#i know i know 'i want it back= i drag its dead weight forward'

[imthatwannabeauthor]

.

[balteus]

chat i miss being in love lowkey

[chitaquagirl]

sometimes i see other ppl and think wow im lame and stupid and the worlds biggest loser and then i remember . none of u would survive the life i have been living (The Cult)

[fruitjuices]

i graduated a year before like 90% of my friends and this year they all are and oh my god it sucks SOOOOOOOOO much more shit than when i and my other friend graduated. like at least then we still had everyone in one place and we just had to go there and then we'd all be together. but what now? now everyone's gonna be gone. now that apartment is gonna belong to someone else. now we're all gonna have to go somewhere and its not gonna be ours

[speaknowgirl3184]

omg can I pls request a fic where anakin does turn to the dark side but then sees the twins he has with the reader and tries to idk redeem himself? with like a shit ton of angst but then a little light of hope in the end

im really bad at explaining what exactly the request really Is but u get the gist of it😭

Ashes To Stars

Unburnt! Darth Vader x female reader

As the galaxy burns under the Empire’s shadow, a lost love and hidden children may be the only light strong enough to reach what remains of Anakin Skywalker.

Warning: ANGST, Major character death, killings, death, funeral, gore, kinda war. (Let me know if there is anything else).

Word Count: 2.2k

Masterlist

Before

The Jedi Temple burned behind you, its flames licking the Mustafar skyline like fingers of hell reaching toward the heavens. A grotesque parody of a funeral pyre, for hope, for peace, for everything the Jedi Order once stood for.

You had arrived too late.

Smoke thick as mourning shrouds coiled around the great stone pillars, charring once-pristine walls with soot and sorrow. You stumbled through the carnage, boots slipping in blood and ash, the stench of death clinging to your robes and searing itself into your lungs.

Tiny bodies, so many of them, scattered like broken dolls on the marble floor. Limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Faces frozen in fear. Lightsabers still gripped in small, trembling hands that would never grow strong enough to wield them again.

You dropped to your knees beside one of the younglings, brushing a strand of hair from their wide, glassy eyes. You bit down a sob.

“Anakin,” you gasped, your voice hoarse from smoke and disbelief. “Anakin, where are you?”

No answer came.

Only silence.

Then—

Snap-hiss.

The hum of a lightsaber igniting echoed in the ruined hall like a war drum.

A blade, red as spilled blood, pierced the gloom.

Your eyes lifted.

And there he stood.

Your Anakin… and yet not.

His silhouette emerged from the shadows like a nightmare carved from obsidian. Cloaked in darkness, his saber casting hellish light across the smoldering temple, he looked more wraith than man. His face was impassive, carved from stone, but those eyes—

Gone was the sun-gold warmth that once danced in his gaze when he looked at you.

Now his irises burned a molten amber, twin infernos of hate and agony and something worse than rage—emptiness.

“Anakin?” Your voice cracked, nearly drowned by the crackling of flames and the weight of the moment. You took a step forward. “What have you done?”

He didn’t speak.

Only stared.

You wanted to reach for him. Wanted to believe this was a trick, a vision, some dark Force illusion. But the truth lay around you, splattered on the floor in crimson and silence.

Your hand hovered over your lightsaber hilt. You didn’t draw it.

He did.

He was trying to kill you.

And some twisted part of you understood why. Because you knew him. Knew the guilt would rot him alive if he let you live. You were the last piece of the old Anakin. The last witness.

If you lived, he couldn't hide from what he'd become.

He wouldn't let that happen.

Not willingly.

You survived. Barely.

It took everything, every drop of strength, every trick Obi-Wan ever taught you, every prayer you’d never believed in, to get away.

Mustafar nearly finished the job.

Lava scorched the sky, a mirror to the fire that had swallowed the Temple. You collapsed on blackened rock, your body broken, saber gone, breath shallow and wet with blood. You remembered the smell of burning flesh, his screams, and the stench of betrayal seeping into your skin like poison.

You had seen him fall.

And you had still reached for him.

“Please, come back. You don’t have to do this.”

“You’re a liar.” “I loved you.”

“You killed everything we ever were.”

He hadn’t hesitated. Not then.

You crawled away from that planet half-dead, dragging yourself aboard a stolen ship, your limbs barely responding, the pain a constant roar in your ears.

You didn’t know how long you drifted in space, slipping in and out of consciousness. Sometimes you screamed. Sometimes you prayed.

And sometimes you whispered his name.

Anakin.

Anakin.

Anakin.

But he didn’t answer.

Not until the Force began whispering back.

Not until you felt it—a pulse, faint but persistent. A flicker of life inside your broken body.

It started as a warmth low in your belly, a tiny flutter like a star being born. You thought it was the pain, a hallucination.

Until the Force wrapped around you like a breath.

Two heartbeats.

Not just your own.

You were pregnant.

And that was the moment the last piece of you shattered.

You wept for Anakin Skywalker.

The man who had died with his hands soaked in the blood of the future.

The man who would never hold his children.

The man you loved more than anything.

Even now.

-----------

Years Later

The Outer Rim was harsh, but you raised your children in its shadows. Two of them, twins. Luke, steady and protective, with his father’s quiet strength. Leia, fierce and luminous, her eyes full of fire and stars.

You told them stories of the Jedi. You told them of a man named Anakin Skywalker, who blazed through the galaxy like a supernova, too bright, too fast, trying to hold back fate with bare, bleeding hands. But you never spoke of Darth Vader.

But the war never truly ended for you. You moved often. You taught them to hide, to bury their power. The Force pulsed strong in both, and the galaxy was no place for children of Skywalker blood.

You dreamed of him sometimes. The man with sun-touched curls and a smile that softened even your darkest days. The one who kissed your bruised knuckles after battle and promised that if there was ever a peace, he’d build you a home on Naboo.

Sometimes, even now, you still woke up crying.

-----------

Now

The Empire was relentless. It never stopped hunting.

You were a fracture in its foundation. A splinter of the past the Emperor never managed to crush beneath his boot. A memory wrapped in flesh. A threat.

So it was only a matter of time.

Vader found you on Dantooine.

The wind was sharp that morning. The sun low and veiled by ash-grey clouds. The cold arrived first. Then the silence.

Then the dread.

You barely had time to usher the children into the underground chamber, heart hammering, before the bunker doors blew inward with a metallic shriek.

They came in like a flood, stormtroopers, faceless and ruthless, shouting orders you didn’t hear as they seized your arms and forced you to your knees in the dust. Your cheek scraped the stone floor, blood smearing your lip. You didn’t struggle. There was no point. You could already feel him drawing closer, every step a thunderclap in your soul.

And then he appeared.

Black armor. Labored breathing. A towering shadow of death, framed in smoke and ruin. The mask was the same you’d seen in holos, the one children feared and rebels cursed. But it wasn’t just a mask to you.

It was a tombstone for the man you loved.

Your throat clenched. Your heart tried to crawl out of your chest. You couldn't breathe, not from fear—but from knowing. Because behind that mask was Anakin. Your Anakin.

Or what was left of him.

“You should have died,” he said. His voice wasn’t his. It came through a filter, flat and warped and wrong. It sounded mechanical and hollow.

Your fingers curled into the floor.

“And yet I didn’t,” you spat, tasting copper. “Neither did they.”

For a moment, there was nothing.

Then his head turned, the mechanical whirring was the only sound.

“They?” he repeated, slow. Almost cautious.

And then, like a wire pulled tight between you, the Force cracked like a whip.

