looking at francis when he is up on the ridge. crozier doesn’t even turn to look at james, but he does make sure to stop and wait for him and extend the hand that he knows that james needs. Based on honestly even just this alone i am convinced that crozier knew about the scurvy already. there’s no fucking way he didn’t. and then the way james grabs francis’s jacket and holds on while they stare at each other, crozier smiling- it’s so interesting to me because it very much tells of finding an excuse to touch crozier again, as if he was so in awe of the touch that crozier initiated a few minutes before that he needed it again. he was trying to find a way to touch him again in that “this has to be acceptable by victorian standards of emotional and loving expression” way. and crozier accepts it! he smiles, he meets his gaze. there’s triumph there. and don’t think i didn’t fucking notice that the hand that francis keeps is the hand that held fitzjames’s hand and that also held his face when he was dying.

in the scene with morfin, as soon as crozier notices that james is there he makes sure to maneuver over to james so he can place himself between james and the gun despite the fact that he is unarmed and james has his pistol with him. i don’t necessarily doubt that francis would do this earlier in the story but i can say that he does this here as a selfless act of love and protection 

and then the jop promotion scene yay the way james looks at francis with admiration and curiosity when he hands him the promotion letter to sign and the way james smiles at him when he reads it but not just because of that- but because of the words francis uses and the way francis is looking at him, saying someone “has earned our respect (looks to james), trust” and fitzjames smiles and nods- it’s not just about agreeing with him about jopson. this is how fitzjames feels about crozier now and the fact that crozier even in this small subtle way acknowledges that he  DID need to prove himself to james after his behavior during the winter. their dynamic is just so much different now! at the end when everyone is shaking jopson’s hand, fitzjames gives crozier like… the most insane loving soft look… he looks so so happy. i don’t think we’ve ever seen him look like that before.

and now we are at the cairn walk. i again have to say how during this rewatch i become convinced of the knowledge that crozier has to know that fitzjames is dying. there’s just no way he doesn’t. the conversation they have about it does not convey that james is telling him this for the first time. tt more so implies that they both know but don’t speak of it often and james is updating francis with the vital information, the stages he’s at. what made fitzier happen was them leaving the boats, james dying, crozier getting sober, them both laying it all out on the table in different moments of vulnerability- crozier with his addiction, james with his heritage. the way those scenes parallel each other is actually crazy. james is fucking dying, they are all marching to their deaths and the knowledge that they are doing so is slowly sinking in, and all james wanted before he died was for crozier to see him, all of him. even the parts he was afraid to tell anyone, even himself. and francis isn’t even granting him a mercy, he isn’t sparing his feelings. he truly and genuinely accepts james for who he is, how he came to be a part of the expedition. they have both known from the start that beginnings and heritage don’t matter, it’s the actions that people take that makes them who they are. in different ways they both knew that and i think it’s part of what aligned them eventually. and from the script- james realizes he can say anything to this man. it is possible. crozier gives him the space to do it. and just the way they’re laughing and joking and being light with each other- another thing we never would’ve seen in the earlier episodes. okay focusing on some details now- when crozier says “that’s not how i see you” james literally stumbles as if he can’t believe crozier would say that to him. in the beginning of the scene francis gives james space and privacy when he sees him getting emotional about graham and franklin’s deaths and struggling to remember the date of sir john’s death. they communicate with a single glance there, james asking for a moment and crozier giving it to him. the grief on francis’s face when james tells him his latest symptoms. when crozier initially tries to comfort and encourage james… and james can’t accept it because he hasn’t told him everything yet. he doesn’t know if he can. i don’t want to get personal but that feeling that if you only tell part of your hidden sorrow to someone and they comfort and accept you and show you kindness, that feeling you then get that no no no you don’t know the whole of it and if you did you wouldn’t be showing me this kindness, you wouldn’t love me, you wouldn’t respect me. you wouldn’t see me. i genuinely can’t imagine the relief that fitzjames felt when he told francis it all, he told him everything and all francis gave back was love. also we can finally start to really see the bruise that francis gave fitzjames in ep 5. i love when fitzjames literally and metaphorically closes the gap between them. and francis waits for him until he is by his side again. “are we brothers francis” the tears, the attempt to laugh/smile them away until he sees that crozier is with him in this moment and taking it as seriously as it deserves to be. again the joining of the hands, the one that crozier keeps. they look at each other’s mouths, into each other’s eyes, the way francis dips his head to look at fitzjames when fitzjames ducks his emotionally. it’s insanity

when they get back to camp and listen to hodgson’s story and then go to see jirv’s body, they exchange a lot of glances, specifically around the times that hodgson mentions hickey- they are of one mind on him and on how the situation actually played out. james also watches francis a lot in the scene where they go to see jirv’s body. he looks to him for leadership now and doesn’t become irritated by his anger or his candor. this really persists for the rest of the episode - in the scene where crozier is yelling at edward about supplementing the marines all james has to say is “francis” and then basically talks him down from yelling at edward more, another scene i don’t think could have ever happened between them earlier in the story but james knows how to quell francis now. and this is such an interesting parallel to ep 5 when everyone was taking their shit out on edward; this time fitzjames protects him. but anyway- james and francis are just so in sync in every scene in this episode- they back each other up, communicate through glances, emphasize each other’s words and authority. yay<3 

all right you’re all going to have to bear with me on ep 9 because it makes me crazy.

