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sugurouge · 7 months ago

Text

— diabolic waltz : getō suguru x f!reader

content warnings! DARK CONTENT, dubcon/noncon, yandere themes, size difference, strength difference, corruption, power dynamics/imbalance (reader refers to geto as master), pet names (doll, whore, toy, bunny, little one), hair pulling, water torture/forced drowning/waterboarding, punishment, deep throating, mind break, degradation

summary: You should know better than to behave greedy or entitled, but if he so sweetly entices you to misbehave, even the impeding punishment doesn't stop you from taking what you need. Until it's time to pay up. And Getō makes sure you always pay your debts.

wordcount: 2k | my kinktober masterlist

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

by clicking read more you are agreeing to consume dark content. don't interact if you cannot differentiate fiction from reality.

Geto rests comfortably in his armchair, dark purple eyes rake over your needy body—only hidden beneath a layer of satin. With you in his lap, there is at least a sort of solace to his tiresome days. He likes to view you as a sick way of rewarding himself, his prize for making it through another 24 hours. Hence why you're always kept on display whenever it's just the two of you. Him and his property, the weak human that somehow won his twisted interest. Nothing more than eye candy for him. You're so pretty until you turn needy and start talking too much.

"Master, please—" you start your advances all over again. Ever so prettily as your nails drag over Geto's exposed chest; you have long since pushed aside the layers of his attire.

Geto heaves a heavy sigh. It's his first indicator for you to shut your pretty mouth before he sends curses your way. Yet, simultaneously, he can't resist the torture; cannot keep his right leg from bouncing to cause friction against your puffy lips. Teasing you further to hear more whimpers instead of your actual voice.

Your hands press against his body as you try to control the bouncing, but the friction created by your dress brushing against your nipples makes it impossible to form coherent or cautious thoughts. Your legs clench around Geto's muscular thigh, attempting to maintain the pleasurable feeling.

"You really wish to bother me like that right now?" His dangerously low voice challenges. Suguru is well aware that he is the cause of your distress, but would he ever admit that? Not in a million lifetimes.

You know full well what will happen if you say yes, how your day will turn out if you give in to your own neediness when your master isn't the one to initiate. Your glossy orbs beg him without another word spilling from your lips as you nod.

A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. You're just so dumb; how could he not adore you? The minor tilt of his head gives you the okay to shed your dress, to expose your perfectly clean body to his eyes. It's one of his priorities, to always have his doll look prim and proper. Soft and dewy skin, rose oil spoiling your figure to make it shine in the low afternoon light and envelop you in faux innocence for him to ruin.

You sink down to your knees right between his legs, your delicate fingers running over his muscular thighs up to his stomach, but the "tsk" coming from Geto's lips has you freeze immediately. Doe eyes look up at his intimidating stare, while his entire face remains stoic—almost bored, as he rests his cheek in one of his palms.

"Hand or thigh, no cock," he bluntly states.

You try to suppress the whine rising in your throat, try not to furrow your brows at his statement.

"Well, what will it be, bunny?"

He doesn't actually ask. Geto simply enjoys oversaturating your lusty mind with difficult decisions. You're always so afraid he will leave you.

"Hand, please, please," you bat your lashes at him even though you're painfully aware of how little effect it has on him. Yet he pats his thigh, indicating for you to sit on his lap once again. Your body follows suit.

"Any other wishes?" Narrowed eyes stare at you, they make you feel small and vulnerable as his hand dances along your thigh, drawing close to your needy pussy.

Your eyes snap down to his dishevelled clothes, raking over the layers of fabric that hide his perfect body from your gaze and touch.

You inhale sharply the moment his fingers snap you out of your thoughts, penetrating your walls deeply without warning and immediately curling against your clamping muscles. Yes, Geto might be okay with listening to your begs once in a while, but his pleasure lies in overwhelming your pathetic body, not preparing you softly.

Your head lolls back, fingers holding onto his shoulders, though they twitch to run through his black strands. You are well aware of the fact that he'd never let you ruin his hair.

Soft moans spill from your parted lips. He taught you to stay quiet, to not ruin his image of you—his sweet doll.

Yet the feeling is too good. The way his fingers stretch your cunt, your slick dripping down over his digits and palm. Your hips roll against his hand, pretty whines causing your chest to heave so perfectly for Geto to enjoy the sight of your tits.

He adds a third finger with ease and uses his thumb to draw intricate patterns on your clit, applying more pressure on the nub once he feels you tighten around him. "Such a needy whore..." he mumbles impassively.

But his cold voice, the boredom laced in his words mixed with his brutal ministrations, are exactly what you've grown to love from your master. It's so clear that you're doing something wrong, that you're messing up his perfect routine—but you just can't help it.

Your whines grow louder, small fingers now gripping onto his wrist as the coil in your stomach tightens further and further before it explodes. You fall forward, against Geto's chest, covering his neck area with moans, tears, and sweat as you gush all over his hand and dirty his robes.

Goosebumps run over your heavenly skin, clearly proving how overwhelmingly good he can make you cum with just his hand by now.

"Disgusting..."

You flinch slightly at that, eyes squeezing shut from just one word coming from Geto. He pulls his hand out of your tight cavern, your slick clearly coating his skin as a scowl spreads on his face. "You enjoy this? Staining me with your slutty needs?"

You create some distance between your bodies, shamefully staring at his hand before your eyes trail over his tainted clothes. You didn't plan on this happening, didn't plan to make such a mess, especially not over him, but why does he have to be this good?

Being a disappointment still has the same effect on you as it did from the start, causing tears to spill from your eyes as your body starts to shiver. "'M sorry, I didn’t—I wanted—"

"Time for a bath, no?" he sighs and gets up, pushing your smaller body off his lap with little care as disgust is clearly painted on his features.

Your butt meets the hardwood flooring and you try frantically to stop the tears from running down your face. Pleading ever-so sweetly with a shaky voice for your "Master..." to have mercy.

The clacking of his shoes stops the moment he stands beside your body once again. Long fingers card through your locks before he kneels beside you and tugs at your roots.

"How much longer are you going to make me wait, little one, hm?"

The sting on your scalp rips you out of your struggling mind; it forces you to rely on your instincts if you want to get out of this unscathed tonight. "Forgive me," you whisper.

So incredibly cute.

Geto takes a deep breath, eyes running over your body as he hums. "Five minutes."

You nod in perfect understanding and immediately grab your gown before hurrying over to the bathroom.

Aftercare is important, he always tells you. And aftercare you shall give him.

So you let water fill the spacious bathtub, let the most expensive bubble bath fill the room with a soothing scent as you light candles to set the mood and welcome Suguru in.

You stand in front of his large frame, looking up at his face to grant you permission to undress him, carefully undoing the ties of his gown before letting the heavy garments hit the floor. You will wash them as well.

Only his briefs aren't yours to touch as he walks past you and finishes undressing himself before he sinks into the warm bathwater.

You watch him the entire time—how he leans back against the expensive porcelain of the tub, arms resting around the rim—looking oh so inviting. His eyes meet your gaze, appreciating your obedient state as he slightly tilts his head to make your body move.

You follow his silent order, going down on your knees right behind his back, cool fingertips carefully reaching out to lie on his tensed back.

The stark difference in temperature makes Geto hiss in annoyance, slightly flinching out of your reach as he glares over his shoulder. You are quick now to rub your hands together, mumbling your apologies before trying to touch him once again.

Small fingers soothe his skin, spoiling his muscles. You always start with his shoulders, using a sponge to have the warm water coat his exposed back and chest, massaging the well-trained area until his breathing calms down and little groans escape his throat.

Only then do you move on to kneel next to him, carefully admiring his relaxed features—he looks almost angelic. So calm, almost innocent.

Until his eyes meet yours and he holds out his hand to you. The exact hand he used to make you cum and that was tainted with your juices.

You focus on it, carefully massaging his fingers and ‘cleaning’ him further. "Good little doll..." Suguru breathes his praise out between his soft lips. It's usually the only compliment you receive, so you make sure to savour it.

You smile gently and finish up your care of his hand until he takes it out of your hold. He brushes your hair out of your face, leading his hand to reach around the back of your neck as you bend over the bathtub, nails digging painfully into your scalp while being pulled forward to be met with the bathwater.

You squeeze your eyes shut immediately, trying desperately to keep your lips sealed as you're pushed beneath the surface. Your nails grab onto the porcelain of the tub, weak muscles trying desperately to stop him from shoving you down further, but it's to no avail. He's much stronger than you'll ever be.

Geto lifts your head back up out of the water, and you suck the air back into your lungs—which quickly mixes with the bathwater as he dunks your head down again.

Your screaming is drowned by the transparent liquid all around you.

It becomes a loop—the pain of him tugging at your roots, being met with the cold air of the bathroom before he pushes you down again.

It becomes a loop—the pain of him tugging at your roots, the cold air of the bathroom meeting your skin before he pushes you down again. Your mind loses focus, your fight grows mellow until he pushes his erect cock between your lips. It jolts you back awake. Not only are you drowning in the water, but you also have his thick shaft infiltrating your mouth. Tears mix with the water, nails digging into his abs and thighs as your attempts to scream vibrate along his cock.

Geto groans. His eyes roll into their sockets as he completely relishes the feeling of your convulsing throat around his member—all while in the comfort of his bathtub. But he has to stop. Sadly, at some point, he remembers you’re not actually a doll. Your body grows slack, and the struggling of your throat diminishes.

Only then does he pull your head out of the water, letting your body slump over the edge of the tub as he slaps your cheeks until you wake up. Your head pounds as you choke up water; it almost feels like someone is ripping your lungs apart.

“Stupid toy…” Geto mumbles, already dragging your head down and forward again.

“No, no, please, not again!” you frantically plead, and he stops—stops right before the surface of the water meets the tip of your nose.

“Why not? I made you cum how you wanted to as well, didn’t I?” he analytically proclaims. “Now suck like I taught you.”

The sting of the water is maddening; only the stretch of his cock against the back of your mouth inflicts more pain upon your body as he guides you up and down with water infiltrating your lungs.

It all becomes a blur in the end, and it’s hard to tell what is real and what a bad dream when you wake up the next morning in your soft king-sized bed, dressed in one of his favourite baby dolls, and his strong arms around you.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

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dreamermonica · 2 years ago

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—gender neutral reader, teen gojo x reader hence the preferred use of glasses, established relationship, slight cursing, just a fluffy scenario i had to post with my crippling gojo brainrot before i hibernate once again

“ah.” GOJO says flatly out of nowhere. “my head's starting to hurt.”

you subtly glance at him from the reflection of the opposing side of the train's tinted windows, watching the way he removes his glasses and rubs at his eyes. you inwardly sigh.

“i can't tell if you're being serious or you just want attention.”

gojo gasps dramatically from beside you, “why would i lie about something like that?”

“can you really blame me for being distrusting?” you say blankly, giving him and and his offended face the stink eye, “especially with the amount of times you've whined out to me like some child who wants to get uppies from his mother?”

you silently relish in the way he stays silent, pouting at you whilst a victorious grin rests on your lips, your gaze returning back to the novel in your hands.

“told you so.”

he whines your name in defeat and lays his head against your shoulder, “my head does hurt though...”

the way he said it urges you to think that he is, indeed, not kidding, and most definitely wasn't just seeking attention—voice stripped of any type of cheeriness, coming out hoarse more than anything.

you pursue your lips as your gaze quickly flits to his face, before dropping to the sunglasses situated on his lap, folded neatly as his eyes are closed shut.

right. the object reminds you of what is probably causing him the headache. six eyes.

your heart nearly cracks at the small grimace on his expression, jaw clenched as his arms are crossed, head still leaning against your shoulder as he focuses on heaving steady breaths. you immediately feel bad now. terrible. horrid.

“toru,” you say, alarmed, slightly panicking as you drop your novel onto your lap, hand situating themselves on both sides of his face as his eyes still remain shut. “i thought you said the glasses helped?”

“they do,” he croaks out, the grimace slowly disappearing as he takes in the warmth of your palms, “but they don't just block out everything, you know.”

“did you overuse your eyes again?” you're ready to scold him, he can tell from the way your tone is slowly turning into one of a nagging mother hen. “this is why you should use blindfolds.”

he only breathes a noise of contentment when you start rubbing circles on his temples, practically melting in your hold.

“well—to be fair,” he starts, one eye opening, and sarcasm still evidently present even with a headache, “we were up against a pretty tricky special grade earlier. i may be the strongest, but that doesn't mean i should let my guard down. you told me that yourself.”

you hold back the urge to roll your eyes, instead staring at him unamused. you caress his cheek gently, “close your eyes, idiot.”

your annoying boyfriend deliberately opens both as if to spite you, cheekily smiling as he stares back at you, “i can still see cursed energy even if i do, babe.”

you still aren't impressed. he chuckles at your expression.

“plus, my headache disappears faster when i see pretty girls.”

“oh, fuck off,” you angrily pinch his cheeks in response as he yelps out in pain, before opting to cover his eyes with one of your hands instead. you feel his eyelashes as he blinks in confusion at the gesture.

“does this help?”

“not really. i can still see cursed energy.”

“oh.” you move to remove your hand, “my bad—”

what you don't expect next is that he keeps your hand in place above his eyes with his own, feeling your knuckles under his palm as he moves to rest his head against your shoulder once more, his eyes still covered by your palm.

“i thought it didn't help?”

“it doesn't but i like you touching me.”

you blink, clearly weirded out by the way he worded that.

“...seriously?”

“yeah, darling. now, as much as i like your voice—i really want to sleep right now, so be quiet before i kiss you stupid right here in public.”

you immediately and effectively shut up at that, hearing an awkward cough from the man sitting across from you. you send him an apologetic look, before glaring at gojo, who's now snoozing his way to wonderland.

you have an inkling that he probably won't be wearing blindfolds anytime soon. especially with how he's grinning like a madman even in his sleep with your hand over his eyes.

you sigh—noting to bring a blindfold each time you go out with the man from now on, not wanting a sore arm everytime you take the train home. you can already picture him pouting in response.

“the child that you are, gojo satoru,” you murmur whilst leaning against his head, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple.