He felt them.

His body stilled, like stone beneath ice.

Two presences pulsed in the distance. Two familiar, flickering stars. Bright. Trembling. Luke’s resolve was already hardening, his small fingers wrapping around the hilt of his training saber. Leia’s fear shone brighter, like fire, but it didn’t crack. She was afraid, yes, but not broken.

He felt all of it.

And you saw the tremor ripple through his stance like lightning striking the sea.

“No…” you whispered, barely audible, tears springing to your eyes. “Please. Anakin... not them.”

The name, Anakin, split the air like a scar. It clung there, heavy and hollow, a word too full of history.

He didn’t speak. But he didn’t move, either.

You saw his hand twitch. Not toward his saber.

"Look at me," you said, voice trembling. "Look at what you became. Look at what they could be. Don’t let this be it. Don’t let this be how it ends."

Something cracked in the silence. Not out loud. Inside him.

The air grew heavy, tense, like the galaxy itself held its breath.

The stormtroopers were frozen, unsure whether to fire or wait for a command. You weren’t sure what would happen either. You were trembling, whether from fear or hope, you didn’t know.

And then, with slow, almost painful movements, Vader stepped forward.

And removed his helmet.

It hissed as it detached. The sound was final. Like the slamming of a coffin lid, only backward. A door opening, instead of closing.

He looked... ruined.

Older. Worn. Paler than you remembered. Scars crawled across his skin like jagged cracks in porcelain, and his eyes, his eyes, they were sunken, haunted things.

But they were his.

Blue, beneath all that shadow. Just barely.

And the moment he saw them, really saw them, everything stopped.

Two small figures stepped into the threshold of the hallway behind you, drawn by something they couldn’t name. Luke, wide-eyed, tense with uncertainty. Leia, brave as ever, her hands clenched at her sides even as her lip quivered.

The second he saw them, Anakin Skywalker fell to his knees.

Not in pain.

Not to dominate.

To beg.

His saber deactivated and dropped beside him with a thud.

“I didn’t know,” he rasped, voice barely more than a whisper through scarred lungs. “I didn’t know you lived. I thought—I thought I killed you—I saw you fall—"

His voice broke, and so did your heart.

You didn’t know how you moved, only that you were in front of him, the twins behind you. He looked at them like they were ghosts.

Leia stepped forward first. Brave little flame. She looked at him, chin held high, and said in a voice far too soft for the moment:

“Mom said you were a hero.”

Anakin flinched as if struck.

A breath escaped him, ragged, wounded. His shoulders crumpled, hands shaking. His fingers curled against the floor, as if trying to hold on to something slipping too fast through his grasp.

You moved closer.

Kneeling in front of him, you reached out and gently touched his cheek.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t pull away.

You saw it then, the flicker. The flicker of the boy who’d held you beneath Naboo’s waterfalls. The man who kissed your stomach when you first told him you wanted a family. The warrior who fought with too much passion and loved with too much fire.

“You still can be,” you whispered, your voice breaking in two. “It’s not too late. Come back. Please. Let them know their father.”

Silence.

Then a sound.

Snap-hiss.

Your breath caught.

But the blade wasn’t red.

It was blue.

He turned it, not on you, not on the children, but against the stormtroopers still standing dumbfounded by the door. Against the monster he had become. Against everything Palpatine ever chained him to.

He moved like the wind. Efficient. Cold, but not cruel. He didn’t slaughter them for vengeance.

He did it for you.

For them.

For the light still buried beneath years of shadow.

-----------

Later

You buried him beneath the trees of Naboo.

A quiet resting place, where the wind sounded like laughter, and the light through the leaves looked like peace. Where the water shimmered like glass and the grass remembered bare feet and kisses stolen under moonlight.

You chose the spot where he'd once told you he wanted to build a home. Back when his eyes were still blue, when the war hadn’t yet carved him into someone else. When you’d both believed, naïvely, foolishly, bravely, that peace was possible.

Leia’s hands trembled as she laid her bouquet down, delicate blossoms she'd gathered herself, wrapped in a strip of her old tunic. She didn’t cry, not where anyone could see. But she stayed closest to the grave, as if trying to understand the shape of a man she’d never truly known.

Luke stood beside her, quiet and still, his eyes fixed on the horizon like he was trying to see the galaxy their father once believed he could save.

The stone you placed was simple.

No titles. No rank.

Just a name.

Anakin Skywalker.

The one he finally earned again.

As the final clumps of soil were placed and the wildflowers arranged, Leia knelt beside you. Her small fingers laced through yours. Her voice was soft, almost unsure.

“Did he say anything? At the end?”

You turned your head, you swallowed against the grief swelling in your throat and smiled through the ache.

“He said he loved you,” you whispered. “Both of you. And me.”

There was a long silence after that. No one moved. Even the wind seemed to still, as if the world itself wanted to preserve the moment.

Then Luke stepped closer.

Without a word, he took your hand.

And as the three of you stood there, beneath the trees where love had once bloomed and returned to die, you looked up.

The stars shimmered above you.

Endless.

Quiet.

Hopeful.

Like maybe, just maybe, there was still something out there waiting to be healed.

Something worth fighting for.

Something worth remembering.

Something like hope.

---------------

I loved this rec, I hope it matched their expectations. Also sorry for the sad ending but at least it was happier than my other stuff. 💗 Tysm for reading everyone hope you enjoyed!!

[luveline]

Jade, if you don't mind, I'd love to see more of Spencer with a badass!reader who doesn't want to show much emotion bc it's a bit hard for her :)

Have a nice day<33

thank u!

cw graphic imagery + minor character death 

The gunshot is loud. It's deafening. It's deja vu. 

Spencer watches the body collapse in on itself with ears ringing, a pitching forward, a mess where a head used to be hitting the tiled floor. Barely a teenager, snuffed to nothing. You collapse onto your knees beside it, the sound of your knee caps connecting with the floor the only distinctive sound to his ears. He can't hear Hotch, rarely pissed, and he can't hear the sirens outside. He can't hear any of it. 

Blood spray on your cheek transfers to his hand as he remembers himself, falling onto his knees beside you, gore sinking into his pants. It's hot in its pool, colder where it's painted your face, the spray metallic as he swipes it away from your eyelashes. "Are you okay?" he asks, trying to meet your eyes. 

Your gaze is a thousand miles away. You won't look at him. He forces your chin up and it doesn't matter; you aren't present, no you behind your eyes. 

He applies pressure to your face. Nothing cruel, enough to drag you back to the present as his thumb sets about stroking a soft line, the only softness he can offer right now. "Are you okay?" he asks again. He says your name. 

You barely blink. 

"Take her outside, Reid," Hotch says, pointless EMTs creeping into the room. They're there to confirm death. Nothing else. "Just take her out." 

Spencer hooks you under the arms and drags you up against his chest. You're rigid, dead weight, and he has to plead with you to get you moving. "Come on," he says, his arm behind your back. 

Morgan sees the struggle. He has questions of his own, but all his off-kilter teasing and pet names fall on deaf ears as the two men help you outside and onto a low flower bed wall. You seem to snap back into action, then, breath suddenly quick and hands stretching out to touch your blood slick knees. You visibly fret at the staining of your palms and wipe your hands down your calves, a bundle of harsh movements. 

"It's okay," Spencer says. 

"Does she need a medic?" Morgan asks. He sounds angry, somehow. Spencer knows it to be a manifestation of his worry for you in your reluctant friendship. 

You turn to Spencer, eyes imploring. 

"No," Spencer says, "just give us a minute." 