we gotta start with the fucking grief and pain in both of their expressions when they’re taking care of pocock and how this scene itself foreshadows the assisted suicide later

the look of absolute love and faith from fitzjames when crozier is telling them they will keep marching south and the “more than god loves them” scene- this is francis at his most captainly- and james is echoing his hollow vanity stricken words about franklin but really really meaning them about crozier- he says them to no one but himself, there is no performance here and crozier’s words aren’t a false display of empathy and care like franklin’s were for david young and fitzjames sees this. 

fitzjame and crozier are hauling in front side by side- it makes a point to mention that in the script too.

when fitzjames falls… ugh. he hauled until he couldn’t anymore, direct call back to when blanky said ross sat atop the sledges- oh and when francis and fitzjames were caring for pocock together vs ross having no sympathy for illness. when james falls he reaches for crozier without even looking at him at first and you can hear crozier saying “it’s all right, it’s all right” when james is saying he can’t stand the heat. dundy and bridgens are lifting fitzjames up too but when he stumbles, when he reveals his wound, when he stumbles again, he is only looking at crozier the whole time. and the look on crozier’s face is one i don’t think we’ve seen from him yet. i noticed too that he’s holding onto fitzjames with his left arm and rubbing his back with the other before he takes the rope off of him. 

i want to say about the following scene where james is laid up in the boat that i made a joke once to my friend about when crozier reaches into the boat and how it looks like they’re holding hands- but they actually are, it’s in the script. there’s just something about crozier’s face when he talks to fitzjames in later episodes, there’s such a softening of the edges to him, his expression is less guarded and more attentive and earnest. and the call back to their first scene together with the chinese sniper story…. the fucking fondness in both of their eyes as they laugh together, which was probably james’s last time laughing. when crozier says “there’s time” but that’s the tragedy of this show- there’s never enough time. everything happens too late.

james screaming in pain and crozier running to him and barely letting bridgens finish his sentence before he tells them to camp here also in the script during the officer’s meeting right after, they can hear fitzjames screaming in his tent :( i’m honestly kinda glad they left that out.

and here we are at THE fitzier scene. i could talk for hours about this scene. francis is holding james’s hand, rubbing his shoulder. james looks so young and frail and scared here and he uses some of his last words to tell francis he wanted him to live because he knew he wouldn’t be around to tell him that anymore soon. francis shaking his head when he says it as if to say “not without you”. in the script, when bridgens leaves it says ‘he looks at crozier. he looks at fitzjames. he understands”... and later during james’s funeral when crozier says that he had a service with james, just the two of them, peglar and bridgens exchange a very interesting, knowing look. to choose those two to react that way? idk man. fitzier real. but back to the scene- god okay crozier taps james’s chest twice in question and then just barely audible fitzjames says “please”. ugh the sad smile crozier gives fitzjames before he gives him the drug… then he places his hand, the one that crozier doesn’t lose, so gently and lovingly on james’s face, and even in his current state james looks almost taken aback at the gesture. when crozier tips the drug into his mouth his expression softens. i will never ever in my life forget the way james looks at crozier in that moment, the look of gratitude, love, farewell, of pain, longing, childlike fear. (nobody is doing it like tobias). crozier ever so lightly brushing james’s lips with both of his thumbs before he begins to massage it down and carefully wiping the excess away. they never stop looking at each other. dave k said that the service that crozier mentions happened before fitzjames dies and after crozier gives him the drug.

the last thing i want to say about the james death scene is that i was never that invested in the concept of cannibalism as a metaphor for love but fitzjames asking crozier to eat his body and live really really stuck in my brain- just their entire insane journey that i’ve been sitting here thinking about for months- acquaintances to enemies to allies to friends to lovers for it all to culminate in this final scene of fitzjames begging crozier to eat from his body and begging him to give him the final kiss of death all as crozier never once looks away or lets go of him. fitzjames loved him so much he was willing for crozier to desecrate his corpse if it meant francis would live, even without him next to him but crozier loved him so much that he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t add that act to his already impossibly devoted actions.

and the action of hiding james’s body because crozier doesn’t want tuunbaq to destroy it but then it turns out that someone at the very funeral ends up leading the mutineers to tear fitzjames’s body apart themselves. just like jirv not getting to keep the final gift of the seal meat even in death, crozier couldn’t do james this one last mercy even though he tried desperately to. 