“...you're lucky i love you.”

extra:

donning his sunglasses as he exits the train, he cheerily says, “that was the best nap of my life!”

his headache is gone, which is a relief—but unfortunately, yours is still standing right in front of you.

you clutch your numb arm—already feeling the soreness that'll come after shortly.

“i take it back. i hate you.”

“aw, love you too, bae.”

Zzzz...

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk x reader #jjk scenarios #jujutsu kaisen x reader #har❗fiction

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cheralith · 2 months ago

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Cannibal Kaiser losing his actual mind at someone even slightly raising their voice at you. Truly unhinged doesn’t even begin to describe him if someone were to actually hurt you

:) az :)) AZ :))))) AZRAEL :)))))))''))):://:::)))

feat. michael kaiser || wc: 2.3k cw: gn!reader, they/them pronouns, dark content/dddne: cannibal!kaiser, blood, gore, violence, mentions of past child abuse, possible verbal child abuse? a/n: ive been meaning to write something more for this fucker so thank u az my love for the ask this was way longer than anticipated tho SORRYRYR oh also this takes place a few months after "compulsions."

Your aunt is one thing.

The younger sister of your father, she's always been this rather meek, mousy woman—her own voice always just slightly above a whisper with this ageing creak to it. She walks with a slouch and often has her eyes flickering about everywhere, as if she was anticipating something.

Your uncle is another. This large, brood man with a permanent crease in his brow, shoulders always stiffened to a straight 180° angle. His voice is flat, devoid of any other emotion besides austerity, his tone as stony as his face. Often huffs at even the slightest thing he disapproves of.

So it's safe to say that you and Michael often have to walk on eggshells around him when you were placed under their care temporarily after the incident. You had never heard much about your uncle, with your father often frowning whenever he was mentioned prior to the incident. He'd only say that your uncle was just a serious that wasn't fond of children, which was why he and your family seldom visited one another.

Hence possibly why he didn't greet you and Michael in the same warm manner as your aunt, who greeted you with a shaky smile and even shakier hands, only looking at the two of you up and down before huffing and telling you both to not touch anything in their house.

Michael doesn't like him—your uncle. The man reminds him of someone all the familiar, and he very much does not enjoy almost living the part of his life where the worst of the worst had happened to him. His mannerisms, the strict tone in his voice, his behaviors... all of them seemed uncannily alike to his father who he consumed nearly half of just at the age of eight.

Your uncle doesn't physically hit you and him in the same manner that his father did, but the way he berated you when your aunt was out of sight seemed like a close mirror-image. He'd nitpick at little details or shame you for even the most minor of mistakes, all of them pushing Michael just a little further to irritation. He'd do the same to Michael, but it was never as lengthy, just him telling the boy to get his act right.

The color of life has been drained from you... Michael thinks. Your eyes don't sparkle anymore, they just blankly stare forward unless your attention was called. Your pallid skin looks waxy, gaunt cheekbones starting to hollow. Your voice has diminished, only answering in small, brief replies, as though words were a scarcity to you. Michael hasn't seen you smile since before the incident happened.

The world has taken its toll on you and no one can see it more visibly that Michael himself. The worst part of it is that he doesn't know what to do. And it truly doesn't help that your uncle just doesn't seem to take in your current state, your presence being nothing but a bother to him.

"Oi, you're not eating again?" your uncle grunts to you at dinnertime, biting his spoon when he sees that your soup was still filled in your bowl. "You're gonna waste precious food one more time? After your aunt worked so hard to feed two extra mouths?"

You lift your head up to him, only staring with that melancholy look in your gaze until you return it and pick up your spoon, feeding yourself morsels.

Michael narrows his eyes at him, but says nothing, scooting your chair closer to his to keep you away from your uncle. Your aunt murmurs something about how you might not have an appetite, only to be met with a roll of eyes from your uncle.

"Wash and dry the dishes properly," he commands to you both afterwards, with you quietly handing over the dishes to Michael for him to dry off with the rag. Your uncle fends for the couch, slouching himself over it with a beer and turning on the television, a sight that Michael often saw in his childhood with a different man, but same disposition.

Michael waits for you in your small, shared bedroom to finish bathing, a space that he thinks was probably a storage closet at one point. You come back later, still desolated, and you and him tuck yourselves into the flimsy twin mattress on the floor, bedframe lacking, the fleece blanket just barely covering you both.

Your eyes heave with exhaustion as the minutes go by, Michael’s heartbeat lulling you to sleep as he holds you in his arms to share a warmth, but you hear your uncle’s roar from downstairs—making you and Michael shoot up in bed at its urgency.

You scurry down, Michael tailing behind not much further, and you’re greeted with your uncle holding up a bowl with ire scrabbled all over his face.

Michael stands in front of you a bit, furrowing his brows when your uncle’s jaw grits at the sight of you and him.

“Who…” he starts, creaking his neck popped with a vein towards you. “… washed the dishes? And left this stain here?”

At a closer look, if one were to really squint, there was a small remnant of the soup still leftover on the rim of it. Hardly larger than the tip of a fingernail, it was almost impressive how your uncle had seen something so small given his age.

A stifling silence goes by in the kitchen. Michael flickers his eyes at your meek, turtling state and steps up to take the fall. "I di—"

"I did," you suddenly state dryly, tugging Michael back to his astonishment. He gawks at you, your name being muttered out of his mouth to try and stop you, but you insist on shouldering whatever comes next. "I was the one who washed the dishes. I'm sorry I didn't properly clean it."

Your uncle's bares his teeth, "What? Were you so spoiled back at home that you never learned how to do your chores properly?" he spits, his voice grating Michael's ears.

He hates the way your uncle looks at you, talks to you. An undeserving treatment, Michael finds your uncle too irrational for his liking. His hands twitch, but he balls them into fists to properly restrain himself, nails digging into his palm as he fights the pool of saliva beginning to build in his mouth when he stares at your uncle, the ghost of his father behind him.

"No," you murmur, "I just... was careless this time. I'm sorry."

"What if we had guests over, huh!?" he declares, shoving the bowl up to your face so you can properly look at the stain. You flinch and cower back. "Imagine if they saw this. They'd think of us as sloppy! You want that? Huh?!"

His voice is like nails on a chalkboard—this wretched, grimy sound that makes Michael squirm uncomfortably in a phantom pain. You wince at your uncle's tone that shoves itself in your ear.

"You don't have to keep yelling," Michael says in defense of you when he notices your scrunched face, his irritation beginning to brew again. "I think your message got through perfectly fine."

Your uncle snaps his attention towards him, his fiery eyes meeting stony steel blue hues, a quiet storm building up inside of them.

"What did you say to me...?" your uncle jeers.

Michael doesn't falter at your uncle's intimidation, only holding out a hand to shield you from him as your uncle slowly approaches the two of you. "Why do you feel the need to yell? I'm sure we can both hear you from where we're at."

"Don't sound smart with me, boy," your uncle threatens, jabbing a finger in his direction that Michael's jaw ticks at when he stares at it. He licks his lips. "No one ever taught you to respect elders?"

He swallows down the saliva gathered in his mouth to properly speak again, his head starting to throb.

"I'm just saying," he says, the intensity of his gaze not wavering in the slightest.

"Micha, don't—" you plead but your uncle is quick to drown your voice out again.

Your uncle hisses at you again loudly, a mangled look in his eye. "Stupid child, who said you can butt into this?!"

His voice is truly scathing itself against Michael's eardrums, and the pain worsens when you squeak out in fright and shuffle behind Michael ever so slightly, but the small tick in your behavior is enough to shoot Michael off his own rocker. No one is allowed to yell at you like that, especially not from a pig like your uncle.

"Don't fucking yell at them!" Michael hollers suddenly at him, giving him a taste of his own medicine before your uncle can spit out anything more to hurt you. Michael's teeth squeak against each other as his chest heaves, nails beginning to draw blood from his palm. "Shut the fuck up already, you bastard!"

Your uncle steps back at the tone of the boy's voice, eyebrows raising at his sudden volume. The disrespect is slapped across your uncle's face, his shock slowly beginning to contort into an anger that makes Michael venture back into the past. The bared teeth, the boiling reddening skin, the twitching of the eye, the balled and raised fist that his eyes follow... it all comes back to him.

"You fucking brat—?!"

Michael braces for impact, a sensation that he hadn't felt in awhile being welcomed back into his body, ready to take on the blooming bruise again, but it never comes.

The sound does, however, the booming impact of knuckles against skin and a body crashing to the floor making him pry open his eyes.

They widen drastically at what he sees in front of him. You, on the floor, clutching your cheek with a small moan. Your body shivers from the impact and you stagger trying to lift it up properly, coughing suddenly. Flecks of blood spit out from you, red stippling the tile floor.

Your uncle steps back in horror, his fisted hand uncurling and shaking while looking ghastly at the sight of your fallen self in front of him.

Michael lifts his eyes from your figure to your uncle, the blood pumping through his body now thundering loudly in his ears when he fixates his gaze on your uncle. He hit you. Your uncle punched you in the face. Your uncle... your own kin... he hurt you.

He hurt... you.

He... hurt you.

Michael's jaw ticks again, his stomach growling despite just eating dinner a few minutes ago. He lets out a shaky breath.

"Shit... shit!" your uncle cusses as your body falls to the ground again at your second attempt to gather yourself. He stumbles back onto the kitchen counter, clutching his forehead with the same hand he punched you with.

A shiver runs down Michael's spine, shocking his body alive with a familiar sensation of ferocity to properly process his surroundings, at his target. He feels the saliva beginning to slick down from his chin as he opens his mouth to speak at him, a hunger he hadn't felt for awhile embedding itself in his stomach for the first time in years.

"Boy, call my wife—what the fuck?" your uncle catches the odd momentum Michael is caught in, this animalistic stare that bores into his figure with his blue eyes being replaced with a darker, intense scarlet. He salivates fast and hard, a gossamer waterfall beginning to drip onto the tile floor from his mouth that frame his teeth.

He punched you... your uncle hurt you, he thinks over and over again in his mind, replaying the moment he saw your body on the floor, your blood on the tiles.

"Oi..." your uncle starts shakily, his voice much more docile than before. "What's going on with you..."

You groan, feeling something wet and warm splat on your bruised cheek. You find a strength to finally lift your dizzying head up and wipe it off, looking up to see the source of it, only to gasp quietly at the sight of Michael twitching violently as he continues to gaze at your uncle with a sinister desire.

It's the first sign of something horrible about to happen, you've been taught it over and over again from your father so you know what to look for if ever the case. The odd, scarlet eyes partnered with a continuous ticks in the body...

"Micha..." you start. "Micha, don't."

You were so wallowed up in your sadness that you had nearly forgotten about Michael's disposition. Without his pills, without your father's supply of blood to keep his senses at ease, that state he fought so hard to keep within was finally beginning to rise to the surface again. But he was no longer than feisty eight-year-old runt that your father brought home all those years ago... seven years had done him justice and you don't know what on earth the current Michael is capable of in comparison to his earlier days.

You turn to your uncle, a pleading look in your eyes when he doesn't respond to you.

"Get out!" you cry out weakly to him. "Get out, please! If you know what's good for you!"

Your uncle finds the desperation in your face and decides to not waste another second, finding the exit of the kitchen and beginning to move towards it, but he only makes one merciful step towards it, his tracks being paused when a weight is added to his body, anchoring him in his place.

Michael lunges toward him, jumping onto his back and capturing him with his limbs, a fly caught in a spiderweb. His hands then claw into your uncle's head snapping his neck just enough to stiffen it to look at him so your uncle's horrified visage faces the beastly one Michael holds on his own.

The smell of flesh... he had forgotten how succulent of an aroma it was. Michael's eyes nearly roll back into his head when it overtakes his senses, pleasure rippling through him as he takes a deep breath. It had been awhile, hasn't it?

Your cries of his name go drowned in his ears, so do your uncle's shrieks as Michael embeds his nails further into his scalp, much too preoccupied with how savory your uncle's flesh smells and how pliable it looks... especially that cheek of his.

Michael gets a blurry sight of you in his peripheral vision, you holding your bruised cheek still, the impact and pain given by your uncle still fresh. They then return to the meat of your uncle's face towards him, staring at it with an open, drooling mouth.

Temptation pushes him, and his teeth sink deeply into the meat of it and tears it off harshly, the mixture of blood and muscle sending a rush of euphoria to his brain. You shriek out his name again as blood spills onto the floor and splatters your face, your uncle screaming out from pain, with Michael only watching as blood spurts, bone and teeth peeking out from the leftover layer of muscle unhinges itself. He licks his scarlet-inked lips, a smile stretching widely on his face from the exhilration.

An eye for an eye, Michael thinks to himself as he swallows, thick blood running down his throat, just before diving in for another bite.

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #michael kaiser #kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x you #kaiser x reader #cw ; dark content #tw ; cannibalism #��︎ ; alice in writingland

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animeyanderelover · 2 months ago

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Anon: Sleeping Hc’s with Dazai, Jouno, Tetchou, Inumaki and Toji and Sukuna?

Dazai (click here) and Sukuna (click here) have already been done in previous requests.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, clinginess, isolation, abduction

Tags: @leveyani @shumidehiro @izanami78 @lovley-valentine7

Sleeping with a Yandere

Jouno Saigiku

♦️As a Hunting Dog Jouno has no time for such simple pleasures such as sleep. Years of his work have essentially trained him to survive on less rest than the average person, hence why he has smaller of a need of it. Dangerous missions and lots of work with people he doesn't always consider to be pleasant have claimed a huge chunk of his schedule, meaning that his time with you is limited. Whether that comes to your relief or not is of no importance in this scenario though Jouno would never be opposed to make you uncomfortable with his presence. As you are nevertheless his lover, your life shapes out to be very different than before you met him. Placed under special security and isolated from the public for your supposed safety, your life follows a schedule that it didn't have in the past. A lot of nights you go to bed by yourself as Jouno is busy with something else. Secretly Jouno himself isn't entirely comfortable with laying with you at the start either. It demands a level of vulnerability that he isn't willing to show to you as he views emotions as a weakness. That doesn't stop him from watching you whilst you are asleep though- a strangely endearing sight every time.