Morgan squints. A minute, he seems to agree, and not a second longer. You're quick to anger, sure, but quicker to logic, and your shock is catching everyone unprepared. You've never reacted like this. Spencer has never seen you on your knees like that. 

"I'm sorry," you say, touching his thigh. Your voice is barely your own, thready and hoarse. "I tried." 

"I know you tried. I know you did, you have nothing to be sorry for." Spencer's reeling himself. They haven't had a case like this in years, and it hits the same. Another bullied kid failed by the people around him, who could've hurt hundreds of people, who could've killed them, and killed you. It's complicated but remarkably simple. "He was going to hurt you." 

"We could've–" You choke on something, some suggestion of a what-if.

You don't let yourself connect to people on cases. You have sympathy for victims, empathy, but you don't react like this. You're like Emily in that you compartmentalise everything you can. You've never spoken about past cases and what you might change, never even suggested to him that you think about your failings after they've happened, until now. 

"I don't know what happened," you say, your voice near whining, high-pitched and logged with panic as you stare down at your legs and cover your face, as though you don't want him to see you. 

You turn away from him. 

"It's okay," he says. He tries to be soft but his adrenaline is coasting, his reassurance panicked. You sound like you're in pain. 

"I don't know what happened," you insist, covering the back of your head with your hands as you curl in on yourself. 

You don't cry. Spencer wasn't expecting you too. You just panic, tensed, turned away from him, and flinch at his attempts to touch you. "Don't. I'm fine," you force out. 

"You're not fine. You don't have to be fine," he stands up and you flicker, hands pushing down harder. Spencer covers them with his own and sighs. "It's okay. It's okay." He drops to a whisper. "It's okay, you're okay." 

You're hard to comfort, but it's not impossible. Spencer isn't stupid. He knows if this were anyone else touching you, you'd have sprung from your makeshift seat or pushed them away, but he's lucky in that you seem to have this tender spot for him, a sweetness that never wanes. He drifts in closer and hugs your head to his abdomen, one arm covering your hands until they fall, the other across your back. 

Your job is your job, but there is nothing wrong with needing comfort after seeing something horrific. "It's okay if you don't feel how you were expecting," he says, rubbing a half-circle into your back.

"It's hard… for me. This is…" 

You don't finish. It doesn't matter. Spencer paused any action to hold you, his eyes shuttering closed, dumb to any sound beside the strange shudder in your breath as you catch it. You've always had a talent for removing Spencer from his surroundings; you've looked at him and snagged him out of time. He never knew it could happen like this, though. You struggle to fall apart and Spencer doesn't know if he should hold you together or let it hurt. 

Whatever you do… "I'm here," he says, rubbing your back. 

You wrap your arms around his waist. 

[unsuperingyournatural]

weathering the storm

Joel Miller x Female Reader x Negan

The safe house hadn’t been the plan. It was supposed to be a quick stop—grab supplies, rest for the night, and move on. But the world had other ideas. A storm had rolled in fast, the kind that made traveling impossible, and then there were the raiders. A group had caught wind of them, tracking too close for comfort, forcing the three of you to hole up in the abandoned cabin longer than expected.

The space was tight, a single room with boarded-up windows, a fireplace that barely did its job, and just enough supplies to last if no one got greedy. But the real problem wasn’t outside. It was in here—with Joel, Negan, and their never-ending goddamn posturing.

You were used to it by now, the sharp words, the glares that carried weight, the way every conversation between them felt like a test of dominance. But tonight, the tension was different—heavier. It coiled in the air, thick and suffocating, pressing in on all sides.

Negan leaned against the rickety dining table, flipping a knife between his fingers, his eyes gleaming with something too smug for your liking. “So, what’s the plan, boss man?” he asked, voice dripping with mockery. “Or are we just sittin’ on our asses, waitin’ to die?”

Joel, who had been by the window checking for movement, exhaled sharply. “The plan is to stay put until morning. Unless you feel like stepping outside and introducing yourself to the fine folks who’d love to put a bullet in your head.”

Negan grinned, slow and deliberate. “Aw, Joel, you do care.”

Joel turned, his expression dark. “I care about keepin’ us alive. Don’t mistake that for givin’ a damn about you.”

Negan’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened. “Funny, ‘cause last I checked, I ain’t the dead weight here.” He flicked his gaze to you then, something unreadable in his eyes. “Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

You stiffened at the sudden shift, at the way Negan dragged you into it like a live wire sparking between them. Joel’s posture changed instantly, his body angling slightly in front of you, as if Negan’s words alone were a threat.

“Don’t bring her into this,” Joel said, voice low and edged with warning.

Negan chuckled, tapping the knife against the table. “Why not? She’s been playin’ mediator since day one. Poor thing’s gotta be tired of it.”

You were. But you weren’t about to let them know just how much.

“Drop it,” you muttered, rubbing at the tension in your temples.

But Negan wasn’t one to let things go, and Joel wasn’t one to back down. The space between them crackled, something unspoken but felt, something neither of them would dare acknowledge outright. And you—caught between them—were stuck feeling all of it.

Negan’s gaze flicked back to Joel, his smirk faltering just slightly, replaced by something sharper, something dangerous. “You think I don’t see it?” he said, voice quieter now, more deliberate. “The way you look at her? The way you act like you’ve already staked your claim?”

Joel’s jaw tensed. “Watch your mouth.”

Negan laughed under his breath, but there was no real humor in it. “Nah, see, that’s the thing. I think it bugs the hell outta you that she doesn’t belong to you. That she’s got choices. And maybe, just maybe, I’m one of ‘em.”

You felt the weight of those words slam into the room like a hammer. The air turned electric, thick with something more than just animosity. It was jealousy. Possessiveness. Frustration tangled up with something neither of them was willing to admit.

Joel took a step forward, the space between him and Negan shrinking. “She ain’t a prize to be won.”

Negan arched a brow, pushing off the table. “Never said she was. But that don’t mean you ain’t acting like you already got your hands on the trophy.”

Your pulse kicked up, your body thrumming with a mix of irritation and something you didn’t want to name. You should have stopped this before it got worse, should have stepped in and shut it down. But part of you—some reckless, shameful part—wanted to see where it would go.

Negan’s grin turned mean. “Besides, you’re not exactly a spring chicken anymore, old man. Maybe she wants someone who’s still got a little fire left in him.”

Joel’s fist clenched at his side, his body a coiled wire ready to snap. You saw it happening before it did, and before he could make his move, you took a step forward, voice softer now, imploring. “Joel.”

His eyes snapped to you, just for a second, before flicking back to Negan.

“You afraid, Joel?” Negan taunted. “Afraid she might wanna see what it’s like with a man who knows how to have a little fun?”

Joel moved before you could stop him. One second he was still, the next his fist crashed into Negan’s jaw, sending the other man stumbling back against the table. Negan wiped at the blood on his lip, looking more amused than pissed, and lunged forward.

You reacted on instinct, stepping between them before it could go any further. “Enough!” you snapped, shoving Joel back before turning on Negan. “Both of you, stop acting like idiots! You're going to draw attention and get us killed!”

Joel’s chest heaved, his eyes still locked on Negan, his hands shaking with the effort of restraint. Negan, for once, didn’t have a witty comeback. He just smirked, rolling his shoulders like he’d enjoyed the fight a little too much.

You looked between them, frustration burning in your veins. “We are stuck in this goddamn cabin with raiders outside, a storm trapping us in, and you two wanna fight like children over—” You stopped yourself before saying me. Before making this even worse.