and this last part is a bit of a stretch but okay-along with the shirt and the gloves of fitzjames’s that crozier is wearing after his death i think he might be wearing his little neck thing too, so sorry y’all i do not know what it’s called and i’m locked in trying to finish this and i’m not googling it lol. but we see fitzjames wear it a lot throughout the show and francis does sometimes but it’s very much a fitzjames piece so i think it might be his too. and with the funeral scene and the blanky scene, we see the mismatched gloves clearly for the first time but i’m pretty sure the first glimpse is earlier in the episode when they’re hauling before fitzjames collapses. dave k still confirmed they had switched gloves but it really seems that this happened before james died, likely when they left terror camp. i still contend that crozier and fitzjames both knew james was dying and this may have been why they did it. 

and on to the last episode and closing thoughts- in the last ep i was really keeping track of the gloves- he loses them at some point and i wanted to see when and it’s between the scene where he talks to hickey and when he’s chained back up in the tent with diggle. i hope he somehow hung on to them.

i will never forget how my stomach dropped out when i saw hickey wearing fitzjames’s boots on my first watch- the fucking sorrow in crozier’s face. he doesn’t understand the meaning just yet  but when goodsir is cleaning his wounds and tells him they ate gibson, you can see crozier put it together that that’s why hickey has fitzjames’s boots. his expression turns from shock and grief to rage.

hickey really clocked crozier with the shame comment and you can see how it triggers crozier. this is a great confirmation because it really pervades the story and fitzjames’s story as well. they are both driven by shame, by a need to prove themselves but go about it in completely different ways. fitzjames is all bravado, flowery empty words and boasting to cover his origins, his feelings of inadequacy. he aligns himself with the empire and with those in power and distances himself from anyone he knows will be deemed lesser than in the hierarchy in which he exists and specifically pits himself against someone like crozier in order to bolster his own social standing. crozier on the other hand is hardened to his station, he has no way to hide his nationality or his origins no matter how capable he is and how long he’s been going to sea. crozier feels the shame of things like sophia’s rejection and not having straights that they sail named after him but hides it with his bluntness and his lack of decorum when pointing out the truth of a situation. james has everything crozier wishes he did, but crozier is something that james wishes he could be- just himself, despite his societal ineptitudes and barriers. i believe that this basis and the way it melds and breaks down and comes to a way of understanding between them is why fitzier is so strong, and so real and so visceral, especially at the end. honestly there is so much more i could say but i think i’m going to leave it there and just saw that i hope crozier thinks of james from time to time in his new life. i find it hard to believe he doesn’t.

[silentstyx]

bound by fate

sum! "percy asks his mortal girlfriend and she meets annabeth and the interaction of it all since the reader is pretty affectionate with percy and vice versa"

tw! guys annies kind of mean m sorry. also i made reader a tad jealous but like affectionate jealous heh. inner thigh grab. jealousy (reader and annabeth).

he was practically begging for the past week for you to meet his girl best friend, who also happened to be his ex. every time he asked you'd tell him you'd think about it, then that would be the end of it! for 30 minutes. then the process would repeat. it was every 30 minutes to two hours with the same questions: "did you think about it yet?", "so will ya?" "oh c'mon pretty girl, pleasee!" "don't ya love me?"

then as soon as it was the next day, he'd ask the original question over again. "do you wanna meet annabeth soon?" then the process repeats.

so you very quickly realized he wasn't gonna ask and then forget. that you had to give an answer soon, you also know that if you say no he'll be a bigger pain in the ass and constantly annoy you and ask you why and try to change your mind about it.

he came up to you right on schedule and asked again, "hi pretty lady... so remember that question i asked earlier that you said-"

you had finally had enough and cut off his question, "jesus perseus! yes. percy, i will meet annabeth. for the love of god...."

his eyes widened and their was a brightness in his expression that you haven't seen on him before.

he went to call annabeth and you groaned quietly, not looking forward to this. sure you've gone through their texts and he'd do anything you asked but you've always felt somewhat jealous of her? maybe it's because she had him first. don't know.

three days later, you meet up. she comes over to percy's apartment and you slept there that night so...

she walks in and you immediately look at her, she is gorgeous. how did percy fumble her, jeez.

"your his new girlfriend?" she says with an undertone of an attitude.

your brows immediately furrowed. you then heard what sounds like footsteps coming from the bedroom.

it was percy running to us because he heard annabeth.

"annabeth!" he exclaims, not running to hug her but it shows in his body language that he wants to.

she smiles, walking closer to him, "seaweed brains."

he smiles, resembling the smile of a golden retriever, "i missed you wise girl."

you can't help but grimace at the pet names for each other, which makes you subconsciously get closer to percy which reminds him why she's here in the first place. he wraps an arm around your back and places his hand on your hip.