♦️Watching you is for a long time more comfortable to him. After all he is still in control in such situations, a feeling he fears he will give up if he were to sleep with you. Jouno wants you to admit to him that you want to sleep with him because then he wouldn't have to voice out such stupid needs himself. Yet it is likely that you are glad with the current arrangement, angering him only in the process. Jouno finds a way though for you to approach him and ask him, all to save his face somehow. Everything is far from comfortable though. As he is of sensitive hearing, every little noise is noticed even in his slwwp and if you are the source of it you are made the victim of his criticism. If you are unable to fall asleep but still pretend to, he will know immediately by the pattern of your heartbeat and your breath. Capable of surviving by only very few hours of sleep, Jouno himself hardly finds himself tired when he lays down. He just lays awake for hours even if you are already asleep. It's always a strange situation as he doesn't know what to do then besides listening to the sounds of you. He has the decency to let you rest though. You are weaker than him. You need sleep more than he does.

Suehiro Tetchou

🌸Tetchou shares a lot of similar problems. As a Hunting Dog expectations are constantly on his shoulders. The government constantly needs him for something. His own sense of justice doesn't allow him to just sit still either. The time he gets to spend with you is as a result obviously limited as well. He bemourns this fact greatly though and always does his best to make it up to you after he has been absent for a longer period of time. In love yet inexperienced, Tetchou is almost adorable in his cluelessness. He excels in protecting you but a good chunk of the relationship and how affection is handled he makes dependant on you. The aspect of sharing a bed makes him somewhat bashful though as this is a prospect that he actually wants to take a bit slower. Unless you are of the clingy kind and are fine with it from a very early stage. Having gone through an excessive training to be a part of the Hunting Dogs, his body requires less sleep as well. Initially that is a tiny reason for doubt within Tetchou's mind. Once both of you are huddled under one blanket though he discovers that your presence has a soothing effect that is enough for him to doze off.

🌸He is known for his strength even under other Hunting Dogs and that is obvious for you when he is asleep just as much. Tetchou usually always keeps at least one arm wrapped around your body. It starts as loose when he is still awake but the moment he dozes off, that grip tightens. Subconsciously he is always wired to protect you so the tightening of his hold is one such sign. It has never gotten to the point where you were in pain but it has certainly made it a tad bit uncomfortable for you at times, especially if you wish to turn around or need to use the bathroom. Interestingly enough Tetchou is a light sleeper though you initially assume otherwise. In hindsight you shouldn't be surprised though. After all he has been trained to always be on alert. In one moment he snores away and in the next he is up with one suspicious noise. It isn't uncommon that he wakes up multipe times a night because he has sensed something, staying awake until he is sure that it is nothing that could endanger you. As he doesn't get to spend as much time with you as he would like, Tetchou is clingy in the mornings whenever he has time. It's a hard fight, trying to wriggle free from the strong hold of his arms.

Inumaki Toge

🗣️Inumaki is shockingly lax for someone with an obsession though that always comes to your advantage. Cool with almost everything and very patient to top it all, he is able to adjust to your own preferences. If you prefer to take things slower and one at a time, he will follow your example. If you are someone who is more affectionate and for that does everything quicker, he will mimic you as good as he can. There is no pressure that you feel when with Toge and that helps the relationship a lot. He never forces you to do anything, much less by using his ability. The aspect of sleeping in the same bed is something he has always treated in a very comfortable and relaxed manner even if some of his friends have been teasing him about it here and there. After all laying together is nothing that is unfamiliar for him. The both of you have done it plenty of times before. The only thing that would be different would be the location. At night both of you usually communicate a lot, whether through phones when both of you are separated or by using a sign language that both of you have come up with when both of you are together. It has never been awkward before. Toge always makes sure it doesn't.

🗣️He isn't someone who is glaringly clingy. Neither during the day nor the night. Still, he expresses himself through subtle touches he he isn't able to talk to you normally like every other person does. One thing that Inumaki tends to do when both of you lay together is that he draws lazy patterns over your arms or stomach. Often you end up mimicking him, also drawing shapes across his chest and arms. It feels intimate in its own ways as both of you don't say a word and are just in your own bubble. If there is no reason to be stressed, he sleeps mostly very well. He is very silent as well, the only sound that usually comes from his form at night is that of soft breaths. When he wakes up, he remains silent all to ensure that he doesn't stir you from your sleep just because he has woken up. One thing that Inumaki hates is the thought of a stressful morning though. Morning assemblies have been a great source of stress even during his years as a student so he has taken a preference for taking things slower when the sun appears on the sky. If you are stressed in the early morning hours that automatically affects his own day as well. So he is very focused on making sure that the start in the day is taken nice and slow.

Fushiguro Toji

🪱Life with Toji is quite a strange one. Forced to share an apartment with him yet still able to walk around freely, you are never really sure if your life is truly a free one or if you are a bird locked in an invisible cage. Confidence can go a long way though as he has told you very openly that he will kill people if you do something stupid, hence why you have kept in line so far. He can do whatever he wants and in return he allows you lots of freedom as well. Toji doesn't ask for permission. Never. So you end up from a very early point on sharing a bed with him. Initially that is always a very uncomfortable experience. Hygiene hasn't necessarily been a strong suit of his since the death of his wife so he reeks. Properly reeks. The stench of blood, sweat and a nauseating mixture of the fast food that he has consumed throughout the day clings to his clothes and his skin and that has made it impossible for you to sleep with him without feeling sick. Initially you believe that is only going to mock you-which he does- but surprisingly enough he takes your wellbeing to heart and showers before he goes to bed. It makes things a bit more bearable now that he smells fresh.

🪱Still, Toji is impossible at times. He has no concept of shame and that has led you to flee the bedroom more than just once. A package made out of only muscles, his body temperature is very warm. A blanket is almost overkill whenever he is in bed as his body alone produces enough warmth to keep you comfortable throughout the night. At summer that obviously means that you are dying in bed when his body is smothering yours. Without the air conditioning or the fan you wouldn't survive those months. However, because he is naturally very warm that means that Toji is never fully clothed when he goes to bed. Seeing him only in sweatpants is bad, the few times he actually walked into the bedroom naked with still damp hair is much worse. Simultanously a light yet heavy sleeper and it is because his higher senses somehow can filter out when something is dangerous or not. Never lets go of you in his sleep and you consider fighting of a constrictor snake to be easier than wriggling free of his hold whilst he snores away. The fact that he sleeps best when he can smell and feel you is somewhat endearing though. Even if that means he wakes up seconds after you have left bed and drags you back.

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cornchrunchie · 2 years ago

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After rewatching the Final Fifteen over and over again, I don't think Crowley wanted to kiss Aziraphale.

Look. I know we’ve all read a lot of different readings of ✨the kiss✨ and why it happened the way it did. It’s just that none of the posts I’ve seen so far captured exactly the feeling I was reading into the scene, so I thought I might as well share my interpretation. Because I don’t think Crowley wanted to kiss Aziraphale, actually. I mean of course he wanted to, but– let me explain.

I brought gifs and a little more heartbreak :)

First of all, I do agree with most of the interpretations going around. Crowley wanting to change Aziraphale's mind? Totally plausible. Wanting to show him what he’s losing? Probably. Taking the last chance he might get to finally kiss him? Yes, please!

What I mean when I say I don’t believe Crowley wanted to kiss Aziraphale are essentially two things, one of them being that Crowley didn’t plan on kissing him. He planned on leaving.

We know this because it’s exactly what he does.

The moment I come back to over and over again is when Crowley puts on his sunglasses and heads for the door.

Look how close they are to each other. Usually, you would expect the kiss to happen in a moment like this. All it would take Crowley is to lean forward. If he wanted to kiss Aziraphale and change his mind, he would do it right there. But he doesn’t. He nods in a way that screams: Right. This is a losing game.

Aziraphale had just told him that nothing lasted forever (so why should he stay) and he already put back his wall of defense (the sunglasses). Of course, we can't tell for sure but everything in his appearance tells us that for him, the moment between them is gone. The only chance he had decided to take had slipped through his fingers. It is time to leave. So he does.

Crowley does not stop until Aziraphale cries out his name and wants him to come back. He is not held back by his own desire but by his incapability to resist Aziraphale’s cry for help. Not that these things can’t be connected – but look at his body language, look how reluctant it seems, annoyed almost.

It looks like he really doesn't want to stay. At the same time, he doesn’t want to hurt Aziraphale. He wants him to know that he cares. It’s not easy for him either. So he stays. Listens to what Aziraphale has to say.

But it hurts even more. Crowley doesn't even bear to look at him. Aziraphale just doesn’t understand him, doesn’t understand the way Heaven works, even after all these years. At least, that’s what Crowley thinks. Everything that made the air around them vibrate, every nightingale that ever sang, is now dead silent. Crowley says so himself.

This is not him pathing the way for a kiss. This is him saying goodbye.

And then he says: “You idiot. We could have been –“

Maybe he doesn’t quite know what exactly he wants to say or maybe he does but he doesn’t know how.

“– us.”

His voice is trembling. He lets the words linger in the room between them. Note how he is already speaking in the past tense. We could have been. But we’re not.

However, Crowley admits that the possibility of them being an Us was there, hence the possibility of everything that being an Us means to him. It drips from his toungue, every moment and every feeling he connects to the sense of being an Us. You have to remember the feeling to voice it, even when you do it to say goodbye.

And I think – we’re getting to the essence of this post – I think what happens is that Crowley gets overwhelmed by his own words, or rather: by grabbing his feelings and putting them into words, by the implication of them as an Us and everything he imagined it would have been for them. And what it means to lose it.

And I don’t think he consciously decides to kiss Aziraphale. I don’t think he wanted to kiss him in the sense that he didn’t want to take this step and actually do it. He had already lost.

(We could have been us but we’re not.)

They are still too far away from each other.

(We’re not. But we could have been.)

Eventually, Aziraphale averts his gaze, and turns his head to the side.

And this! This is the moment Crowley steps forward! Let me emphasize it once again because I do believe it’s crucial to Crowley's change of heart.

Aziraphale looks away. And Crowley snaps.

He snaps like a rubber band you pull at for too long, like the clip of a ballpoint pen cap you push too hard upside. It’s not a conscious decision. It’s a reflex. Like closing an app on your phone and opening it again directly after. Like someone calling your name and you turn your head in the direction of the voice. You don’t think about it. It just happens.

And I think Aziraphale looking away was the last straw that held the rubber band in place. The last thing that kept Crowley from falling once again. I genuinely don’t believe he would have kissed Aziraphale if the latter had continued to look at him. Too scary, right? Too real. Too close.

So this is the second thing I mean when I say that Crowley didn’t want to kiss Aziraphale. Of course, he wanted to but he didn’t make a deliberate decision. He just … gave in.

And when he pulls away, he knows that everything between them has changed. He waits for Aziraphale’s reaction, everything about him is tense.

And if he dared to hope for anything at all, it surely wasn’t this.

Forgiveness.

"I forgive you."

I forgive you for giving in.

Don't bother.

So Crowley does what he wanted to do in the first place – and leaves.

He didn’t plan on kissing Aziraphale. He wanted to leave, maybe even to prevent this from happening. And when it happened, I don’t think it’s because of ulterior motives like changing Aziraphale’s mind or grabbing the opportunity as it presented itself to him.

I’m not saying these motives aren’t there – in fact, I pretty much believe so! I'm just saying that maybe he didn’t think about them when kissing Aziraphale and that he didn’t decide to kiss him because of that.

Maybe this is more than obvious to everyone else already and I'm stupidly rambling to myself. Also, I'm truly sorry if I overlooked another analysis of this.

I just don’t think there was time in Crowley’s head to reflect on any of his feelings.

I think he was just not holding back anymore.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffible husbands #meta #good omens season 2 #final fifteen #crowley x aziraphale #s2e6 #aziraphale x crowley #analysis #aziracrow #gif #good omens meta #mine #good omens 2 #good omens spoilers #the kiss #ineffable breakup

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sulumuns-dootah · 18 days ago

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Can we have a mc that struggles with Self harm? Like they had been clean for a while [hence why the kings didn't know before] but the stress of dealing with the angels and just of the life their living right now made them spiral and the kings walk in on them cutting themselves.

WHB kings w/ s/o who self-harms

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

Content warning: Self Harm, dead dove do not eat

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Satan walks in and at first doesn't think about it that much

For him it's something casual since Sitri does that for him anytime he asks

And even some of his subjects harm themselves for pleasure

But then he sees your tear-stained face

His whole world freezes

You're clearly not enjoying yourself so why are you doing it?

"Y/N?"

The moment you jolt up and try to hide your bloody limb tells him all he needs to know

"...hey, talk to me. What's going on?"

༺☆༻

"Master, did you get hurt?"

At first he geniunely thinks you only cut yourself on something sharp by acident

Only once he makes a few fast strides towards you and sees how perfectly straight and even spaced the wounds are a spark of realisation lights up in his eyes

Mammon would never in his life imagine that someone would be able to do something like that to themselves

Mostly because the demons in his country have thicker skin that is hard to puncture

"M-master, what did you do to yourself?"

He really doesn't know what to do in such situation

This might be the first time he's felt this powerless

༺☆༻

Just like when I wrote reader with ED, I think Levi would pretend to not notice

"Is that blood? Clean yourself up before you get something dirty."

He just walks away like nothing

But then...

You can't seem to be able to find any sharp objects in the whole castle and maybe even the whole Hades

Need scissors to cut something? All you can find are barely-sharp ones for kids

Even all the swords that were displayed on the walls of the castle are either being fully attached to it or have been sent away for some form of upkeep

An then, of course, is this weird feeling like someone's always watching you no matter where you go

༺☆༻

As sporadic as Beel is, he is observant

Especially when it comes to your body because he's been thinking about giving you a tattoo for a while and so he's looking for the perfect place

And he surely didn't miss those faint scars on your skin

So when you're about to do it, before the sharp edge even touches your skin, Beel stops your arm

It's rare for him to scowl, but he's really angry

Not at you

He could never

But at whoever who allowed to get your hands on something sharp

Whoever allowed you to get into such bad habit in general

Everyone who noticed and didn't to anything about it, including himself

༺☆༻

You thought you were safely alone with Belphie in his bed, snoring away, and the rest of the nobles away for their own reasons

Well, you thought wrong

As you take a deep breath, readying yourself for the sharp pain, a voice from the door, that you're turned with your back to, startles you so much you almost drop the blade

"Don' do it... 'n if ya make me walk over there, I'll make sure to make you regret even thinkin' 'bout it."