Instead, you exhaled sharply. “Grow the hell up. Both of you.”

The silence that followed was thick, punctuated only by the wind rattling the shutters. Finally, Joel took a step back, breathing hard. Negan grinned, tongue swiping over his split lip, and let out a low chuckle.

“Damn,” he mused, rubbing his jaw. “Knew you had it in you, Miller.”

Joel just shook his head, muttering something under his breath before stalking away. Negan watched him go, then turned his gaze back to you, something unreadable in his expression.

You’d known Negan a long time—before all this, before the world had turned to hell. Back when he’d been just another survivor with a sharp tongue and a knack for getting under people’s skin. Maybe that was why he got under yours so damn easily.

“Feisty little thing, ain’t you?” he murmured. But for once, there was no teasing in his voice. Just something heavier. Something that sent your stomach twisting in ways you weren’t ready to face.

You didn’t answer. Just turned on your heel and walked away, going to check on Joel. You found him sitting on the edge of the cot, knuckles bruised, shoulders hunched. Without a word, you sat beside him, resting a hand over his closed fist, a quiet reassurance. He looked at you for a moment before dropping his gaze, his shoulders easing just slightly beneath your touch. You felt yourself exhale, some of the tension in your own body unraveling as the heat of his skin grounded you, the steady rise and fall of his breath pulling you back from the storm of the night.

Across the room, Negan watched with a taut jaw before turning away, heading toward the door. He peered out into the storm, but his mind wasn’t on the weather. It was on you—on the way you reached for Joel, on the softness in your touch. Something deep in his gut twisted, ugly and unwanted, though he refused to name it. With a quiet huff, he pulled his coat tighter around himself, eyes narrowed against the night.

[afyrian]

my fingers for you sugawara koshi x gn!reader (fluff) m.list | wc: 1k | synopsis: you wrap presents together

    the windows reveal just how late it's gotten, your porch lights shining through into the dining room. the light amber color illuminates the presents sitting beside you. their boxes stacked high as you stare at the assortment of wrapping paper, unable to get started. pursing your lips, you finally grab a tan wrapping paper, a white plaid overlay giving it a nostalgic look.

  grabbing one of sugawara's present, a set of handmade mugs that are covered in paintings of different office supplies, you set the box on top of the wrapping paper. measuring it out, you grab a nearby pair of scissors and start the process. you let it drag across the roll until you reach the end and the piece is successfully on its own. 

  picking off a piece of tape with your finger and thumb, you tape down both sides of the box. taking in deep breath, you take another drink of coffee, trying to keep yourself awake. "hun, you coming to bed soon?" sugawara calls from the staircase, leaning against the railing with a hand rubbing his eyes.

  "not yet, just trying to wrap these presents since we've been so busy," you look back towards him, maneuvering the box so he can't see the store's name on the box. 

  he raises his eyebrows, pursing his lips. the two of you typically hate heading to bed alone, unable to sleep without the other by their side. walking down the rest of the stairs, he sits down beside you, crossing his legs in front of him while resting his hand on your thigh. pressing his forehead on your shoulder, he closes his eyes, "who's present are we wrapping now?"

  "well, i'm wrapping your present right now," you smile, folding down the sides and bring up a triangle of the paper to tape against the side of the box. 

  lifting his head, he looks towards the box, narrowing his eyes. "really?" sugawara peers towards the present, smiling maliciously as you turn the last unwrapped side away from him.

  there's a look in his eyes that makes you want to show him the present in that moment. that he could ask you for anything in the dead of night and you'd find a way to make it work. bringing your thumb up to your mouth, you bite at your nail, trying to hide your sleep-deprived smile. "give me that look again and you'll ruin the surprise," you turn back to the gift, quickly finishing the last side so that the glint in his eyes can't stop you.

  sugawara looks back to you, making sure you can see the gentle smile twitching on his lips. bringing his hands up to your cheeks, he gives you a short kiss, letting his thumbs rest upon your cheekbones. sighing into your lips, he leans back, "alright, i’ll stop now. care to show me which present is next?" 

  pointing to the top of the pile, you spot your brother’s present, a new science educational book that he’d been looking forward to. sugawara picks it up, not expecting the weight that comes with the book. “be careful, it feels like it’ll rip the wrapping paper,” he whispers, handing it off to you.

  “i have wrapped heavier gifts, so let the expert finish their craft,” you smile towards him, whispering as well, acting like you have some reason to be doing so.

  setting it down onto the wrapping paper, you start folding the sides up and over, pulling slightly under the weight. and almost like sugawara had the power of foresight, you can hear the sound of a clean rip. upon hearing that annoying noise, you can feel sugawara’s eyes on you. staring at the ground, you smile. “you have to look at me eventually, oh expert of wrapping paper.”

  “no i don’t,” you shrug your shoulders, biting your lip, “i can just tie a ribbon around the not-rip.”

  he brings his hands back up to your cheeks, tilting your head back to him. closing your eyes, you start to laugh under his touch, knowing that he’s waiting patiently for you to finally look at him. conceding, your eyes open up to look at him while biting your upper lip to stop any further laughter, “told you so.”

  “did you koshi? i don’t even remember talking about it…” you shake your head under his hands, nose crinkling as he rolls his eyes. 

  sugawara lowers his hands and motions back to the wrapping paper, watching as you fold it back up with as much love as you did with the last. he’s always enjoyed watching you wrap presents. watching your hands work their best to create a beautifully crafted gift, it’s always brought a smile to his face. 

  looking back to him, hand picking up a longer ribbon, your eyes staying on his. “would you mind?” you question, wrapping it around the underside of the box.

  “my fingers are always here for you,” sugawara looks back towards you, resting his finger on where the ribbon intersects, crossing so you can create a little bow.

  tying a small bow into the ribbon, he removes his finger. moving his hand to the small of your back, his eyes stay on your face as you curl the ends of the bow strings. a smile curls into his lips, gaze unable to break from the soft light that bounces off of your face. not even the unbreakable stare you have and your tongue sticking out of your mouth in concentration can defer his love.

  “thank you, koshi, you’re making this process much more enjoyable.”

  “anything for you darling,” he leans forward, kissing your cheek before grabbing the next present for you. it’s one that’s in a mysterious cardboard box, immediately intriguing sugawara and his sticky fingers.

  pulling away at the side, you catch his suspicious behavior, grabbing the box from his hands. “that’s your other present, so leave it alone or i’m returning it,” you set it down on a new wrapping paper roll, the red and green trees making a beautiful mix, “and don’t you dare try to look at me with those gorgeous eyes again.”

gen. taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia @bakery-anon

@nekozaki @nnnyxie @kameyyy @nectardaddy (i had to tag you)

[holly-fixation]

Sane Safer Sephiroth AU: Real Mother

Ask and you shall recieve @yingxtkm . Part 1

"Your real mother is still alive."

Sephiroth slowly closed his eyes, suppressing the bubble of hope in his chest. Suppressing it to the truth. He made no effort to move. He couldn't help the small wince on his face.

"...I deserve that."

Cloud turned to Nanaki. "I told you this was a waste of time."

"Wait, Sephiroth, what do you mean?" The protector questioned.

Tired reptilian eyes met them both. Another silent pause in thought.

"...It doesn't require explanation." His gaze hit the illuminated wall, glowing from both the light of noon and the radiance of his halo. "Though I'm surprised to see your team using such tactics."

Cloud glared. "Stop avoiding the question."