"annabeth, this is my girlfriend, [reader]. [reader], this is my best friend, annabeth." percy introduces you two and you both subtly scowl at each other. you don't know why she already hates you, all you did was look at her when she walked in.

however, you're not just gonna take that lying down. you could somewhat tell that she was jealous of you. whether thats just because you're his girlfriend and she doesn't want her friend to be 'taken away' or because she's still into him.

so immediately you interlock fingers with percy and press your body into him more with a smug smile on your face. she forced a smile and sat down.

percy and annabeth were talking on the couch for a while and you were just on your phone next to percy, practically on his lap while they talked. you had your legs draped over his and a head leaning on his shoulder as you were on your phone. percy then moved around and to subtly apologize, he put his hand on your inner thigh. that then became the only thing annabeth noticed for a while as they spoke.

you eventually got bored from being on your phone and you got more cuddly and touchy with percy. you wrapped your arms around him and pressed pecks to his cheek, jaw line, and neck as he spoke. you could see annabeth clenching everything, she was annoyed to say the least.

by the time she had to leave your head was placed on percy's chest sideways, hands interlocked as you all said your goodbyes. you waved her a goodbye as she left. you and percy then went back to the coach.

"sooo how'd ya like her?" percy asked, trying to hold in his excitement.

you then held back an eye roll, "she was fine. we didn't talk much. but she seems cool."

He smiles widely.

"i knew you guys would get along!" he starts.

he then goes on a ramble about how much alike he thought we were and how we'd be great friends cause of it.

man, he's gonna crumble if you and her don't work it out.

the other part: Divine Confessions

[pneumosia]

❝BENEATH THE VEIL OF SEPARATION.❞ ── ☼ rin itoshi﹕ ブルーロック › blue lock

syn ✧ having rin reappear in your life on a random friday was not what you were expecting. what starts as reluctance turns into a moment of vulnerability as old feelings resurface.

imaginarium theatre masterlist. ┆ general masterlist.

info log ﹕ fic tags rin itoshi / gn! reader. imaginarium theatre request no. 7 made by @reocidal. rin + retrouvaille + fluff. kiss scene. lots of banter. reader has a younger cousin. ➜ word count : 2.3k

love, ieva ❤︎ officially the first time writing for rin, i hope i didn’t make him too ooc 😓 also new formatting !! tiny bit of hurt/comfort if u squint bc i almost got carried away

Rin Itoshi wasn’t used to stopping. His life was a blur of precision: drills, matches, accolades. Yet here he was, holding a cup of lukewarm black coffee—and seated in one of the back tables. He sat next to a window, his hood drawn low. The cafe he was in was bustling with noise that began to grate on his nerves.. He scowled before pushing a pair of ear plugs into his ears, hoping to muffle the sounds of chatter between friends, parents with overly obnoxious children, and the relentless ding of the bell that rang whenever someone entered. He stared at his phone, checking match statistics, formations, strategies.

About a few blocks away, was a soccer field, usually an eyesore in his peripheral vision. It was the kind of place amateurs and children gravitate to—a world far out of his reach. Something so mediocre could never catch his attention, until he spotted a familiar figure walk past—his glance following them through the window. He blinked again, as if the act might scatter his vision and reveal a different image that was once buried in fog. But no, there you were—with an eager child tugging your hand while pointing towards the field.

Without thinking, he was on his feet, the coffee forgotten as he pushed open the cafe door. He could see the back of your head clearly, and the child beside you was practically begging to be taken to the field. How could you ever refuse? He watched as you smiled, radiant and full of life you were—just as you were back then. He could already hear your coos, a sign that you were giving into the child’s pleas.

“I want to go there! Can we? Please? Just for a little while?”

You glanced at the apple of your cousin’s eye—a small field, granted it was usually occupied by children, but the white markings reminded you of someone else. Someone you’d rather not name. Reluctantly, you clutched the little one’s hand tighter, looking both ways before crossing the street—unaware that Rin was dragging his feet across the road behind you.

When you approached the patches of uneven grass, marked with faded white lines—the little boy wasted no time before darting off towards the center, the atmosphere welcoming the young life—a playground meant just for him. Behind you, the faint sound of footsteps—deliberate yet hesitant, alerted your senses. You turn around just in time to catch a glimpse of Rin retreating, his hood low and his body angled as if he were preparing to bolt out of there. You blinked, caught off guard by the sight of someone so deeply tied to the past that you thought you’d never relive.

Your relationship had been at a standstill for so long, so the moment he vanished from your life—you never imagined him returning, much less in these circumstances.

A part of you had been craving this interaction, while the other wished to bury him with the past altogether. A time capsule never to be reopened.

“Rin?” the name left your lips before you could stop it, and his retreat faltered. His lips formed a small frown, and he let out a sigh in response.

He knew he should’ve left when he had the chance.

“I wasn’t..” he trailed off, knowing coming up with an excuse now would be futile.

Instead, his eyes darted towards the child running circles around the field—two children behind him as if they were playing a game of tag. “Is that your kid?” he asked bluntly, anything to avoid the spotlight being on his failed retreat.

You raised an eyebrow at his question. “What? No—of course not!” you quickly retorted. Regardless of his motive, he should’ve realized how bizarre his blunt question sounded.

“Then?” he questioned further.

“That’s my cousin, I'm too young to have kids!” you retorted, crossing your arms in a manner that told him that his question must’ve been a stupid one.