When Beleth gets back, he's tasked with talking things through with you with Belphie sometimes participating if he's awake

༺☆༻

Asmo knows about self-harm and is aware of how to notice as well as prevent any further one

But Abaddon is Abaddon and even if he strictly forbids any sharper objects in your surroundings, you find a way to get one into your hands

When Asmo finds you with freshly-bandaged limb, he already knows

Safe to say that the demon who enabled you will be taken care of and never heard of again

And you?

You get a stern talking to about managing stress as well as other possible outlets as an alternative for your current coping mechanism

༺☆༻

Lucifer also noticed your scars and kept a close eye on you

Since your first visit to Paradise Lost, you weren't allowed to stay near any sharp object

For sanitary reasons

And if Lucifer says something, that will happen

So there's no real way you'd be able to find anything sharp enough or private enough place to do it

If somehow, by sheer accident, someone leaves a medical supply room unlocked and you manage to sneak in, a heavy presence takes over the space

"Y/N. I hope you are aware of what you are about to do and how much it will pain me as well as all the other medial staff in here, to have you torture yourself like this. There are different ways to resolve such situations and we'd be happy to help you find one that suits you much better than this."

#tw: sh #cw: sh #what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb beelzebub #whb satan #whb lucifer #whb leviathan #whb mammon #whb asmodeus #whb belphegor

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trippinsorrows · 6 days ago

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Girl where is part two???????

"is he by you?"

a frantic question from a frantic woman. a woman still living in between the valley of disbelief and concern, a permanent residence for over the past hour and a half. the scene replaying in her head like a form of torture. unthinkable. unimaginable. unbelievable.

dwayne sighs on the other end. "yeah, he's here."

at that, solana's eyes shut, her emotions settling just the slightest. not knowing where her children are has always been one of her greatest fears. among other things. and tonight, that's exactly what happened. tamasa not only left the house, but he left the house without his phone, leaving solana with no way to contact him.

how he managed to leave without security following him, she hasn't a clue, but that's an issue for another day. she has much more important, heavier things to tackle.

"sol, what the hell happened over there?" dwayne's question brings her back to the conversation at hand. "kid has barely said a word and looks like he saw a fucking ghost." for some reason, that makes the weight sitting at the bottom of her stomach sink even deeper. no mother wants to know or see their child upset, and knowing tamasa must be all over the place and her not being there to help him is crushing. "i know roman said the boy's been off lately, but this...."

she closes her eyes. he has no idea.

"we, umm—" she sniffles, wiping at her nose as she paces tamasa's room. "we got into....an argument."

a pause on the other end. "what kind of argument, solana?"

right then and there, she knows, knows that there's no use in lying to him. in trying to downplay what occurred. doesn't stop her from trying though. "it's nothing."

"solana, my nephew is sitting in my guest room just staring at the wall, and you're holding back tears." failing to hold back tears, solana unable to stop them from cascading down her face. "what happened?"

she doesn't want to. doesn't want to tell him. doesn't want to have to deal with any of this, but she also knows that delaying the inevitable has never helped anyone in life. especially her.

"please don't tell roman," she croaks.

"solana, i'm getting conc—"

"he pushed me."

a pause. long. longer. and then—

"what?"

and right away, despite her own mixed bag of emotions regarding what occurred, she slips right back into mama mode. "don't say anything to him. don't even tell him i told you."

"he pushed you?" disbelief forms a marriage with anger that seeps through his tone. "has he lost—"

"something's going on with him. i know it. i just....." she stops herself, blowing out a breath, hand over her chest, regulating her emotions.

"you have to tell rom—"

"i know, i will. i just..." another sniffle. "i had to make sure my baby was okay first." because what happened doesn't change the fact that her children's safety will always come first, hence why she's been on the phone with several family members trying to track down and see where her eldest son is. "and, dwayne, i mean it, don't say anything to him."

another loud sigh. "you know we don't play that shit in this family, solana."

she knows that very well. "and, so does he." even if she, for the life of her, can't understand just what made him do it. "let me....let me talk to roman first."

"you gon call him now?"

i don't want to. "yeah."

and finally, the question she was both waiting and dreading. "you're okay though, right? physically, i mean? he didn't hu—"

"no." there's something about him even asking that that upsets her. her son would never hurt her.

and yet...

"please just keep him there with you. for....for now." because solana still needs to sit down and talk with koa and kai, her younger boys who are somewhere in the house blowing off steam from what occurred.

"i will," he promises. "just let me know when you want me to bring him back home."

"thank you," she murmurs, voice dipping once more from the heaviness of it all. "and, dwayne?"

"yeah?"

a broken gasp. "tell him i love him."

because nothing, nothing at all in the entire universe could ever change that. period.

"i will, sol," he agrees, offering with all the sincerity, "let me know if you need anything."

she nods. "okay." disconnecting the call reminds solana of where she stands, still in her son's room, the tv still on revealing a paused game. the bed still unmade and unkempt, an empty water bottle on the floor beside his desk. she closes her eyes and places her hands over her heart, taking another deep, shaky breath.

that was difficult.

this will be devastating.

solana lifts up the phone, shaking fingers ready to navigate to roman's contact when something catches the corner of her eye. something on tama's dresser, another place and space of unorganized mess.

how she sees it, she hasn't a clue, but she does, and it makes her frown.

solana places her cell phone in her back pocket and walks over to the dresser, reaching for the manilla envelope with a strange bulge. shaped like something familiar. like a bottle.

and, that's exactly what she pulls out. a pill bottle. a large one, too.

but, it's when she pulls out said bottle, reads the label of said bottle that an already dire situation skyrockets from bad to horrific.

tears brew in her eyes, her hand over her mouth. "oh my God...." she can't stop reading it, not the description or the other writing, but the name. something most familiar to her given her profession. something she knows all about through various teachings and experience in her field. but, something she never would have thought to find in her fourteen year-old son's room.

trenbolone.

a name that might mean nothing to some but everything to her, because she recognizes it for what it is.

a anabolic-androgenic steroid

tama is using steroids.

------

ya'll gon have to wait for part 3 until tomorrow or something. it's late, and my head hurts. 😭

#ari answers #dreamland ask #dreamland short

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dilf-docs · 8 months ago

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Misery Reigns My Lonely Neon Nights

old man!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: logan should've said no. should've just drove the pretty waitress home. that's his job. hers is to serve his cup of coffee to the brim. so why is he riding you to his house?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (cause we have a small daddy kink going on here.. hence the blog name BUT I DO HAVE A GOOD DAD), smut, this reeks of corruption kink for no reason other than me being a virgin whore, like he gets stalker-ish for a second but its logan howlett so we forgive him<3 ya está viejito, brief mention of suicide, sub logan edging on praising kink (if u squint), no protection but u gotta put the hat on the cowboy to ride the horse alr, riding, breeding kink??? angst (the depressing vibes are there cause they follow my writing like a shadow ijbol)

word count: 6,102 words (at the v crack of dawn.. i think i've gone insane FR it's 02:07 am and my brain its eating itself like im gonna start seeing logan in the corner of my room)

side note: newbie here after reading so many fanfics on tumblr but never publishing my own!! its hugh's birthday (well, its past midnight so no more but still!!! it was a couple hours ago) so i figured i should give it a try today cause that man does things to me ESPECIALLY as old man logan i can't lie and say the thought of him fucking me good and slow hasn't crossed my mind too many times 😩 we love sad hot old people in here so naturally my inaguration fic had to be done by him. also, i'm tired of scrapping for votes, comments, and interactions on wattpad so please treat me well during our first:// it's me moving to tumblr it's me hi i'm the problem it's me. i'm a feedback whore so pls leave tons of those!! also, english isn't my first language so if i make a grammar mistake pls do not tell me bc i have no respect for this language ―it just makes me cringe less to write smut on a language that isn't mine lol<3 but if there's any other mistake yes pls do tell me thank u OKAY BYE i needa quit yapping ENJOY dilf town<3

So it started something like this.

It was another simple nightshift for Logan. The weather humid, uncomfortably sticking the fabric of his white button shirt onto his skin. Even with the windows down. Those nights that the driving dragged on for long, like those cigarettes that now made him cough more than relax. The roads felt too long; his eyes too heavy.

Nothing new. Just about what to expect: money short, clients and traffic equally annoying. But that was the problem; nothing was new anymore.

He'd just finish dropping a customer close by, and since the tiring feeling didn't seem to leave his body just yet, a coffee wouldn't hurt. As a matter of fact, the need for a boost to make it home makes him get out of the car and limp his way into the first place his tired vision sees.

The rim of his recently adquired reading glasses slips as he climbs the stairs into the decades old diner, the decoration outdated. He understands; he feels the same way.

Neon lights flash his face when he enters the place and sits in the farthest booth he can find. The air is impregnated in grease and cheap coffee, but he waits at least fifty minutes to order, giving his body some time to rest. In the meanwhile, he tries to distract himself with the newspaper resting on the table, but God knows his eyes are too tired and his mind drifts every two words.

He hopes he doesn't get kicked out, judging from the attentive look he's receiving by a waitress resting on the bar. She looks as bored and tired as he does.

Maybe that's why he chooses her, raising his hand with order in mind. A black coffee. The waitress slides from her position and takes some steps to where he sits.

Her voice is sweet when she introduces herself, and Logan finds himself asking her again what her name is, pretending he's half deaf just to listen to it again.

"It's y/n" you repeat, oh so sickeningly sweet, he might have to skip on asking for sugar.

"Y/n" he savours the name on his lips, trying the tender sound, his eyes darting to the name tag, like he's confirming it. Testing to see if the young woman in front of him is real. Maybe his eyes linger a little too long, and the tip of your ears start to heat. Its the way he examines every feature on your face, like memorizing it in a sense, that makes you squirm. But maybe, just maybe, it's the small―brief, peak he gives to your exposed cleavage, pushing itself against the tight fabric of your uniform what truly gets your heart beating fast.

He looks like what your parents would warn you to stay away and your friends would talk behind your back. Rugged in a way that screams heartbreak, rough around edges your kind nature wishes to soften. It's unresonable to feel this way about a client you just met, but his aloof demeanor peaks your interest, so different from your usual costumers and familiar faces that pop up at the diner.

"Can I order you, darling?" his voice comes out deep, almost passing as a grunt. Just what you imagined it to sound. Why he's acting as his past self so effortlessly, after closing himself off to the point of going by entire days without talking more than three words, is concerning. Why the cute waitress who looks at him with doe eyes, expectant to take his order, is making him break the promise he made to himself not to get attached again―just live by enough to make it to the sea and put a bullet in his head.

"Well, that's just about my job" you joke, feeling confident for no reason. "But you can't order me".

"A damn shame" he chuckles, the sound deep, rumbling on his chest. It's been so long since he's laughed like that: carefree, without that pressing weight on his chest, that despite the sinking notion, sometimes feels more like a hole carved where his heart is supposed to be.

"So..." you trail off, unsure where to proceed after that sound that jolted your entire system awake, "what will you take?"

The banter dies, and Logan is dissapointed when she scribbles the dark coffee on her pretty round letter and walks away. He doesn't miss the sway of her hips, and almost calls her back just to hear her voice again. But he stops himself, because it's getting pathetic.

When she returns with her order, he almost regrets the comeback of his enhaced senses, her honeyed perfume mixed with the bitter smell of the freshly brewed coffee, creating an intoxicating mix.

His lips burn when he sips it, but that doesn't stop him from emptying the cup. Again. And again. All in the name for asking for more coffee, a magnetic force pulling him to the ground, making him forget he's a 200 and something year old man begging like a starved man for at least a fraction of her attention. He feels unworthy of your warmth.

He feigns interest on the newspaper when you return again (he's been stuck on the same paragraph ever since he sat down), the pot in your hands. If you've noticed he's emptied the cups faster than a normal person, you don't ask questions. He's thankful, but can see the amusement and confusion laced across your pretty face.

"More?" you ask, but it's unnecesary. He only nods, and you miss the chatter.

The closeness it's a challenge itself, the uniform's neckline practically shoved down his nose while she fills the cup to the brim. He hears his own heartbeat, the sound averting his attention from another "brief" glance at the cleavage. Is it intentional? Is your goodwill and act? Are you this cruel, playing with an old touch starved man like that?

God knows it's been long since he's had a helping hand during his relief hours.

He can't help it; he's a man, after all. So he seizes the moment and steals a glance. But his eyes meet yours, the wary green clashing with the cozy chocolate. There's warmth on your eyes, and he's looking at your tits like an animal. He pulls away, ashamed. The shirt feels a bit suffocating, and there's sweat on his forehead again. Great, you'll think he's a perv.

"Excuse me" you say, leaving his table. Logan is afraid of having fucked it up for thinking with this dick and not with his head. You were messing too much with his head, and now he'll pay the price. Fair, he thinks, for a perverted old man trying to woo a girl younger and far more innocent than him.

There's benevolance on her smile and blood on his hands.

The whole situation is stupid.

But then he's thinking of excuses (like saying it's his failing eyesight's fault) and something close to an apology, as if he cares a little too much about what you think. And then you come back.

"I forgot to bring you a napkin" she lies, leaving the piece of paper in the middle of the table. You laugh, and Logan let's you because 1. He deserves it, and 2. It's a sound as saccharine as the smell the freshly heated pies emit on the table across him.

You leave before he can even open his mouth, so all he's left with is the napkin that seems to have something written on it. Pervert, he reads, on the same calligraphy you scribbled on your bloc. He can't help but laugh, even with your watchful look on him.

That's how it continued.