Sephiroth sighed, his massive black wing curling and slumping. He closed his eyes. "Have you forgotten I killed your mother, Cloud?"

Cloud's fist clenched. "Stop. Deflecting. Now."

Nanaki stopped Cloud from stepping forward.

"Its only natural to cause emotional pain when physical pain is impossible."

The two locked eyes again and it finally clicked.

"Sephiroth, we're not lying to you."

"This is useless. I made all your desires your despair in order to control you and I regret every moment. This is the one and only topic I ask you to let be."

Cloud fought the instinct to scream and fight, to dig his heels in like a child and attack this new weak point. "Sephiroth, your mother is alive!"

"Cease this, Cloud. I do not wish to run or to harm. Do not push me to break this silent agreement." The silent agreement being their unspoken promise not to kill Sephiroth until they figured out how to keep him from coming back, and Sephiroth promising not to attack the team or flee from their judgment.

"Her name is Lucrecia Crescent, she was a scientist working under Hojo in the Jenova Project, and she- like you- can't die easy-"

"My mother is dead." Came his cold response.

"She gave birth to you in Nibelhiem and Hojo never even let her hold you!"

"My mother is dead."

"Her biggest regret is not being able to save you!"

"My Mother Is Dead, Cloud." Sephiroth swore his voice echoed throughout the canyon itself.

"This isn't some pathetic attempt at revenge!"

"We know where she is!" Nanaki interjected.

Sephiroth's hands tightened, the claw cutting straight into his flesh. He didn't answer.

They turned to each other again.

Nanaki shook his head lowly. "Vincent's going to kill us."

Cloud held his hands over his face. "Yeah. I'm well aware. Run back. Get Cid. Tell him we're leaving at midnight."

Nanaki nodded and ran out.

Cloud purposefully separated his sword and sheathed them individually. Then he approached. "Don't try anything funny."

"...Don't do this, Cloud..."

"You don't get to tell me what to do." The blond yanked him up to his wings, the unconscious pattern for flight beginning immediately without resistance.

"I deserve this fate. I deserve this punishment."

"Are you sure you're not Vincent's kid?" Cloud began dragging the godlike form out of the cave.

"I have no right to ask anything of you. I am at your mercy. Have mercy. Don't do this..." The ethereal weight of his voice didn't vanish despite the softness he desperately tried to convey.

"Shut up. We're going to the airstrip."

Sephiroth did not speak as Cloud escorted him, his halo beaming in reluctance and his wings curled and mechanical. They waited in a much closer cave for the sun to go down. Not when it mattered with a give away almost visible from the other side of the canyon.

The pilot wasn't happy when arriving at the clear rendezvous point.

"Oh hell no! Do y'all think I'm crazy!? I ain't gotta death wish!"

"Cid, if he wanted to burn me to death, he would've done it by now. Though he might blind you with that halo, so don't look directly at it."

"God damn it, Cloud... the hell you gettin' us into this time? And why'd you have me hide this trip from Vincent specifically?"

"We need to go to the biggest waterfall in the center of the continent."

"Visitin' the missus again? Thought she didn't wanna be bothered."

"She'll want this."

Cid started a new cigarette with a sigh. "Alright. All aboard. But you better keep flyin'. I ain't wastin' fuel on you."

Sephiroth kept his head down and nodded.

The flight itself was relatively short, yet it ended as the captain let out a loud "GOD DAMN IT!"

Apparently, the airship couldn't land wherever Cloud was taking Sephiroth.

Cloud sighed loudly. "Okay. Let's head to Costa del Sol and get on the submarine."

"Hold on." Sephiroth didn't give Cloud or Nanaki a moment to react before grabbing them both and dashing out of and off of the ship.

Cloud immediately stabbed his arm, this time the blade going through his chest due to their active contact.

Sephiroth fought the instinct of tending to the wound and drop them both, landing both true heroes softly in front of the waterfall.

He removed all of Cloud's blades from his body and returned them to their owner. Then he looked around as his body healed before their very eyes, at the waterfall and the lake it created.

"What the hell was that!?"

"I do not wish to delay this charade any longer."

"It's not-!" Red tried to explain.

"Just go under the waterfall. And no more sudden movements or I'm getting Knights of the Round!"

Sephiroth nodded again and led the way, barely fitting inside the entrance to the crystal cavern.

Inside, he met the barrel of a gun.

"Get out." Vincent growled like a cornered animal.

Sephiroth did not move or provide explanation.

"Vincent, wait!"

"She doesn't deserve this."

"If he's serious about this redemption, she deserves to see him."

"Let her atone for her sins."

"If they both can't die, at least let them meet each other."

"Leave. Now."

Sephiroth scanned the room as Cloud and Vincent debated. He didn't realize he moved or how fast he moved when he saw a figure in a crystal with brown hair wrapped with gold ribbon.

Vincent fired, the bullet sinking into the black wing, but Sephiroth did not turn.

His hand hovered above her face.

This crystal was too much like Her specimen tube. He lowered his hand. He held that exact face under his arm before entering the Lifestream the first time.

"I never imagined you to be so cruel, Cloud..."

"This isn't a trick!"

"What is he talking about?"

"Vincent, he doesn't believe that's really his mother."

Nanaki shouted over the argument and drawn weapons with the voice of a child. "Those you hate, those you fear, those you love! You said that yourself, right? This is who Jenova copied! This is who you loved!"

It couldn't be real.

His palm touched the crystal, vaguely feeling a semblance of her warmth.

Are you sure you've never seen her? The question he used to ask everyone flooded his mind.

"...Mother...?" Barely a whisper of a call left his mouth, the weakest and most pathetic sound he could muster in this godly form.

Yet the crystal remained, trapping the woman he so desperately needed to meet.

Even if there was still a chance this was retribution for his deeds and the woman before him wasn't real at all.

He slammed on the crystal, a crack forming immediately.

He heard the sound of transformations behind him. He felt the being try to tear him away as he kept banging and cracking the containment.

Each attack of his allowed attacks to land.

The crystal shattered. The woman slowly opened her eyes.

Her pained, sad eyes, blue orbs holding the same sorrow as his locket.

Then they widened.

"Mother...?" He spoke with the same delicacy, like any louder would shatter the woman to the shards she stood on.

"Sephiroth...? Is that really you...?"

He should be asking the same thing, but he tongue was caught on the repetition of the word Mother. He forced a different answer out slowly.

"You're alive...?"

"I can't call this living... I am so sorry. I never should've agreed to that experiment. I couldn't do anything to save you. I couldn't hold you. I couldn't help you. I brought you into this world, and I couldn't do a thing... And now you're this... you can't die either..."

But none of it mattered as his hands slowly wrapped around her before finally making contact at the end of her regrets, pulling her softly against his half inhuman chest.

"You're alive..." Mako tears stained her white dress.

"I'm a failure... Who would want this for a mother?"

"Who would want this for a son...?" He heard blades sheath as her arms wrapped around him.

"I'm sorry I made you this..."

He shook his head of silver hair. "You didn't do this. Don't blame yourself for this."

More pity. More tears. More grief and regret before they finally left the cave.

Her guilt, even now, stopped her from going with them. She promised only a few more years and she'd join him. But the pain was still too much.

However, Lucrecia gave Vincent very specific directions to locate her favorite recipe for pumpkin soup in Shinra Manor.

The team rotated with weekly shifts to check on Sephiroth in Cosmo Canyon, assuming he would quickly lose his mind without his real mother.

None realized he felt... content.

He learned of his mother's favorite flowers and favorite foods. He learned what she did to relax and entertain. He learned about her.