“The second he saw this field, he immediately wanted to come and play.” you continued, hesitantly.

His hands stuffed themselves in his pockets, his gaze flickering between you and the child you claimed as your cousin. “I didn’t mean to— I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“And yet, you are.” you said, an amused smile tugging at your lips. “Following me?”

He spluttered before the heat trailed to the tips of his ears. “Not… Not a chance, you’re delusional.”

You only continued to stare him down, as if waiting for him to admit to it. “You sure? I find it pretty odd that this is purely a coincidence.”

“But it’s not impossible.” he commented before rolling his eyes.

“Well,” you said, your tone light but your eyes began searching his face. “Since you’re here, you might as well greet me properly. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Rin hesitated. It had been a while—more than a while—it had been an eternity. Yet, here you were, standing in front of him as if no time had passed at all. As if you were the same people, in a bubble of bright smiles and laughter that could cause tears from euphoria.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice quieter than you remembered. “It has.”

He wasn’t sure what to do. He followed you all the way here, for what? He couldn’t let this be their last interaction, not when he had so many words bottled up and stuck in his throat.

Before he could manage to speak up, the child appeared in front of him once more—glimmering eyes full of hope and a newfound joy for the sport. “Hey! Do you guys wanna come play with us?”

You pretended to think about the offer, a hand under your chin and an amused smirk adorning your features. You couldn’t say no to him. The little guy had you wrapped around his finger, but you didn’t mind—not if it meant that the smile on his fact would remain in place for as long as possible.

Rin, on the other hand, was absolutely dreading this interaction. On one hand, he knew he didn’t want to participate in this child’s antics, but he knew he couldn’t be rude about it. Instead of voicing his feelings, he opted to shake his head. The equivalent of a simple “no thanks.”

You quietly nudged his arm, trying to get the message across that the little one wouldn’t be able to take no for an answer. He grumbled in response, In a state of reluctance, he finally agreed before being dragged away by the tiny hand—with a promise that he’d definitely enjoy himself.

Of course, the little boy had absolutely no idea how to maneuver a soccer ball—looking up at Rin, he silently pleaded for him to teach him how to play correctly. The most he could manage was simply kicking the ball around and hoping it makes it into the opposite goal. It reminded Rin of his naivety when he was the little boy’s age. Rounded teal eyes filled with tears whenever he wasn’t able to move the ball around the way he wanted, and he had to rely on Sae for assistance.

The thought makes him shake his head in annoyance. At the moment, his brother was utterly irrelevant to the conversation. Right now, all he could do was scoff and put the heel of his foot on the ball—eyeing the child to make sure he was watching. “Just follow my steps, alright?”

To say your cousin was excited would be an understatement, he eagerly kept his eyes glued to the striker—furrowed brows that showcased his concentration.

“It’s about control, not strength. Where do you want to kick the ball?” he asked, as the child pointed forward—so Rin kicked the ball in that direction. “Now you try.”

The child mimicked his movements as best he could, earning a hum of approval. His expression remained unreadable, but the slight lift of his chin gave him away—he was slightly pleased. For the next hour or so, the two focused on simple ball passing and aiming, all the way until the little guy scored his first goal. The majority of the children were beginning to get pulled away from the field by their parents, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Rin’s way of teaching. Though his personality wouldn’t make for a good teacher, he was considerate of the child’s age and connection to you. And that, for you, was enough.

“I told you we’d have fun!”

“…Sure.”

“That wasn’t a no.”

The dumbfounded expression on Rin’s face was enough to earn a chuckle out of you, before you stepped forward to grab your cousin’s hand—a clear sign it was time to go home. Luckily, he didn’t make a fuss about it, tired out from the drills he and Rin had to do.

Later on, when it was just the two of them—you were unsure of what to say. The sky dimmed and night was fast approaching, but you didn’t have the urge to go home yet, at least—not without talking to him first. “You tolerated that more than I expected you to.”

“What? It was either I helped him or he’d start crying, and frankly the latter sounds worse.”

“Uh huh, you’re not going home?” you inquired, fiddling with your fingers as you waited for an answer. You honestly believed he was going to simply walk away, maybe even retort with a sassy remark to spite you.

“I could ask you the same, it seems like we still have something to talk about.”

Or so you thought.

A few beats of silence passed before you let out a sigh. “Can’t you just admit that you missed me so we can skip the awkward reconciliation stage?”

Confrontation was clearly not one of your strong suits, judging by how his eyebrows furrowed and how he crossed his arms—staring at you with pure judgment in his eyes.

“Get real.”

“You get real, c’mon. I’m waiting.”

He groans, stepping closer before eyeing you down. “What makes you think I missed you?”

“The fact that you followed me to the field maybe? You could’ve ignored me, and gone in the opposite direction.”

You had him right where you wanted him.

He didn’t have an answer, did he?

(Maybe you were delusional.)