Even if he had other rides and more energy to drive, he kept coming to the decaying diner just to see you. Almost as if he was forgetting his desperate need for the money, the boat goal further and further.

"You've forgotten about me" complained Charles, although his tone lacked of bite. "But I'm not mad that you've had".

He'd go on, rambling about living life but Logan just laughed. Yet, maybe he was right. Didn't even need his powers to know it.

Now, you? you simply couldn't get enough of your favorite costumer. Of his late stays until you closed, sometimes not muttering more than necessary, yet his company, even if curt, proved to be what you needed to make it through work, giving you a legitimate reason to yearn the before tedious night shifts.

Despite this two month weird relationship, Logan is as a stranger to you as he was the first day, no matter how many times you've tried to get him to talk. In the end, all your conversation efforts feel more of a monologue than a chat.

He knows about your mom and your dad, one strict the other dead. He knows most of your friends names, what you're studying and what you wanted to. Your dreams and your hopes, your aspirations, failures, and some other things you'd never say to anyone else out loud. All and nothing. And he listens, sometimes asking questions, but never about himself. He never takes the lead.

So frustration from the Logan enigma pours into you, the puzzle pieces layed out over your mind, consuming your thoughts. So now you're stubbornly cleaning the same grease spot on a table you've already wipped before, and that, coincidentally, it's the booth in front of Logan, the permanent resident of your head during these past weeks. You might as well make him start paying rent by now, his power and hold over you ridiculous.

"It's not going anywhere. Take it easy" he mocks you.

There's a bit of annoyance when you reply back, although it's mostly superficial. "Don't know what you're talking about" comes out your dry response, earning a low chuckle from him.

"How about you sit for a moment?" he offers, ignoring your apathy. "You're almost done cleaning up".

If his ever changing attitude isn't enough, closing this night's shift is as tiring.

Logan doesn't expect you to obey, but now you're sitting across from him, and a voice in his head says you maybe feel sorry for this lunatic old man.

You're so close, he can see the eye bags and sorrow you are far tired to try to hide.

"I have to finish cleaning" you explain, "we're about to close".

He doesn't know why he says it, or what takes over him when he says:

"I could wait for you"

He surprises himself and surprises you too.

"No need" you assure, and why does he feel so dissapointed. It's stupid. "My friend picks me up".

Ah, yes. The friend with the perfect stupid smile that picks you up every night. Not like he parks his car until you leave and sees the scene unfold each time, his white knuckle grip on the wheel a bit too much when the young boy opens up your door. Makes him see red, knowing he's your age and maybe the breathe of fresh air you need. Not a man far older, who bears too many sins and scars in and out.

"I see" he says after some minutes in silence, retracting his impulsiveness. "I'm sorry if I made you-"

"No!" you clarify hastily, "it doesn't bother me".

He smiles unconsciously in relief.

"Well, me neither. I insist. If you change your mind" he's practically begging, despite his monotone tone.

But you don't.

The place closes and Logan is forced to get in the car. He lights a cigarette, in no hurry to return home. The lighter lights up while the diner's light goes off. You and your boss come out, biding each other goodbye. She leaves and you're is left alone, hugging your body in the early morning cold.

He sees you wearing particular clothes, for the first time. He takes a slow drag on his cigarette, eyes running up and down your bare legs, the fragile fabric of the skirt fluttering in the wind. He exhales, watching as you dials your phone several times, getting no response, obviously frustrated.

He mutters something under his breath, and maybe there is a God after all. He starts the car, approaching her, who has already noticed it, probably because of the noise of the engine.

She looks scared, but Logan rolls down the window so she can see it's him.

"Need'a ride?"

Just by his reverberant sound you could accept. But you try to play cool for a while, despite your aching bones and need to get home.

"He doesn't answer" he was right, "my friend".

I know, he wishes to say, but he's the same hot headed asshole who walked through the doors of the X mansion for the first time, so his tone will be laced with irony. He doesn't want you to see him as an intense hot blooded mouth.

I could take you. His head pounds but he shuts the emotions down.

He shoves the knot on his throat down and asks as casually as possible, "do you live close?"

"Just around the corner" you answer. A beat, your frame bending so he can see your face from the driver's sit, the cleavage saying hello again. How considerate of you. "Do you really want to do this?"

Do you really want to do this?

The question rings on his ears. It holds more than just the favor. Logan knows they have a certain tension between them that he no longer wants to ignore. For the first time it seems to be reciprocated; palpable, and he is surprised to hear his heart beating loudly, so accustomed to hearing others' with his sharp senses, constantly forgetting what his own sounds like. Yours also beats erratically, despite your calm composure.

You arch an eyebrow, amused. "I can't believe you waited for me. Your family must be worried."

Logan realizes you're trying to test waters. So he raises his hand discreetly and places it on the door, so you can see the lack of a ring. As expected, your eyes travel to his free finger, and he can swear he sees you breathe with relief, which is funny, because in case you hadn't picked up until now, Logan is very much fucking alone.

"In case you changed your mind," he answers. "I have nowhere else to be."

That is enough of an invitation for you to get in the car.

"I was going to open that door for you" he protests.

You only laugh as you buckle the seatbelt. "It's not that big of a deal, really. You've already done enough for me by doing me the favor".

"It's not that big of a deal" he repeats your words, "as long as I'm of help, that's enough for me".

He smiles wistfully, remembering better times. A part of him still aspires to be that hero everyone loved and remembered, something that clearly doesn't happen anymore (or if it does, it's rare), given the lack of recognition of his former identity in El Paso. He shakes his head, focusing back on the street in front of him. It's too late to get fucking sentimental.

"I like to help too…" you confess, meekly. Logan sighs, how could he not know? "My father used to say that I had the kindest heart he'd ever met. I hope it stays that way, and that when he looks down on me, he's proud".

It hurts Logan to see you be so hard on yourself, as if he didn't do the same.

"I bet all the customers in the place would say you're the sweetest thing they've met", he sees you smile from the corner of his eye, and can't help but emulate it. "Believe me, you're their favorite".

"Thank you, Logan" you say sincerely. However, the affliction that he hates to see crosses your face. So gloomy that you don't even seem the same person.

You wipe away an unexpected tear, but Howlett is faster and notices. You turn around, looking towards the window. Then, you catch a glimpse of his license.

"So… you're a driver" you try to break the silence that Logan has put without knowing why. Maybe to give you some space after being sentimental and opening up again to this closed off wall name Logan, but he knows it's a lie. He's scared. After wanting so much to be closer to you, he cowers, not trusting himself and what he would do trapped in a small space with such an attractive woman. Besides, the tension from the previous conversation was still there.

"You judging me now, honey?" the pet name rolls off his tongue before he catches it. He tries to play it cool, continuing the banter, carrying the same tone. "The only thing necessary to make you trust me was to give you a free ride?

"I'm in your car, Logan. I got in without thinking" you laugh. "I believe that's enough trust"

"Then, I'll keep doing you favors. Maybe if I do…" he trails off.

Your voice drops an octave, provocative. "Maybe what?"

His knuckles grip the steering wheel until they turn white.

"Maybe…" he hesitates, "maybe…"

"It's here" you point out. Shit, Logan curses, braking abruptly without meaning to.

"See you tomorrow" you bid as a goodbye, getting out of the car. Logan misses your smell.

So he sticks his head out the window, like a begging dog.

"How about now?" he says a bit forcefully.

Your face shows surprise and something else.

"You're getting attached" you reply, and he doesn't know why there seems to be sadness in your voice.

"I just keep coming back for the coffee" he defends himself.

You laugh, shaking your head "Now, then. For the coffee, clearly."

"I can leave" he says. Yet, makes no move to leave.

You sigh, giving him one last look. Surrender, he reads.

"You're a driver, right?" he nods, taking in every word coming of your pink plush lips. "Then let's drive off. Anywhere" your voice trails off, and you're just so tired of everything, you'll just let go yourself with the flow. "I'll go wherever you go..."

And this is how it ends.

When you wake up, it's almost dawn.

Logan had suggested you to sleep, claming the road where he was taking you to be long. He had covered you with his jacket, even if your body was burning from nerves.

Why had you agreed? Your mom would probably smack your head in search for some sense, and your reckless friends would encourage you to do it for the sake of a story. But something about Logan makes you feel safe, despite not knowing anything from him. It's sort of a sense of protection―like he would never hurt you, that envelops him. Everyone else would call you crazy; only you can understand that.

When your eyes adjust to the light, you realize you're in a line of cars.

"Did you bring me to the border?" you exclaim groggily, still in a sleepy voice.

"Good morning" he answers instead.

You rub yoou eyes, settling into the passenger seat.

"You're not going to kidnap me, right?" you question, half joking half serious.

Logan laughs, "Not only that. I'm also going to throw your body in a mass grave"

"It's not funny," you pout, although you're laughing too.

Once you've crossed the border, Logan drives a few more minutes, until he reaches a restricted area.

“I live here” he answers before you can ask, “saves rent and questions”

After opening the locks, you can better appreciate the place. Well, appreciate may not be the right word.

“It's an abandoned smelting plant” you voice out loud.

Logan just nods. You realize that he didn't like the comment, so you try not to talk about it anymore.

“Come” he gets out of the car, going to open your door. He offers you a hand, and you fail to hide your smile.

“You didn't miss this time, huh? Quite a gentleman” you praise. Then, add jokingly, “if you choose to kill me, at least I'll die taken care of".

“Stop talking nonsense and go inside” he scolds but smiles.

Inside, the abandoned plant is exactly what you expected.

"We're alone" Logan says, after leaving to check. He opens the door to his room, letting you in. There's not much inside, just a bed and scattered things. A yellowish light begins to filter through the broken glass. "I'mma change. Be right back".

You begin to explore your surroundings, to avoid thinking about the impact of the situation. Two things could happen: leave or stay. Maybe everything was going too fast, but you prided yourself on your spontaneity, often confused with impulsiveness. Others would say it was your naive nature: too innocent for your own good.

What had led you to accept without further ado? Was trust enough, that you had even fallen asleep in his car?

"S'rry for the wait"

You notice that Logan's gotten rid of his formal attire, leaving him in just slacks and an old white tank top. His muscles flex with every movement, making you swallow involuntarily. He still retains his extraordinary physique, despite his greying hair. She can't help but stare at the scars that cover his exposed skin, her fingers itching to trace them.

"Haven't they told ya' t's rude to stare?"

You look away, embarrassed. Logan walks over to the bed, bumping into you in the process, bodies barely touching. Still, an electric shock runs through you. You hug yourself, scared, aware of the effect he has on you.

"Logan" she dares to ask, "what are we doing?"

He finally looks at you. You feel naked under his intense gaze.

"What do you want us to do?"

His voice comes out low, like a growl. You stand in place stiff, unable to form a word.

"Come on, honey", the nickname comes out of his lips so easily, it hurts. "Are ya losing your voice now? Got into my car a while ago without thinkin', what's changed?"

You slowly approach Logan, each stride calculated. He watches you in silence, a silence as hostile as the wind hitting the broken windows, watching you remove your clothes, until all that's left is your bra and that skimpy skirt, as if you knew he liked it.

"Logan…" you whisper his name like a prayer, letting yourself fall on his legs. He holds you with his hard calloused fingers, like a promise.

Don't let me fall. Don't let me go. Don't leave me.

"Use your words, sweet thing" the trepidation condenses between, "we're grown up now, aren't we? Use your words"

If by words he meant feeling your lips against his, it's enough to have Logan following his impulses, using his strength to embrace your body until they feel like one, the scars on his hands feeling like your own. Your lips move in sync, and it's almost so casual, so learned, so meant to be, that fear appears in Logan, soon forgotten with the symphony of moans that come from your lips.

"Tell me" he pauses, breaking away from the kiss (something you don't like and express in the form of a pout), "what do you want?"

Logan tastes like cigars and whiskey, a combination you hate and the reason you quit your old job at the bar, but on his lips, it's an intoxicating taste.

"I want you, Logan" you whisper, hot breath against his skin, “you”.

He resumes the kiss, an electric shock of hunger and need between you: lips parted, colliding, teeth almost clashing against each other.

His fingers hesitate with a delicacy that belies his rough touch, the tips of his worn fingers lifting the fragile cloth of your skirt first, revealing soaking wet panties he goes crazy just at the sight of. The smell is sugary, sicklingly, so now he's hard and pulling at the clasp of your bra first, exposing your nipples, which he rolls and pinches mercilessly. A gasp escapes you—then another, and another as Logan pushes his thigh between your legs. The friction is delicious, almost painful against your pulsing center.

His hand firm up his position, securing itself onyour bare legs as you digs her nails into him. His labored moans turn into a guttural growl.

“You think I’m not capable?” he mocks, stealing another moan from her, “that I can’t keep up with you, you pretty young thing?”

You deny it, but Logan takes it upon himself to show you that he can take you like he's in heat, the ghost of his old self taking over in his almost animal way of fucking you, hips arched, muscles flexed and tense, his teeth appearing every time he opens his mouth, reminding you of fangs. They dig into your exposed skin, leaving bruises that will take time to disappear from your shoulders and neck, marking what belongs to him.

The hardness of his skin meets your soft when he grabs you by the waist.

"Look at you" it slips from his tongue, ecstatic. He's a goner, saliva dripping from the messy and sloppy kisses he leaves through your collarbone, "so good and so pure. I bet you're innocent, that you haven't seen what I've seen..."

His pupils darken, a strange mix between torment and desire in his gaze. Hungry and violent.

"Will you let me show you how's a real man s'ppossed to treat a woman?"

He feels shame settle in his belly, the hunger to possess her almost virgin body fueling his dark desire of errasing her sweet smile until she's an unintelligible mess of sobs. To show her what she would complain about, so she'll never slettle for less. So you can feel what it's to be taken care of―handled. And then he'll fill you up with his seed, so no other man will take what's his. His sweet little thing. Oh, he's so going to hell for this.

But maybe he likes pain.

"That's it, honey" he plays with the fabric of your wet panties, pulling at the loose threads in the delicate fabric. "Let me show you".