He spent the years in between protecting without concern and trying all of his mother's favorite things.

No. This solitude and awkward truce was the happiest time of his life.

And he did, in fact, love her pumpkin soup.

[edgeray]

One Hell of a Butler Pt. 3

Nightmare (Arlecchino x Fem! Reader Blurb)

A/N: Since y'all seem to really like the demon butler concept, I made another one, also because I wanted to. This one isn't quite as long or plot heavy, but I thought this was cute and I was in the mood for hurt/comfort. I'm such a sucker for this trope. Content Warning: Semi-graphic descriptions of violence, panic attack Series Masterlist

Crimson blood. Fractured bones. Broken limbs. You lie on the ground, shivering, panting, crying. Your muscles betray you, unwilling to obey your command to move as you could do no more than stare. Your legs are limp, only dead weight as you try to crawl in what's a pool of your own blood, you presume. The sting of your aching fingertips sears through your mind, dragging yourself across the floor through sheer grip strength. You don't get very far with your pace, you're far too exhausted and injured to escape. Drowsiness overwhelms you and your eyes beg for rest. Everything blurs, you're only able to make out the color of the concrete floor and the scarlet that seeps from your body. 

A shadow approaches, looming over you as it nears, reaching out its hand. 

And you lurch forward, jolting awake. 

Heart palpitating and breath panting, you wake up to sweat-covered silks and a dark bedroom, alone. You clutch your chest as the closest attempt of grounding yourself, your nails digging into your skin as you struggle against the bed sheets. Finally, you're released from the silk confines, and anxiously flounder over to your nightstand, a shaky, desperate hand searching for the nearest light source: the nightstand lamp. You turn it on after another few moments of fumbling for the switch and then the room illuminates slightly, enough to allow you to find the handle of the knife beside the bed. Your eyes skitter back and forth across the length of your bedroom in search of anyone, and realize, with a shuddering relieved exhale, that no one was there.

Still, the hold on the handle doesn't loosen one bit. You sit up right in your bed, your panicked and alert mind anticipating for an intruder to come in, a monster to come out of the shadows. 

Then there's a knock. On the door. 

Everything inside you stiffens, your gaze hyper fixated on the door as you raise the blade in your hand to a ready position. Another series of knocks occur, and then the doorknob turns with an audible creak that echoes throughout the still room.  

Metal flies from your hand as you throw the knife with pinpoint accuracy at the newcomer, but the figure merely catches the blade in between two blackened fingers. You don't even manage to register the extraordinary feat that was just done, only the onslaught of terror that reigns over your thoughts, ridding all sense of rationality and awareness. 

They've come to hurt you, they've come to hurt you, they've come to h-

“My Lady?” a familiar voice sounds out, one that you found comfort in. You search for it, but she's not there. Where is she? Where is she? Where is she, she's not here, no one's here to save you, you were never saved-

“My Lady,” the same person calls out again. 

Where is she? Why can't you find her? The steps of heels click against the wooden floor and near you, and you know that they're coming. Yet, you can't find your resolve to do anything in your state of paralysis, and once again you're now in the cell where you were beaten, broken, and bloodied, and they've come to do the very same things to you once again and you can't even lift a finger to do anything, not even to scream. Your voice is gone and you have no way to escape as they round the bed, trapping you, encasing you. The silk covers feel like shackles, heavy despite the thinness, your limbs are entangled and they reach their hand out to hurt you once again-

“My Lady,” the sweet voice repeats, and this time it's closer, much closer. It's the third time she calls out to you and you only want to hide in the security she provides. “It's me. I'm here.”

The figure that stands by your side does nothing. It doesn't move, but you try to anticipate its next movements. Why aren't they hurting you again? Why haven't they done anything yet? 

“It’s Arlecchino. Say it.” 

That's right, the voice is Arlecchino. Summon her, summon her, only she can protect you, only she can keep you safe, you need her. You open your lips to speak and you're able to dislodge the obstruction in your throat as you whisper the softest of calls. 

“Arlecchino,” you rasp out, voice strained and hardly audible, but it's not enough. You extend out your hand, seeking hers. More choked and fragile pleas escape your lips. “Arlecchino. Arlecchino. Arlecchino, Arl-"

A hand, cold to the touch, and black as the abyss reaches out, clasping with your outstretched one, intertwining your fingers. Despite the chilling contact, it warms you and soothes your beating heart, each labored breath lessening. A physical reminder that she's here with you now. Your eyes traverse over the ebony skin, from the red fingertip nails, which trace your skin tenderly; to the palmar, with its distinct markings and lines; to the wrist, covered by the carmine ruffled ends of her sleeves; from her sleeves to the entirety of her, until you recognize the figure standing by your bedside is her, your demon. 

She's here, you recognize. 

It's ironic, how a demon is able to quell your fears, dissipating them as easily as she does with your enemies. This being of hell, this monster of terror, this inhumane being, surpassing capabilities far beyond human, consoles–how much blood has she spilled with this very hand that you hold? Are you that decrepit, deprived of human connection that you find quiet solace in this creature’s hold?

You're hardly surprised. 

Her touch lingers as your breathing finally evens out, slowing to that of its typical pace. During that time, she says nothing, only the steady flow of oxygen in and out of you filling the room, and it seems like hours before she breaks the silence. 

“Would you like some chamomile tea?” She asks, raising a hand to brush a strand aside from your face. You finally notice the cup of tea she's placed on the nightstand. With a shake of your head, you scooch forward in the bed, giving you ample space to finally lay back down, your hand still grasping onto hers when you turn on your side, back facing her. 

“Arlecchino.” You whisper out breathlessly, but somehow, she's still able to hear. 

“Yes, my Lady?” 

There's a brief pause, before you answer, “You'll do anything I say, right?” 

“As per our contract, yes.” 

Another moment of silence, this one longer than the last. “Turn off the lights.” 

She does. The room returns to darkness but you're not nearly as disturbed by this anymore. 

“Do demons sleep?” You inquire. 

“Though our bodies don't necessitate it, we can slumber.” 

Again, the state of wordlessness falls between the two of you. Arlecchino nearly pulls away, but your grip on her fingers tighten. 

“Stay.” Then you add quickly, “That's an order.”

Arlecchino’s low chuckle echoes throughout your bedroom. There's the shuffling of fabric, some movements made by the butler but her hand remains in place with yours. Shortly after, she raises the covers and slips underneath. Her cold front presses against your back and her breath brushes against your nape.

“Will you stay the whole night?” 

“I'll stay as long as you want me to, my Lady.” 

[opal-owl-flight]

Ooh boy, so, how do all the agents feel about the 70mil quota? And the fact it's at 90 mil last I checked....

Also, agents favorite grizzco weapons?

(They dont have fave grizzco weapons bc they dont want to associate with this sleazeball corporation KWJWKJ

More stuff abt the feelings below, though!)

Watching the decimation happening before her, Neo3 can only lay on the ground and cry. Thats everyone. Everything shes done. Shes known. Stolen away in a single night. All her power is nothing before the might of the eternal hunger of this banal evil.

What else can be done?

Her captain comes over, carrying a single egg. She starts, theyre not supposed to be on the field.

Is...it over?

They held the egg close, their voice, barely above a whisper. An apology.

"Im sorry."

She smells the devastation in their scent. Their mask hid nothing. And at that moment, they didnt even try. The marks of dried tears glowed on their face. Their voice is hoarse. Their form slumped, exhausted.

She knows theyve been trying to negotiate peace between the surrounding nations for several years, at this point. Alongside everything else.