Rin’s silence stretched, his teal eyes narrowing as he searched for a retort—something sharp to cut through your confidence. But for once, he didn’t have one. His arms dropped to his sides, and for a brief moment, his face softened, though he quickly masked it with an annoyed scoff. He wouldn’t admit that he followed you on a whim (that he missed you, more than you’ll ever know.)

That he regrets leaving things where they were without telling you the truth.

“You’re imagining things,” he muttered, stepping back slightly. “I didn’t follow you—I just didn’t have anything better to do.”

(Excuses, but what else was he supposed to do?)

“Right,” you said, leaning closer with a teasing grin, masking the slight ache in your chest at the thought that it was just coincidence. “Because spending an hour with my cousin and me was totally your idea of a thrilling Friday night.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t step away this time. “You’re annoying.”

“And yet here you are,” you quipped, your voice gentler now. “Why won’t you just admit it, Rin? You missed me. It’s okay, I won’t hold it against you.”

(Unless i’ve been making a full of myself this entire time, chasing after someone who wants nothing to do with me.)

His gaze snapped back to yours, something unreadable flickering in his expression. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He was cracking, slowly yet surely, in a manner you wouldn’t have expected. You couldn’t read him, or even tell what he was feeling.

(Rin never opens up easily, he learned how to seal the cracks as quickly as they’re made—as daunting as such a skill is—it infuriated you to no end. Even before, he wouldn’t admit that he liked you. For someone so proud, he was faltering in one way or another.)

“And you’re deflecting,” you countered softly. Your teasing tone was gone now, replaced by a quiet sincerity. “You could’ve ignored me. You could’ve left after the game. But you didn’t. You stayed.”

Rin looked away, his jaw tightening as he shoved his hands into his pockets. The breeze ruffled his dark hair as the last remnants of sunlight faded into the horizon. “…Maybe I didn’t want to.”

(There it was, the last piece.)

It was barely above a whisper, but you heard it. Your chest tightened, a warmth spreading through you. “What was that?” you asked, though your heart was already racing.

“Don’t push it,” he muttered, but his voice lacked the usual bite. Instead, he shifted closer, his shoulders tense, as though he was debating something. His eyes met yours again, piercing but hesitant.

You took a small step forward, tilting your head. “You’re so bad at this, you know? I should just—”

Before you could finish, Rin leaned down and captured your lips in a quick, almost clumsy kiss. It was brief but enough to silence your words and steal your breath. When he pulled back, his face was flushed, and his expression was a mixture of defiance and embarrassment.

“There. Happy?” he asked, his voice low, his confidence cracking just slightly at the edges. It was just what you’ve been waiting for. It felt almost surreal, the tips of his ears were practically burning.

You blinked, your lips still tingling from the unexpected kiss. A wide grin spread across your face. “No, I'm imagining things, delusional even.”

Bouncing his own words back, how comical. But he could only roll his eyes. He knows you’ve won.

(You held back a sigh of relief, he didn’t forget.)

“Don’t push your luck,” he mumbled, turning away, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

You laughed softly, grabbing his wrist before he could walk off completely. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop teasing—for now.”

The night air felt lighter as the two of you stood there, the tension melting into something softer. Neither of you had to say it, but in that moment, it was clear: whatever distance had been between you before was finally gone.

taglist 🔔 : @papiliotao @starcharmed @snobwhimsicality @bladism @tragedy-of-commons @wystiix @arquistes @thestarswhisper @somatchajade @gl4di0lus @milk-violet @aphrodict @mikashisus

[yukioos]

MIS

SUMMARY: jayce talis x reader // your mother takes the brunt of the attack from jinx, causing your mother to pass from the wounds. her death leaves you grieving. once all your pain builds up and the pressure becomes too much to handle, you find yourself face-to-face with a panic attack. your boyfriend, jayce, stays with you throughout all your troubles and comforts you when you need him the most.

AUTHORS NOTE: hi! i hope you guys enjoy this oneshot, i felt in the mood to write some angst and comfort :) thanks for the request, sorry if you wanted me to write something more happy and fluffy. i haven’t had a panic attack so i don’t fully know what it’s like to have one, but i tried my best! this is 2.4k words

WARNINGS: not proofread, panic attack, death, grief, guilt, cussing, pet names

ASK: gurll i love this, for the next one can u please make it the other way around (jayce comforting reader) 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 i need jayce huggie toooo!!

the sky was dark, and the moon was an unusually deep shade of red. the bland sky didn’t stand out to you, opposite to how it would be filled with stars any other day. hot air filled your room, causing you to tug and pull at your tightly fitted clothes. you threw old clothes onto the ground, planning to give them to the undercity, where they lacked what you perceived as normal. you giggled at the thought of your younger sister, caitlyn, who thought she was sneaky bringing in a woman from zaun into her room, claiming she was only hurt.