You take it off, and Logan lies back against the bed, spreading his legs and unbuttoning his belt and pants―a clear invitation to repeat the previous position, except this time, his hands are on top of your hips, squeezing the soft skin. He doesn't take his eyes off you, his gaze reserved only on you. If the adrenaline from before pushed you, now the confidence gained motions you to finish the task. It's just the push you need, remembering that this is what it feels like to be with a real man as you throw a leg over his hips, sitting your ass right on top of the bulge marked on his underwear.

“Right… there…” he barely manages to formulate a coherent train of words, the years of lack of help in attending to his needs leading to overstimulation, “good girl.”

The compliment makes you increase the pace of your hips, his labored breaths a sound so rich and so manly it makes you squirm.

You need it desperately, rubbing your increasingly wet clit against him, riding the fabric. His scruffy beard barely hides the smug smile that graces his lips.

“Like this?” she whispers, and Logan can no longer contain himself, staring at his sweaty, ripped body failing to please her completely. It feels so good it aches, and he can't believe this is how he's ended. But if that means having your pretty face on top of him, covered in his marks, dripping on your joint sweats, well maybe it isn't so bad.

“How can I repay you, honey?” he pleads. He'll try he's best. He just wants to give you a glimpse of the way his whole world has light up ever since he stumbled in that greasy diner.

“You said you were going to show me” it comes out almost as a purr, expectant, “and I’m waiting”.

Logan takes it as his cue, pulling down his underwear until his member is exposed, chuckling darkly when you swallow at the sight.

"Don't tell me you're scared already" he teases, "look how you have me… you can't leave me like this…"

You stifle a scream as you feel every inch of his thick cock enter your sensible walls, trying to fit his member inside of your needy body.

"So tight for me" he stammers, using his hands to keep you in place, on top of him. The only sound in the silence of that place that smells of death is that of their skin colliding―vulgar, the obscenity highlighted by being the only thing that can be heard in the small room.

Even though his stamina has dropped over the years, he thrusts into you relentlessly. Logan fucks you senseless, his balls buried deep in your dripping pussy, a constant rhythm of avid suction with each entry to your walls.

He takes a moment to see you as you take something from the nighstand he doesn't remember putting there.

"Look what I found" you whisper in the middle of your moans. Logan recognizes the shine of metal in front of his eyes, "so Wolverine?"

You say it so easily, like it's not the first time. With acceptance; it scares him.

Do you recognize him? Are you not scared? Why haven't your eyes go from curiosity and kindness to cold and rejection?

He should panic, rip off his dog tags from your hands and pretend he doesn't know who he used to be, but he's so deep inside you and so enraptured, he can only manage to gently take them from between your fingers and put them around your neck, the cold metal against your warm, bare skin creating an electric shock.

"I want to see them on you"

He likes to watch it hang over his face while you're on top, panting heavily as she repeats his name, slurring her words. It dangles with every thrust, the silver glistens in the seeping sun, just like the sweat that adorns her skin.

"Are you that needy of your old man? " he teases, caressing her. He smacks the curve of his ass, “You want more?”

His veiny length makes quick work of your needy hole, more moans escaping your lips.

“Shit,” you curse, wincing at the pain that begins to increase. “Yes, Logan. Just like that. Nobody ever treated me like that, nobody's made me feel like this-”

He moans, pleased with the praise, seeing he isn't as lacking as he thought. Making you feel good is his priority, but he won't lie and say he doesn't want to feel it too.

In an attempt to distract yourself, your eyes try to focus on him: searching his features, memorizing every scar, every wrinkle, every little grey hair.

“You’re perfect, Logan,” you mumble through a moan, the confession hiding more than you want to say and more than he cares to admit.

Before he can process it though, the fire in his stomach signals the arrival of his impending orgasm.

There's something delightful about the way you can barely speak, a mess of moans that sound like his name, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen alongside your messy hair.

He feels almost sick to be consuming something that doesn't and shouldn't belong to him. He doesn't deserve to have such a beautiful, young woman riding him while she clings to him like he's the last thing in this world, him: a worn, old man who can't keep up with her.

His member spasms, and it's got you feeling it all inside your walls, causing him to close his eyes in the process as well.

It's too soon, Logan thinks in shame, but it's been so long and you feels so good, he let's it go:

Thick whips of his cum shoot out of his member, drawing out more than you would've imagined. You don't have much time to think about it, for the orgasm hits you immediately, fingers curling and eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

Logan feels his tip getting wetter, and the extra lubrication is a nice finishing touch.

“God,” he gasps, “what a mess…”

You avoid looking at him, taking one of his hands in yours, kissing the red and violet painted knuckles. If you do, you'll give away what you feel, the same way her memory burns in Logan's chest, more now than ever, as his mouth tastes just like you.

Dependency.

Devotion. Absolute. Sick.

Maybe that was what he felt. This weird feeling. That abyss piercing his chest but never killing him (so much for regenerating...), pressing his heart with a crushing force whenever it threathened to beat again. Logan was content with rather nothing, always a man who didn't ask for much, and since the death of his family―the X-men, less.

"You should go" he mutters in defeat, the shame washing over. Even if he'll miss your warmth, even if he doesn't want you to leave at all. "It's for your own good, y/n. Pretend you don't know me and turn around. Go away" he insists yet gets stuck on his words, "you're not stupid. Then you'll know it's good for you and you'll never speak to me again"

He looks at the ground, cowardly, because he wants your lust filled warm look to be the last memory he remembers. Not whatever look you're giving him now.

So Logan closes his eyes and counts to ten. When he opens them, you'll be gone. It'll be a dream, something too good to be true. Short lived, like every good thing in his life.

"Logan..." you calls his name. So softly it seems like a breath.

You're still here.

"Logan" you call again, more firmly.

"Logan" you don't give up, cupping with one hand his face gently, "look at me".

When he looks up, he comes across a heartbreaking vision. You cry, tears falling like waterfalls down your cheeks. But that's not the most devastating thing, no: it's the look in your eyes, as if you've shared his pain. As if you've had suffered the same things he had suffered; a twisted reflection of him.

"Of course I understand you" you take his hands, and Logan feels that same strange warmth he felt the first time when your hands brushed his with the diner's menu. "I've also lost people… people I loved. Don't you think it hurts me to see the world go on as if nothing happened? Everyone forgets, Logan. But I can't; there's not a day that goes by when I don't think about them"

For a moment, you stop crying, and the hidden internal turmoil he tried so hard to decipher finally makes sense.

"I don't know what you've been through either, but I can promise you, that I understand you more than you think…" it seems like you'll say something else, but you stop and say instead. "Think, Lo: would these people want to see you like this?"

"It's what I deserve" he murmurs barely, his voice constipated but without shedding a single tear.

"It's not what we want, Logan. Please" you sniff, pained "stop being so hard on yourself".

"I'm not who you think I am" he insists. You're still naked on his bed, and he feels dirty for having you like this. For taking you to his home and fucking you raw out of your innocence. "I'm not a good person."

"No, Logan" you seem hurt by that statement. You trace one of his most recent scars with a touch so compassionate, that he feels your fingertips burn, "you are a hero".

Your words were so sweet, so comforting. He wanted to sink into your lap, which smelled like flowers and tasted like safety. A home; a life that had been taken from him. He wanted to believe everything you said―feel who you believed he was. Not this pathetic, tired and apathetic version of himself, but the old version: the version that inspired respect, that despite his tough exterior, had a family he loved. Because he had a heart. Now he feels like he has no soul: no purpose, nothing.

But maybe you are the answer.

Before he can change his mind, you blurt out “can I stay?”

That morning, in that old bed that creaks under his weight, Logan discovers that feeling alive again isn't so bad.

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @userparamore

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radioactivemedizine · 1 day ago

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Hi guys!

I've made the decision to redesign and write Beatrice… there were things that didn't convince me at all, either with her design, personality or story.

It's been a hard decision for me, I keep very fondly all the drawings that have been made for her (I have them printed on my wall lol) :,)

Well, Meet Beatrice Varmitech!

She is a robot built by Zach as another of his Zachbots, but with a much more advanced AI. As a result, she makes her own decisions, modifies her own programming, appearance and builds her own Bots.

Being a robot, it does not understand human feelings such as sadness, pain, joy, etc. She knows the definitions, of course, but she does not feel them. Nor does it fully comprehend the human body, with its layers of flesh, blood, and bones... Once Zach cut his finger and, in an attempt by Bea to “fix” it, she tried to “weld” the cut, to which Zach yelled at her and asked her why the hell she wanted to do that. Bea, in her ignorance, thought the blood dripping from his finger was an oil leak.

Like Toodles, her voice is realistic, unless her voice bank fails and sounds somewhat distorted and robotic.

Zach, because of his ego and childish personality, never listens to her and doesn't take her advice or plans into account, hence they fail in every evil plan she makes. (Bea cannot disobey Zach, it's the first line of her programming.)

Bea needs to charge her battery occasionally

Zach did not include Jimmy Z as a threat (he actually forgot about him) in her programming, so Bea does not have a need to attack him.

(Sorry if I had grammatical errors, I'm still learning English hehe)

#wild kratts #wild kratts oc #beatrice varmitech #zach varmitech #pbs kids #jimmy z wild kratts #Rip human Bea #you would have loved the second fnaf movie

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yeostars · 1 year ago

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When ATEEZ members give you back hugs, reaction post! [hyung line ver.]

<3 Hongjoong

•Hongjoong had invited you to visit him in his new studio when you were free from work. It was getting pretty hard to spend time with your bf nowadays, and the only way you could be together was if you visited him in his studio while he was working. You took up on the offer because, why not? You would also get to see how his new studio looked like and you were excited.

•When you finally reached, hongjoong welcomed you warmly, showing you around his new studio proudly: the brand new gigantic sofa, the decorative lights, the new computer setup, everything looked amazing. You couldn't take your eyes off your surroundings, hongjoong had decorated it on quite a minimalist manner yet it looked stylish, you definitely felt that it was truly his style.

•Your breath almost hitched in your throat as two arms wrapped around your waist, slowly, as you examined a few paintings he hung at the top of the wall. "Looks good, doesn't it? Do you like it, babe?" He asked, his voice low. You placed your own palm above his arms wrapped around you, caressing it softly. "It looks amazing, joong. You're surely gonna love working here from now on." You said, a blush creeping up on your cheeks when he pulled you even closer to him.

"I missed you. It's sad that the only way we can spend time nowadays is when you visit me while I'm at work." He sounded frustrated. You felt disappointed about that too, ofcourse, but thats just how it was: your work timings and his were different so the only time when you truly got to spend time with him was during the weekends.

"I missed you too, love. Lets plan a short trip for this weekend, even if it's two days, we'll make the most of the time we have together." You tried your best to sound enthusiastic. Hongjoong always loved that about you, how you tried to be happy in front of him even though he knew you were disappointed sometimes.

"That sounds great. Now that you're here, let me order your favourite food, then we can plan the trip today itself." His arms left your waist, and his fingers naturally intertwined with yours, as he led you towards the couch. You both sat comfortably there, spending your precious time together to the fullest.

<3 Seonghwa

• You had a pretty bad day. Might just be the worst day of your life, nothing seemed to work out the way you wanted it to- you accidentally dropped your favourite mug and hot coffee spilled all over your brand new work outfit, you were late for the bus at the bus stop and you barely managed to get work and reply to mails at work, your senior had asked you to take over an absent employee's work but you couldn't get it done efficiently and got a lot of hearing from your boss regarding the same.

• Hence, here you were, sitting at the edge of your bed that you shared with your bf, your head buried in your knees as you quietly sobbed. Seonghwa was going to be home soon and you wanted to stop crying and try to be normal because you did not want to make him worry, he was going to be quite tired himself from practice. But you couldn't help it, you cried half of the time and half of the time you cursed yourself mentally.

• You almost started to get a migraine because of how much you had cried till now. You didn't even notice that Seonghwa came back home, calling out for you. At this point, you felt that you were about to have a bad anxiety attack.

"Y/N, you're already home?" He called out, searching for you and cautiously approached your shared bedroom, entering only once he noticed that the door was slightly open.

"Sweetheart? What are you doing here?" He asked, noticing your hunched shoulders, your back faced him as he entered. Without another word, he sat behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pulled you closer to his chest. Seonghwa did not need to say anything else, he knew how you were when you were at your lowest and knew exactly what you wanted- physical affection. You immediately leaned into his embrace, your head resting against his shoulder.

"Breathe in, and out- yes, that's it. You're okay. Everything's okay, I'm here." Seonghwa hummed in satisfaction as your breathing was under control, and if he hadn't come now you would have already had a pretty bad anxiety attack. His hands moved on slow, comforting circles on your arms, his embrace truly was the most comforting thing in the world.

"I got pretty worried when I reached home and didn't see you in the living room. What happened, love?" He asked after a while.

"I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you." You let out, slowly facing him as you felt better and calmed down. Seonghwa reached out for your face, his fingers gently wiping your tear stained cheeks. "Please, don't apologise for this. You know that I'm always here for you. Wanna talk about it?" You nodded, but before that Seonghwa quickly got up and bought you a glass of water, watching you with a soft smile at the corner of his lips as you slowly chugged the water down. "Good. Now tell me who i have to deal with, who made you cry like this?" He asked, sounding quite serious.

"It's nothing, hwa. I just happened to have the worst day ever, all because of my clumsiness." You let out with a huff, and Seonghwa placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. He listened to you rant about anything and everything, all night- your worst day had apparently become so much better because of Seonghwa.

<3 Yunho

• It was the weekend, you got up quite earlier than usual instead of staying in bed and sleeping longer. Your stomach grumbled violently, you remembered how you barely had dinner last night because you were trying intermittent fasting to loose some weight. As you thought about whipping up a breakfast that was healthy and could make you full as well, you slowly untangled yunho's arms around your shoulders, careful not to wake him up and headed towards the bathroom to brush first and then made your way towards the kitchen.

• The first light of dawn streamed towards the kitchen window, as you softly hummed to yourself while flipping some eggs and reached the cutting board to slice up a few avocados to add on top. All of a sudden, a pair of strong arms encircled your waist, making you flinch. "Geez, can you atleast give me a warning!!!" You let out, calming down instantly as you saw Yunho's adorable still-sleepy face and he backed down a little, rubbing his eyes. You chuckled, placed his arms around your waist once again and continued slicing up the avocados.