Theyre fighting her fight.

What a dishonorable salmonid she is. Laying herself down like this, sneaking around - but she knew better than to do anything rash, now. She knew that will get her killed, or captured, or worse. She cant...she cant risk her captain getting injured again. They just got better.

"Really, I am."

At their soft words, she moves closer to them. Gentle, yet calloused hands, pick her up into a gentle hug. In this hug she can smell their guilt. In this hug she can smell their despair, their powerlessness. And yet...the scent of quiet fury simmers beneath.

They were just like her, in ways she didnt know yet. They too, ran away from their clan, after believing themself a dishonor to them. To save themself. They too, were dragged into a war their ancestors waged. Forced to carry the hopes and dreams of an age long gone.

The dream has changed, but they fight on, all the same.

She hugs them back, feeling the scars under their gear, the oldness of their body. Theyve been fighting longer than she has. With what she can only imagine is a spirit that can rival an elder survivor.

Shes a survivor, too, even if her means were more dishonorable than she wants it to be -- this over-reliance on others to fight her fights instead of doing it all herself, especially an elder survivor -- Has she stooped that low? Elders were meant to stay back, to watch over everyone. This one can barely fight for long anymore. What kind of salmon is she? (Just like 3, shes yet to fully realize the value of accepting help.)

And yet theyre here.

A squid who smelled of yearning, haunted by a past that they drag the dead weight of, ever forward.

Haunted by the specter of what they couldve been. Haunted by their mistakes. Yearning to be a squid that theyre not, anymore. To take the harm their entire nation has done and carry its consequences, all on their own. Be that hero, just like before.

...

And despite all that, their painful joints and trembling form, memories that drown them in yearning, theyre here. Still here. Fighting for their future. Her future. Everyones future.

"...Rest...now." they whisper. "Even one...saved...is still a life."

Their hands trembled, too. Maybe thats why theyre not signing. She held the egg they saved, gingerly, in her hands.

It reflected her face. It reflected her captain.

Its so fragile. All of it.

[sourw0lfs]

My 'Steve gets taken instead of Barb' AU has been churning in my brain for a couple of weeks now and I'm desperate to give it some love and attention, even if I have other WIPs that need my attention more, so I'm throwing a sneak peek out into the world <3

~*~*~*~

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?”

Steve’s voice is little more than a frantic whisper as he tries to right himself, hands and feet scrambling under him as they slide on… he doesn’t even know what that is, but it feels disgusting under his fingers. And he wants— No, he needs to get away from it now.

He also desperately needs to get away from whatever the fuck is growling nearby.

Finally he gets some kind of traction and propels himself out of… Steve doesn’t stop to look around and find out. Instead he just heaves himself up and takes off for the line of dead, decrepit trees he can see in the distance. His breaths come in harsh pants and he wants to look over his shoulder, to see if what he heard is chasing him, but he doesn’t. Instead he keeps his eyes forward, pushing as much as he can to create distance between himself and whatever the fuck that thing is.

It’s only once the burn in his legs is too much to bear that Steve stops. His palms find his knees as he doubles over, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath again. Every muscle in his body feels like it’s going to shake free with how much he’s tremble, both from the exertion and the fear, and it’s all Steve can do to keep his feet under him.

Around him, the world is quiet, broken only by the strained gasps.

Once he finally feels like he might not pass out from lack of air, Steve straightens up and looks around. It’s hard to make anything out in the dark, but he can see the faint outline of bare trees and dark shadows of undergrowth. There’s something off about it all, a sense of wrongness coming over him as he looks around. The area looks familiar and foreign at the same time and he didn’t even know something could do that.

Turning back the way he’d come from, Steve takes a single step before hissing in pain and crumpling to the ground. The rush of adrenaline that fueled his escape is gone now, leaving only a sharp sting down the bottom half of his right leg in its wake. Fingers shaking, Steve prods at the area, whimpering to himself a bit when it makes the pain worse. His fingers come back dark and wet.

Blood.

Whatever it is that grabbed him has also shredded the skin of his leg in the process. Perfect, great, fantastic, amazing.

Sob ripping free of its own volition, Steve falls back. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know a damn thing about dealing with fucking claw marks. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know how to reach help. He doesn’t know if that thing is coming back. He doesn’t know what to do.

Tears slide down from his eyes, down his face to his ears, but Steve doesn’t make any move to wipe them away. Instead he just lays there, staring up at the discomfortingly red sky above him. He’s never seen a red sky before. It would maybe be pretty to look at if he wasn’t spiraling and catastrophizing.

Lightning streaks across the dark clouds, and Steve startles at the sudden brightness of it. But it’s something. It’s enough to get him pushing himself back up, to wipe his eyes with dirty hands, to collect his thoughts again. His leg stings with each movement, but he knows he can’t stay on the ground. He has to go…somewhere. Anywhere but here. Except the part where Steve doesn’t know where he is.

The ground is wet under his palms as he drags himself towards on the twisted trees surrounding him. Reaching it, Steve reaches up to grab onto a branch, hoping and praying that it doesn’t crack under his weight, and uses it to pull himself up. The bark is dry and rough against his skin as he pulls, but the branch holds and Steve gets his feet under himself again.

Leaning heavily against the trunk as Steve tests how much weight he can put on his torn apart right leg. “Fuck!” he swears when the pain sears all the way up as soon as his foot touches the ground.

Another sob tears its way free as Steve leans on the dead tree for a moment, breathing heavily through his nose until the flash of pain fades away again. Once he can straighten up enough to look around again, Steve feels the need to sob again. He really has no idea where he’s at.

[gamequoteshowdown]

WARNING THIS POLL CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE FOLLOWING GAMES: Inscryption, Ghost Trick

Quote 1: "But what did I expect? You're a stupid stupid idiot gamer like the rest. And I easily outwitted you! I outwitted them all!" - P03, Inscryption

Quote 2: "What’s it like to feel pain? Does it make you feel alive?" - Yomiel, Ghost Trick

Propaganda under cut

Quote 1: P03 has many good quotes but I consider this his best for many reasons. It displays his cockiness by having him gloat about his victory prematurely, it displays his ego by having him brag about "outwitting everyone" (he really didn't, he just got lucky in a lot of aspects; the only person he technically "outwitted" was the player), and most importantly he calls the main character a "stupid stupid idiot gamer".

Quote 2:

ITS SO COOL. OUR MAN IS TORMENTING A GUY HE WANTS REVENGE ON. THIS IS RIGHT AFTER HE FORCED THE GUY TO WALK UP THE STAIRS ON BROKEN LEGS. HES SO FULL OF HATRED. he gets shot, his body ragdolls back and then is dragged back up like a puppet. He slams his hand on a burning stovetop. He’s so mad. I’m saying things out of order I know but like chapter 15 is so so good I just play through it for fun sometimes. God. I had seen an out of context screenshot of this specific line and was looking forward to it the whole game. Imagine you’re a guy who hasn’t been able to feel anything for 10 years. You’re face to face with one of the people who’s actions led to your death, your fate of puppeting everything around you but never experiencing any of it in a tangible way. He’s collapsed in pain because of what you’ve done. You’re taunting him because you want him to suffer, but even in his suffering, he has something that he stole from you. You can’t help but let out a jeer. “What’s it like to feel pain? Does it make you feel alive~?” Sure, it probably makes him feel like he wishes he wasn’t alive. But that’s part of living too, isn’t it? And isn’t that ironic? That even as you’re clawing him apart as some desperate misplaced revenge, he gets what you’ll never have again? Mind you, Yomiel at this point is like. Really fucked up. I’m writing this assuming anyone reading this propaganda either doesn’t care about spoilers or already Knows, but the fandom has trained me well so I gotta give one last warning lol. This is Yomiel after his only friend, a cat who’s life he shared when he was a new ghost and hadn’t remembered himself yet, is dead. The one thing he cared about, and it was his fault. He missed the shot and killed his only friend. So like. He was always planning on taking revenge, but now he’s even more angry, and hurt, and he blames the people involved in the incident. I’m pretty sure he’s already figured out that Jowd had escaped but he had still killed Jowd’s wife and ruined his life. Cabanela is the other most responsible person for what happened in Yomiel’s mind, and oh is he going to make it slow, make it hurt. And that. That weight, behind the banger line, is what makes me feral.