your mother didn’t know about this, however. she didn’t have enough time in her schedule to know about caitlyn’s relationships, only you and jayce’s, as word spread quickly. you were pleased to know that she accepted the relationship once she sat the two of you down and asked about jayce’s intentions with you. she just wanted you to have a good partner, someone who could live up to the kiramman expectations and life. knowing jayce ever since he was young, she immediately knew you were a perfect match.

when you were young, she wasn’t as busy being a councilor as she is now. you used to tell caitlyn about how mom used to be fun, and she would always laugh at the stories in disbelief. sometimes, she would flat-out tell you you were lying, like when your mom had enough time to teach you how to shoot targets. as she became older, her time with you became shorter and shorter, and caitlyn hardly knew her mother.

but even as you were scavenging through your dresser and walk-in closet, a sinking feeling weighed you down. something was off, something felt wrong, unusual. you rubbed your eyes, hoping you were just imagining when you saw a bright blue light shine through the sky like a shooting star. the sound of it flying through the air reminded you of fireworks before they explode. you tilted your head in curiosity. you had never seen a shooting star before—

suddenly, a loud sound erupted in your ears, causing you to duck and cover your head. you panted, whimpering as you had no idea what had just happened. you slowly raised your head from the ground, glancing around your room to see if any damage had been done. when you stood back on your feet, you glanced outside the window to see a huge hole in the administrative building where meetings were held.

fuck, that’s where jayce and mom were.

your eyes widened in terror as you immediately pushed your double doors open and down a flight of stairs. alarms began to alert the city of piltover, and screams and crying from citizens made your blood run cold. your legs ached from running, panting as your lungs burned with pain, unable to catch a breath. once you ran to the top floor of the administrative building, you slammed open the partially broken doors.

heart racing, you paused in your tracks once jayce carried viktor in his arms, with tears filling his eyes. your heart raced, and your throat tightened, you managed to ask, “where is my mother? mom? mom—“ as you walked around, searching for bodies covered in rubble, dark blue hair and short pink hair caught your eye.

you were about to walk over to them, but you staggered as smoke filled your throat, causing you to cough. before you could pause, a large, warm, and familiar hand laid on your shoulder. there, your boyfriend stood with ash on his face, and an almost dead man in his arms, his best friend. he cupped your face with one hand and stared at you, “hey— hey, we’re both alright, that’s— that’s good—”he tried to lighten the mood by chuckling. he then continued, even as his fake smile didn’t reach his eyes, “i need to help viktor—“

you interrupted, “jay, it’s okay, go, i think i see my mother—” you gazed into his glossy eyes, his lip trembled with fear.

you placed your shaky hand on his cheek and gave him a quick kiss. as you gently patted his cheek, he mumbled, “promise you’ll stay safe for me.” while looking into your equally terrified eyes.

you responded, “i will.” and with that, he ran to the science lab to supposedly heal viktor. you then ran over to the dark blue hair, assuming it was your sister. she turned around and hugged you without uttering a word. you gripped her back just as tightly, and the pink-haired zaunite stared at your mother with sorrow. her face was covered in ashes, and bricks left bruises and blood-stained clothes. you pressed your finger up to the side of her neck. once you felt nothing, you checked her wrist.

she didn’t have a pulse.

your breathing sped up, but your world slowed down as if it paused. your body felt numb, and your hearing drained from your ears. a hand squeezed your shoulder, the hand of your sister, trying to shake you back into reality. shutting your eyes for a moment, you tried to imagine anything but her lifeless body in front of you. the woman who lived her life saving and protecting others, the one who watched you grow up, the one who carried you for nine months, was now dead.

it seemed unreal to think about.

but you opened your eyes and imagined it was someone else in front of you, someone with less of an impact on your life. you slowly stood up and stared at your mother’s closed eyes and scarred face. you then turned your back on her and brought your eyes up to the two women in front of you. you mumbled, “we need a medic.”

the next few months after your mother’s death were a living hell. although it was sweet to see children placing flowers near your mother’s grave, honoring her dedication to the city, you hadn’t been in a healthy mental state. normally, things came easy to you. however, for the past few months, all you had heard from others were condolences for the death of your mother. you tried to act as if you weren’t bothered by it at all, and to continue your everyday life. that’s what your mom would’ve wanted you to do, anyway.

but as you were walking to your residence with jayce after spending time with one another at a restaurant, a news reporter came up to you. the man attracted many other reporters to huddle up in front of you, almost barricading you into the wall. you shuttered at the lack of space, and reporters yelled and stuck microphones and cameras into your face.

one asked, “miss kiramman, do you have any plans on becoming the leader of the kiramman house anytime soon?” as if it wasn’t a sensitive question, relating to your mom’s passing.

you frowned as another question followed, “how has your mother’s death affected you?”