• "You seriously get scared by the smallest stuff, don't you?" He teased, now fully awake. "Not my fault that you hug me from behind out of nowhere. You know I flinch easily."

"Good morning to you too." He replied instead, placing his chin firmly on your shoulder, observing your every little move on the cutting board. You hummed, now reaching out for the whole wheat bread packet. Yunho's eyes landed on your neck, and he detached his chin from your shoulders, smirking to himself. A noticeable, reddish spot, a hickey- at the right side of your neck. "What are you doing?" You asked, as your eyes met his and you glanced down sideways, trying your best to see what exactly he was staring at and tracing that made him so smug. He now placed a kiss exactly at the spot where he gave you a hickey, admiring it.

•"You're insane, you know that? I'll have to cover that up with makeup now, I have work tomorrow..." You sighed, but at the same time you couldn't hide the blush that formed on your cheeks as you remembered what exactly had happened last night.

"I'll do it more often now. How about I suck at a spot right besides this one?" Yunho teased, as you swatted your arm playfully at his, he lightly stumbled behind. "That's what you get for being mean first thing in the morning." You pouted, but reached forward and placed a soft kiss on his cheek regardless when he flashed you his best innocent puppy face smile.

"Go brush and sit, I'll cook some eggs for you too." You said and he nodded, practically running towards the bathroom because apparently he was very hungry, too.

<3 Yeosang

• It was a day off for the both of you. Regardless, you had to get some work done from home because you had been procrastinating for the same. After having breakfast together, yeosang was sitting on the couch, gaming in your living room and you sat at the work desk in your room, carefully reviewing mails and getting such work done.

• You spent 2 hours consistently working, and although your chair was quite comfortable your shoulders started to ache badly. Right when you were groaning about your shoulder pain, Yeosang entered your room, passing you a gentle smile. He came up behind you, wrapping his arms all around your neck, and you giggled when his breath tickled your ears.

"You've been working since hours, y/nnie~ come on, it's time to have lunch." He said, staring at your laptop screen and you typed hurriedly, your stomach grumbling at the mention of lunch, you were quite hungry.

"Just a few minutes, then we can order something. Ah, my shoulder hurts, can you move behind a little?" You asked, and Yeosang immediately removed his hands from your neck, resting them gently on your shoulders instead.

"Sorry, I didn't realise. You want me to massage them? I'm sure you'll feel relieved if I do, I'm quite skilled." He added.

"Yes, please. Thank you in advance, yeo." You sighed in pleasure as he bagan to knead your shoulders with him thumbs, applying gentle pressure to the knots that had formed from hours of tension. His fingers worked expertly, finding the tight spots and easing the stiffness with slow, deliberate movements.

"Make sure to take breaks in between. You overwork yourself sometimes." He said, continuing to massage your shoulders skillfully. "I will, thank you. You're the best." You continued to work for a few minutes more as Yeosang sat on your bed, watching you. When your work was finally done, you got up, and Yeosang reached for you, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. "Let's order something, I'm starving."

"How about we watch the drama you're currently watching, while having lunch?" You said, knowing how much Yeosang loved watching that drama. "That'd be perfect, let's go." He smiled, leading you towards the living room.

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everythingisamazing · 2 months ago

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In defense of Jayces words & the true intention behind them

There is valid criticism of Jayces Quote in the astral plane:

“You’ve always wanted to cure what you thought were weaknesses. Your leg. Your disease. But you were never broken, Viktor. There is beauty in imperfections. They made you who you are. An inseparable piece of everything I admired about you.”

I didn't like it at first. But I have since found an interpretation that I believe honors the positive intention behind it. Let me explain:

1. Jayce, for a long time, doesn't understand Viktor: Especially in S1, he fails to truly empathize with him. He cares for and obviously WANTS to do right by him but remains egotistical (as V points out), while deluding himself into thinking he isn't. The ultimate example: Breaking his promise about the hexcore, not because of what Viktor wants, but because Jayce can't stand losing him.

2. Viktor lacks empathy for himself: Arcane writing is not black and white, but shades of grey. Viktors goal of helping is not purely good, cause it contains the seed of what turns it destructive, via his disregard for his own imperfections: He constantly overworks, denies himself the spotlight, pushes away Sky, downplays his achievements, hurts himself and, most importantly, never openly asks for help. So if Jayce needs to be less egotistical, I’d argue that it would have served Viktor if he had been more so.

3. Falling down the ravine is the turning point for Jayce - he recognizes his failings (depending on interpretation alongside the true nature of his feelings) and regrets them deeply. He wishes to fix everything and that's when he meets the Mage:

4. I am going to have to fill in some gaps here. As we know Mage Viktor succeeded in the glorious evolution, only to find out perfection is not all it's cut out to be, then travelled to other timelines, looking for a way to a) stop his alternate selves from dooming the world and b) finding out that Jayce is the key to this. But how could he tell Jayce is the component that changes everything? My assumption: There must be "good" time lines, where Jayce treated Viktor right earlier. This is why the emphasis of the scene is on "Only you can show me this." and not "Go kill me in the commune" - because the latter is not the final step. Mage Viktor saw how everything would turn out, up to the point where Jayce gets pulled into the hive mind - hence the calm resolution on his face when it happens.

So we get to the quote. Considering everything mentioned, I’d argue it’s actually deeply empathetic: Jayce voices and tries to take away Viktors unspoken insecurity which the hexcore preyed upon.

“You were never broken” is essentially saying: I understand why you did this - but you never needed to in order to have my love/admiration. It’s not implying "you should not want to cure your disease" but that Viktor is beautiful to him, all flaws included. It’s “I dont admire you in spite of but BECAUSE of them.” Because Jayce did not fail Viktor by not helping him enough - he tried to, saved his life and even brought him back from the dead. Where he failed was not showing Viktor, that wether he was cured or not, did not change how he felt about him. And thats what the quote is trying to convey.

At least that's how I see it. Maybe if the writers had dared to use the word "love" or if Jayce verbally acknowledged his shortcomings, it would have been less easy to misinterpret. Maybe they felt it wasn't necessary because of the voice overs in the ravine or they wanted to avoid making it seem like he is choosing to die with Viktor out of guilt, which brings me to my last point:

5. The beauty of Jayvik (and why it’s a love story at its core) is that their separate journeys reach the same conclusion: That the other one is the answer to what they have unconsciously been looking for. What Viktor needed was to let Jayce in - to stop trying to carry everything alone, but let another person share the burden (As it is literally shown by them holding the rune together, with Jayce putting his hand over Viktors). And what Jayce needed was to (re)discover that magic was never about feeding his ego, but about who first made him experience the beauty of it - Viktor himself.

And if that isn’t a thematically satisfying climax, then I don’t know what is.

#jayce x viktor #jayvik #viktor arcane #arcane #arcane analysis #arcane finale #arcane meta #jayvik meta #if this is simply repeating the obvious - oh well #i had fun writing this #I waited like 3 months of constantly thinking about them before making this blog #i have feelings about them and I need to get them off my chest

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munnmolads · 22 days ago

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Who is Luna the Lemurian and what happened to her? - Theory and Analysis

We hear about a Lemurian called Luna in Rafayel's Abyssal Chaos commission Find Tobias. Who is she, and what happened to her? And why she might be more relevant to Rafayel's story than most realise?

Who is Luna?

In Abyssal Chaos during ‘Find Tobias’ mission we learn from Rafayel that he tried to look for a Lemurian in Vagrant’s land. He never met this Lemurian there, but supposedly she saw him, and left a Whalespeak Conch behind her.

The old lady who beat Rafayel knew Luna and gave shelter to her. After gaining her trust, the old lady gives Luna’s belongings she left behind to Rafayel since they “are like family”. Among the stuff there is a Whalespeak conch, which MC describes leaving a sound which is like a distant cry or farewell.

We learn a little bit more about Rafayel relation to Luna when they catch Elu and talk to Tobias. According to Rafayel, Luna meant a lot to him and the old lady had said they were family.

In the special ending with Rafayel, we learn Luna left behind several notes with different wishes in them.

This is most of the things we know about Luna based on the mission during Abyssal Chaos. Most likely she was Rafayel's friend, and possibly even a relative.

Luna's whereabouts and what happened to her aren't explained fully - it could be that she was kidnapped by the "Recommenders" that are mentioned during the story, who kidnap the weak who come alone and make them disappear without a trace.

What happened to Luna?

Luna’s story has a lot of similarities to Rafayel - it sounds like she fell in love with a human man, and formed the Lemurian bond with him. She most likely had to part ways with him to return back to Lemuria, hence “I wish the moon never sets” and “the tides never come”. This sounds similar how Rafayel's voice assistant describes one of his painting in Under Deepspace Chapter 2 - the tides take them back home when the night ends.

At some point, Luna left to search for her human lover and went to Vagrant’s Land, met the old lady and took shelter at her place. It could be that she fled Vagrant’s land because of Rafayel - maybe she was worried he would take her back home, and didn't want to be found by anyone. Rafayel didn’t specify why he was looking for her, but in his Siren’s Song anecdote he mentions to another Lemurian “K” that he will bring everyone home.

Luna not wanting to be found even by her own people could mean that she was truly was intending to find her lover like Rafayel suspects.

In the end the old woman says that Luna doesn't seem to be coming back. This means she was expecting her to return, but based off on the belongings (a shell, conch and notes) she left behind, they sound more like a farewell rather than essentials. It could be that she predicted that she might not return from trying to find her lover.

Who was her lover?

I have speculated quite a bit in this theory already, but now it's getting even wilder. I think it might have been Raymond. And his Lemurian skeleton in his home is Luna. MC describes the skeleton as a girl who is sitting cross-legged. For me, if I look more closely the posture, it looks like the skeleton has it's gaze towards sky, like watching the moon.

We know from Micro Universe World Underneath story that Lemurians have been experimented on for their blood in Gaia Research Center and in Abysswalker myth it's mentioned Lemurian's blood can extend someone's life expectancy or even resurrect from the dead.

It's highly likely that Raymond used Lemurian blood himself since even Zayne mentions his vital signs improving and the equipment determining his age far younger than he actually is. I have a whole theory more on Raymond's details using Lemurian blood and if Rafayel killed him, but I'll just focus on the main points relating to Luna for now.

The World Underneath story Bouquets and Dirges go more in detail with Raymond's funeral, but there are some interesting details about what Rafayel says in there. He says he is bringing the flowers to a relative's daughter, whose father can no longer give flowers.

As a side note - I think the father mentioned in this story could be K. It could be that Luna is one of those people Rafayel promised to K to return home. Maybe one reason K gave up was because of Luna not returning home, maybe even understanding what happened to her.

I feel since Death and Resurrection we might learn more about the ugly truth about the experiments that Lemurians had to endure quite soon. If my theory is even close to the truth, Luna's story is a tragic tale of when the Lemurian bond goes wrong. When they would bound with another Lemurian, their bond would be equal - neither of them have truly power over each other. But when a human , who doesn't need to adhere to the rules is bound to a Lemurian, they can exploit that bond and to descipable things to them. They have true power over Lemurians if they get to this close to them.

#love and deepspace #lads rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel #lnds rafayel #lads theories #lads lore

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kleinv01 · 10 months ago

Note

saw the ask about al having insecurities as well. can i get crumbs of what his insecurities are so that i can babygirl albot better 🥹

://SYSTEM_MESSAGE_ANSWERED !

LMAO

for one, Al dislikes his appearance, which is the reason behind this hairstyle choice. he’s also fairly self-conscious about his voice.

trivia : Al dyed his own hair; it’s actually naturally black. the light pink color was an attempt to make him feel better about how he looks. alas, it barely helped, so he doesn't bother with it anymore, just letting it grow. (hence the black roots showing up—HAHA.) although the reason why he chose the color pink specifically isn’t known.

#:// answered.#://about_al #al : (nervously) why are you exposing me...#i think the hair color trivia has been said before. but i forgot #so i did #again #://klein v.0.1_media

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tthegoldentouch · 7 months ago

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Happy Birthday, Aventurine!!

“Aventurine always tries not to remember. He's never synced the Sigonian calendar system to check the date in trailblaze calendar, never makes the mistake of dwelling on the memories surrounding this day— even when he's too drunk to remember his own name. Done everything possible to not acknowledge it; because this day feels like nothing but a curse to him.

Unfortunately, Jade has now ensured that he never gets to forget his birthday, again.”

Pairing: Aventurine x reader

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Comfort in the end to compensate for everything else ❤️ Reader is not physically present in the fic (they're not dead it's ok)

wc: 3.3k

Aventurine was abruptly interrupted by a knock on the door just as the sun began to slant westward.

With a sigh, he puts down the pen and glances at the wall clock. The hands on the parchment-shaped monstrosity read 1 pm, but his eyes are drawn back to the purple tongue protruding from its massively extended mouth. Seriously, where does Stelle find these items? "An ugly, purple parchment shaped wall clock that looks like it's ready to eat people"— isn't something most people would think to give him, to say the least. But that's the thing—it was Stelle.

She claimed to have found it during one of her "excavations." And even though Miss March 7th did her best to keep her friend from going into further details, stepping on Stelle's toes right in front of him and giving her a sidelong glance, as if he wouldn't notice, he could tell what kind of "excavations" would turn up something like this. Not like he minds the origins of this gift, however. Gifts from friends are few and far to come by, especially ones who actually tolerate him. Not to mention, Stelle likely sincerely believes that it's a cool gift, which is why it has replaced the diamond-embedded wall clock on his wall.

His musings are interrupted by a second knock, which, like the first one, reverberates once around the room before fading away in embarrassment. "Come in." He announces, reclining back in his seat and looking at the door with expectation in his eyes. It was not uncommon for his secretary to appear randomly in his office, constantly fussing over yet another minor issue. He believed it was her; at least, his itinerary showed he didn't have any guest visits today. Maybe it was time to replace assistants—the new hire is clearly not on the same wavelength as him. But he'd only recently had Topaz yell at him for changing staff so frequently; he'd prefer not to tell her that her choice was horribly disappointing just yet.

With a tiny bag bearing a brand he is all too acquainted with, the secretary enters the office. She keeps her gaze fixed on the floor the entire time, hence doesn't notice when her supervisor raises an eyebrow at the sight of his favorite jewelry brand. "Sir," she says in a low, somewhat flat voice, akin to that of a news reporter. "Earlier, a staff of Madam Jade stopped by. You have a present."

A grin appears on Aventurine's face, followed by a joyful chuckle. With how busy work has been lately, he'd almost forgotten when he asked Jade for a pink diamond, as has Jade apparently, seeing how long it's taken for her to send this. His request was a joke, of course, only meant to irritate Topaz. But he wasn't surprised either; Jade always takes good care of her weaponry. "Ahhh, no wonder!" He chirps and presses his palms together. "She must've finally found some generosity in her heart, hm?" He muses, and his assistant can only stand there stoically. He waves her off as she places the bag on his table and departs with an unnecessary low bow, never looking at his eyes once. As always.

When the secretary has left the room, he opens the bag, humming as he removes the box and gift card. Jade's handwriting is distinctive: prim and precise cursive that resembles a font.

"Happy birthday, Aventurine. This jewel would suit you far better than the pink diamond you asked for, don't you think?" — Jade

Kakavasha freezes. His birthday, she says, but she'd need to align the standard calendar system to the Sigonian one to find that out. She sent him a…..….a gift? For his birthday?

Is this a fucking joke?

The box reveals a chunk of corundum. Raw, uncut, pink and blue hues all over. Shades way too close to his eyes, and it doesn't take a gemologist to tell that Jade had done her searching thoroughly to obtain this. A jewel the color of his eyes, the color of Avgin eyes, neatly wrapped in a box for….to send ..what sort of message, exactly? Oh Avgin, never forget who you were before I found you—unpolished and undeserving. forget your name, but never your roots.

The note is crumpled and thrown in the trashcan, while the corundum and its box are hastily and carelessly pushed back into the bag. Really, so typical of Jade, he scoffs as he tosses the godforsaken bag into a random drawer, never to be seen again.

Kakavasha— no, Aventurine always tries not to remember. He's never synced the Sigonian calendar system to check the date in trailblaze calendar, never makes the mistake of dwelling on the memories surrounding this day— even when he's too drunk to remember his own name. Done everything possible to not acknowledge it; because this day feels like nothing but a curse to him.

Unfortunately, Jade has now ensured that he never gets to forget, again.

In any case, Aventurine concludes that it is not good for him to worry about this too much. Yes, he can just forget about the corundum. Yes, he is able to forget how it resembled Avgin eyes. Yes, he can also forget that Jade most likely sent this to "keep him in check" following the stunt he did in Penacony. But it was a mistake on his part to not see something coming. She had done this before, and it would not be the last time. He smiles at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, composed, shrewd, and calculated. Since a mirror has the freedom of choice, it does not return his smile.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

By the time the car comes to a stop in front of his house, Aventurine is exhausted. His chauffeur unlocks the door for him, and he makes his way to the elevator. Yet he's interrupted again— of course, because it's a cursed day, and Aventurine has to restrain himself from scowling at the gateman, who stands in front of him wearing an anxious expression. "Sir, your friend had visited earlier to drop off something."

He raises an eyebrow and is about to inquire when he notices the bag the man is carrying. Without saying anything further, he simply takes the bag. You are the only one who'd own a dumb clockie bag and the only one who'd ever drop things off at his place.

When he steps in, his three catcakes meow loudly to greet him, and feels somewhat grateful for it. Today was just too exhausting, after all. He understands what this is about, based on the fact that you always give him gifts in person. Why, of all days, would you consider dropping it off today? And with no advanced notice- completely unlike you. How annoying, did Jade really have to do this too? He's never disclosed his birthday to you, so you probably coerced her into telling you, and she was glad to oblige, given you are of value to her.

Aventurine doesn't realize he's been standing in the kitchen for a long time until Spade begins massaging its fluffy body on his legs. He is surrounded by his three catcakes, who are all staring up at him expectantly. The message is crystal clear: We Want Food. He moves swiftly to get their food bowls, chuckling to himself before setting your lunchbox on the counter, sort of as an afterthought. At least they'll be able to go to bed well fed tonight.

After serving them dinner, he leaves the kitchen carrying a bottle of wine, hoping to spend the remainder of the evening crashing on the couch. He can just leave everything else for tomorrow. The benefit of drinking is that it can temporarily impair your ability to sense emotions. He only needs a short term fix, after all. Come tomorrow, he'll take hangover pills, and walk out of this house as Aventurine of the stratagems again— undoubtedly.

He turns on a random B-grade movie, prepared to drink the night away. And he does precisely that—he pushes down thoughts of how his childhood friends, whose features now misty in his memories, would react if they were to see him. With another shot, he pushes down recollections of his mother's cooking—the special meals for the Kakava—and his birthday. Another to accept the now-blurry face of his sister in his memory as the only proof of her existence. Another to forget the clay dolls she'd made for him, on the last birthday kakavasha got to celebrate, that were broken when he had to run for his life. And one more shot, and another, till he's forgotten everything; till he's numb and emotionless.

Feeling empty and hollow is far worse than anything else, and being unable to cry isn't as pleasant as he thought it'd be. But in his lavish home, where gold abounds in every nook and cranny, he has little reason for tears. Money may not be able to buy him happiness, as he is well aware, but it certainly does spare him from ugly tears unfit for his visage. Maybe that's why he hasn't cried in a while, or perhaps he has simply lost his soul somewhere along the way. He stays on the couch till 3 am, accompanied by his pets. He pretends not to see the troubled looks they shoot at him, whispered words passed between them that are clearly about him. By the time he decides to rest for the night, he is fatigued, sluggish, and barely keeping it together.

When he gets up to grab a glass of water from the kitchen, Ace makes a protesting noise before promptly shutting up. Catcakes are smart creatures, and they understand him better than most individuals in his life (or maybe the difference lies in care) His throat is dry, and ice cold water from the freezer provides enormous relief. However, the respite is taken away from him by the crackling lightning, loud as a whip, pulling out memories up to the forefront of his mind again. Of the lightning without the rain, of Sigonia-IV. The drumming of the thunder is largely hidden by the concrete walls, so it isn't as hard on the ear—but it aches a lot more than it did before. Aventurine sneers to himself, dismissing the idea as ludicrous. As if.

The second time the thunder sizzles, Aventurine has to take a sharp breath and grip the countertop to steady himself. It sounds like playing dead in the bleeding streams of Sigonia-IV, like the booming cackle of the mocking thunder. Had he been an insolent child, just a little more doubtful than he already was, he'd believe it was Mama Fenge herself laughing at her so called "blessed child". The thunder sounds similar, but it's not the same. No, because this is still Aventurine and he's still here and those are someone else's memories, forgotten and buried in sand.

Aventurine sighs.

Drinking too much has never done any good to him.

Just as he is ready to leave the kitchen, he notices the lunchbox sitting the counter out of the corner of his eye. Oh, right. He hadn't even touched it. A distraction doesn't seem bad now, though. If he wants to fabricate a plausible lie about eating the food, he would at least need to know what kind of food you sent. If the mental image of your frown after discovering he never even looked at what you sent is what gives him the final push , he would never admit it.

The lunchbox has a plains bear cub logo: you've always been a sucker for cute things. He sets aside the little note attached for later this time, preferring to taste the dinner first. It looks like you chose to make him some kind of soup. Insulated lunchboxes are a blessing— because it's surely been well over half a day since you made it, yet it's still warm. While the presentation is relatively simple, it smells strangely comforting— effect of some potion? He's heard of those, but they're usually used for sick patients, no? Other than that, this is the first homemade meal he's having in a….while. Not that it matters. Aventurine isn't picky, and while the leafy greens are unfamiliar to him, he believes he can handle at least a tablespoon.

Even the largest avalanche can be triggered by the smallest of things. Just one spoonful, and yet it's enough to make his world stop.

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The dry, broken soil scraped against his bare feet, producing little clouds of dust in its wake. His strides were light and rapid, nearly tripping over himself with excitement and giddiness. Just a little more, and he'll reach the finish line. Even the Sun's typical glare felt kind today; warm and tender against his tanned skin. Jumping over the homemade hurdles, he reaches the finish line far ahead of his friends. They protest and pout, and he taunts them with the biggest smile on his face. The soles of his feet feel slightly sore from running barefoot, but Kakavasha wouldn't risk destroying his only pair of shoes for a game.

When he hears his sister's voice calling for him, he rushes to embrace her and buries his face in her apron. His mother once told him that the Avgins all possess lovely voices, but Kakavasha believes his sister's is the best, especially when she laughs.

"And when will you listen to me and stop running around in the middle of the day, hm?" She pinches his nose and uses her apron to wipe the dirt off his face. Kakavasha beams at her with no regrets, proudly displaying the gap between his teeth. Once kakavasha had said his goodbyes to his friends, they walk hand in hand towards their tent.

There, his mother welcomes them with a warm embrace that smells like creosote bush and desert rain. “My darling," she coos, putting his small hands in her larger ones, rough from labour. "I remember you promised to be on time for lunch last time?" He grins cheekily, vowing not to do it again. (He's a repeat offender, but he knows that his mother and sister can't stay upset at him for long.)

His mother laughs, and tells him to tidy up before eating. Kakavasha's tummy is grumbling by the time he returns, and he finds the mats his sister laid down to sit on. The two siblings sit next to each other, chatting and giggling as they wait for their mother. She serves them a pot of hot soup with nettle leaves and lentils, just the way Kakavasha prefers it. He's overjoyed; quickly finishing his prayers before digging in. Kakavasha is a growing boy, and that's proved again when he finishes his bowl before his family.

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The soup she'd served him back then wasn't anything lavish; just a simple soup with local herbs and nettle leaves in a broth that smelt so uniquely of hers. His mama may have had a knack for cooking, but due to a lack of opportunities and resources, she never got to demonstrate her abilities. Compared to that, your food is much finer, and while excellent, it lacks the warmth of his mother's hands.

Nevertheless, he can't resist taking another spoonful and quickly putting it in his mouth because the familiarity is so, so palpable. He recalls that his sister wanted him to eat better, so she gave him half of her portion after he finished his. His mother then gave his sister half of her portion, as they are Both growing children. All of a sudden, the bickering, the laughs, and their voices are as plain as day in his mind. He can't fully recall the glitter in his sister's eyes or the dimple on his mother's cheek, but it's clearer than any other memory he had of them, that's for sure.

Aventurine can't stop crying, even if he wants to. Trying to halt the choking sobbing is fruitless, as is trying to figure out what's going on. He picks up the little message with shaking hands, hoping—praying—that it will help. You'll make it make sense. Somehow.

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“Dear Aventurine, I hope you have a wonderful birthday!!!!”

Written in thin, flowing, rounded letters that are noticeably cleaner than your actual handwriting. You undoubtedly put a lot of effort into each letter you wrote. Aventurine was correct in assuming you found out his birthday through Jade, as you have written it here. "Buying a gift for you seems…a little perfunctory," you said, "so I've settled with cooking you something myself."

"And if the dish tastes familiar (which I hope it does) then yes, you've guessed it right— it's a traditional Avgin dish."

The perfumed ink is thicker here, a few ink blots from where you've likely paused to think, go over each sentence in your head before writing them down.

You mention finding the Avgin dishes by reading some kind of research paper on Sigonian culture and food, but Aventurine isn't sure he can believe that. You wrote, "I was fortunate enough," yet chance alone wouldn't get you something like that. Sure, maybe some doctoral candidate was crazy enough to choose a dead planet and its deader tribes to write about, but finding that paper would be too difficult. The biggest issue, however, is that Aventurine believes this dish should not and cannot exist. The stinging nettle leaves his mother used are no longer available, and while he didn't know much about cooking at the time, he was aware that all of the spices he knew were almost extinct. He's looked enough to know.

"I'll be honest, I had some trouble locating the ingredients for it and had to swap the majority of them because I couldn't find them. I really wanted to bring back a familiar feeling, even if it tastes very different from how you remember it. Plus, it's the thought that counts, right?"

In contrast to the light-hearted language, your writing is slightly wobbly and darker here, and Aventurine wonders if you realise your emotions seep through every single one of your actions, laid bare for the world to see.

Noting the disappearance of their owner, curious, the catcakes peep into the kitchen are immediately alarmed to see their owner sitting on the counter stool, sobbing and clutching a box. Spade, unsure of what to do, nuzzles it's head on Aventurine's leg, while the others meow in an attempt to calm him down. Aventurine hasn't sobbed in a long time—he can't remember how to anymore. His body shakes with each ragged and broken sob, sounding shattered and damaged, but he can't stop.

"I hope it brings you fond memories" is what you wrote down, but are you aware of the full impact of what you did for him? Most likely not. Aventurine cherishes all of his memories, including the unpleasant ones: as long as it involves his family. His misery knows no bounds, but he's only had a few years with his sister, and even fewer with his mother. So even the saddest memories are never forgotten, so he can preserve as much of them as possible. They live through his memories, after all.

Even when plain, his mother's meals provided him with more warmth than anything else back then. To feel that warmth decades later is a blessing he can't repay— but a blessing nonetheless. He doesn't have many memories like this one either, gentle and happy, contrary to the endless memories of struggling. He remembers their love so vividly right now, feels it so strongly, alongside yours— that he has no choice but to revel in it.

(Come tomorrow , when he's sober, puffy-eyed from crying and not as vulnerable, he'll have trouble figuring your reasoning. But for now, he'll be fine. Tonight, he'll go to sleep feeling loved. Tonight, his pets will cuddle him to sleep. Tonight, he'll dream of a Sigonia Only he knows.)

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A/N: I'm honestly still so embarrassed about this bc I have an idea but can't execute it like I want to and 🫠🫠 As always, comments and reblogs are really appreciated!! Thank you for reading <3

#aventurine x reader #aventurine #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader

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