“will you join the council to replace your mother’s spot?”

tears began to spring in your eyes as you backed up, becoming closer and closer to the wall. yet, the reporters wouldn’t stop asking questions and entrapped you, all around you, unable to move. suddenly your boyfriend loudly announced, “that is enough. go along with your day and leave.” his eyebrows were furrowed with concentration and he balled his fists up.

one of the reporters interjected, “mr. talis, all we want is to ask miss kiramman a couple questions—“

he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, then glared at the man. he suddenly understood and nodded, appearing embarrassed. they all followed after the man, who ran away once he saw councilor medarda, who wandered around the streets with her companion, lest.

jayce gently rubbed your shoulder with his large hand and mumbled, “sorry you had to see that. are you okay?” he knew you didn’t like talking about her death often, as it was recent and it’s all anyone would bother you about. however, when he saw your glossy eyes and your hands wiping them, he knew something was wrong. you hadn’t normally acted like this around him, nevertheless anyone.

you slightly nodded, just enough for jayce to see. you lowered your head, not wanting to be noticed by anyone else as jayce held the door open for you. a lock clicked behind you, and you traveled up the flight of stairs to your room. your heart pounded as you were reminded of the night when you saw your mother’s lifeless body on the ground, feeling like your heart was going to jump out of your chest. too much heat was in the room, maybe you had to open the window. you quickly sprinted over to the window and opened it, still feeling so hot all over your body.

god, everything was too much. you whimpered as you felt liquid dripping down your cheeks, and your throat began to tighten up as if barbed wires wrapped themselves around your neck. you wiped your forehead with your sleeve, only to feel the warmth on the cloth from sweat. ringing filled your ears, causing you to ball your fists up as you sat on the ground, starting to hit your head to stop the ringing. unfortunately, you couldn’t stop the noise in your head.

you couldn’t hear anything, and your body became numb. as your throat continued to tighten, you rubbed your throat in pain, wanting to tell your mom that you were sorry. why the hell weren’t you there when she was dying? you could’ve prevented her death, couldn’t you? maybe you could’ve blocked her body with yours from the hit, then you would’ve taken most of the damage. it would’ve been better that way. she was more influential, more powerful, and more important than you. what would’ve happened if you were there to save her? would you be at dinner right now? would you be hugging her? telling her a stupid joke she always laughed at? would you be dead?

it pained you that there was no way to know what could’ve happened.

jayce heard sobs as he washed his hands in the bathroom, screams, even. his heart raced and he dried his hands, then he ran out of your large bathroom to see your head in your hands, hitting it with your fists as hard as you could. you were sobbing, “i’m sorry, mom, i’m sorry,” repeatedly, over and over on a loop. your body shook like you were the most delicate thing in the world, like you were about to break any second. your arms dripped with sweat, and you seemed to be dissociative, as you didn’t respond to his calls of your name.

he then realized they were common signs of a panic attack. must’ve been from all the reporters bugging you with their never-ending questions and from the passing of someone so important in your life. he didn’t know how to handle a situation like this, but he knew you needed someone to help you and ground you. he gently placed a hand on the crown of your head and rubbed it gently, as if you were a child. you slowly looked up at him, eyes and face all red from crying. you sniffled, mind still racing, as you tried to focus on the words that came out of his mouth, not recognizing the ones that came out of yours.

you were full-on sobbing, dry tears laid helplessly on your skin, waiting to be rehydrated with new ones. you closed your eyes and cradled yourself, still crying out, ‘i’m sorry,’ so jayce slowly wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close, not knowing if he was doing the right thing. he asked, as he gave a kiss to your shoulder, “why are you sorry, sweetheart?” you unconsciously leaned into his warm frame, although you felt far too hot for your liking.

your wailing became quieter as you continued talking, listing all the reasons why you should’ve been the one who took the hit, you should’ve been better to her, you should’ve spent more time with her, and you should’ve been there before she died. he continued to ask you questions so you could open up about your feelings until your throat hurt from sobbing and talking for so long.

you leaned your head against him for a few minutes in silence, not wanting to say anything more. he rubbed your shoulder and turned, staring into your red eyes. you whimpered and wiped your eyes, staring up at him with a pout on your face. he softly smiled, then gently placed a hand on your wet cheek. he placed his lips against yours, the most intimate kiss you’ve shared. once the two of you pulled away, he helped you stand up, expecting to carry you to bed.

but to his surprise, you hugged him, causing him to stumble back with the amount of force you used. you mumbled into his chest, “i love you so much, jayce.” your voice was strained, using the rest of your words and power to thank him for his help and love.

he wrapped his strong arms around you and petted your hair, “i love you too.” he couldn’t have felt more affectionate or loving than now, and you felt the same. after a few minutes of staying in the hug, he slowly undressed you and changed you into more comfortable clothes. he carried you to your bed, then changed into his clothes that he kept in your drawers for when he stayed the night. he just changed into a pair of sweatpants, taking his shirt and everything else off.

turning the lights off, he walked over to you and pulled the sheets down, causing you to quickly huddle up to him and trap his leg with yours. you wrapped your arm around his waist, wanting to feel as close as you possibly could to him. as jayce’s breath began to even out, you knew he was the only one who could calm you down, bring you out of that headspace. he was nervous, he’d never comforted someone like that before, but his dedication and patience showed you he was the one for you.