Mod Note: I LOVE GT (thats it)

@sleepywabbit09 @stormcloudsandshadows @kirexa @ghost-trick-heritage-posts

[fruispunk]

Nightmares / Joel Miller

pairing: joel miller x f!reader genre: fluff/smut word count: 6544 premise:  you've taken up a new job in the QZ but the after affects have you riddled with nightmares. when joel miller, your long-time neighbor, friend, and colleague, hears sounds from your room adjacent to his own, his overthinking mind sends him into a jealous spiral. warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, she/her pronouns, soft joel is v love drunk, descriptions of dead bodies, mentions of death of children, casual ignorance of addressing trauma, the usual apocalyptical nonsense.

read on AO3

a/n: this is my first time writing joel so hopefully its not OOC please be kind, I appreciate any feedback! I know it isn't the most original concept but I just wanted to feel out writing for him. expect lots more pedro-centric fics on the way too :) ~

You bolted up right, sheets thrown off of you and a ragged breathe dragged its way desperately into your lungs. Your face was tear stained, your skin glistening with a sheen of stress induced sweat. Another bad dream had infiltrated your mind, disturbing what little rest you managed to find. This was the third time this week you had to rub your wet eyes, take some deep breathes and throw your head back down into your pillow in annoyance. Sleep would evade you once again.

Living in the Boston QZ was not necessarily the easiest life, but a lot of the time it beat living in fear, running from those things outside the walls. Or, it had done, until now. Until you took on a much more harrowing job. It paid more, sure, but it left your body aching and exhausted, and your mind in a state of unfathomable unease. It wasn't like burning bodies was anyone's dream job, but it was a job that had to be done, and one with sore consequences on your conscience.

Not that you were weak, but it wasn't like you could pick up the dead weight of a fully grown man and toss him onto the fire single handedly. So that left you with the smaller of bodies. The young women. The children. It was impossible to live in this world without seeing bloodshed, without being tormented by memories of lost loves ones, haunted by actions you wished you could take back or things you wished you'd done quicker. Everyone was plagued with something. Whether you were infected or not. That didn't make doing what you had to do any easier. Holding the limb body of a lifeless child could pain even the darkest of souls.

And that's what had been keeping you up. You'd seen family and friends succumb to disease. You'd seen people torn apart. You had slaughtered and killed and hacked away at plenty in your life - that is what surviving in this world cost. But seeing the piles of small nameless bodies stacked carelessly in the back of a van, dumped in silence into a fire they shared with so many you couldn't count. It hurt. Deeply. Death was not discriminatory to who she claimed as her own - taking too those who had barely started a life of their own. They didn't deserve this. They deserved a life of freedom. A life where they could be children. Where they could play, laugh. A life where when they died at an old age they would leave this world surrounding by people who loved them, who knew their name, who knew their life.

God, if you could only settle your head as easy as you overthought. You knew you could not always afford to be so sensitive or surrender to those innate emotional impulses you had in public. It was dangerous to been seen as weak. So you buried them inside and evidently, when your subconscious mind was allowed a little bit of freedom, all of those unaddressed issues and thoughts and worries poured out of you untameably.

When you left your assigned apartment (if you could call it that) in the morning, Joel was just locking his door. You weren't unaccustomed to the looks he gave you, and you looked forward to greeting him each morning, but the past week he had been rather... off. Distant. Not that Joel was particularly easy to get close to, or that you were extremely close anyway, but the daily nods of greeting as you worked had ceased. The offering of water on your work breaks or knocking on your door to offer leftover wine had stopped too, and casual conversation was no more. You were perplexed as to why. You thought of Joel as a friend, a strikingly good looking, strong, protective one that you harbored a little crush on. You'd be lying to yourself if you weren't feeling a little hurt by his distance.

"Morning," You offered, failing to fight back a yawn. Joel used to tease you when you were sleepy - scold you and tell you to get more rest. He was rarely ever too soft in his words, but you knew they came from a place of care. This morning he simply gave you a grunt in response. You shrugged it off. Maybe he just had a long night too?

As you both made your way out of the building and towards your shared work area for the morning you failed again to rid yourself of your yawn and Joel shot you a glare.

"Not sleep well?" He asked, but there was a striking lack of the usual care in his voice. It was more accusatory.

"Not one bit." You said casually, a little confused by his tone.

"Right." He said, bluntly. He didn't even give you the opportunity to ask what was wrong. He'd already got to work, storming off ahead of you. If you had the energy, and if the FEDRA soldiers scattered all over the QZ weren't watching the place like hawks you might have shouted at him, asked him what his problem was. Instead you sighed. Maybe he just wasn't in the mood for conversation right now?

Work dragged by as usual. Sometimes you felt a little outside of your own body when you worked, your mind checking out when the flames of the fire claimed another of the bodies - the smell of rotten burning flesh making your mind spin and your stomach churn. Ash clung to your hair and the fibers of your clothes. With your hands on your thighs, exhausted, you took a moment to catch your breath. Joel looked at you, and even through the protective goggles and mask you could see his unimpressed face.

"Tired. Sorry."

"Yeah," He said coldly, shooting back, "You're not the only one."

You stood a little dumbfounded at the harshness of his words. This wasn't a throw away comment relating to your struggle. It was angry. He never spoke to you like that. Not with such venom. Never.

You stood, eye to eye, sharing nothing but fumes bouncing from the top of each others heads. Before you even got the chance to say anything back you were being told off by a supervisor. 'No breaks without your pay being docked! Talking can wait! If talking is what Joel even wants to do.'

Joel kicked himself for that, and avoided looking at you for the rest of the working day, which he found much harder than he liked to admit. Looking to you was a brief solace for him on days when he had to burn bodies to feed himself. He had been happy to know you were going to work alongside him. Spend more time with him. You were like a light, warm and inviting, beckoning him in, and like a stupid little moth he spent most of his days drifting off towards you. Now, though, when he looked at you he wasn't filled with that calming enjoyable feeling spreading warm throughout his chest, he was filled instead with a deep gut flipping rage that made him feel sick.

It wasn't his fault. He couldn't help feeling the way he did. Not when you smiled at him more gently than he thought he deserved. Not when your eyes shined a little brighter as you greeted him than they did when greeting anyone else. And of course now he felt guilty because he had started taking his issues out on you. You couldn't help being so kind and sweet to him. He knew you were oblivious to his feelings for you because of course he wasn't very obvious at showing them. It wasn't your fault that he was overcome with jealousy at the thought of you with someone else. You were entitled to that - a grown women that he wasn't going to stop from making her own choices. It didn't mean he would be happy about it though.

He was angry at himself more than anything because, how had this happened? Most men kept their hands and eyes off you and their words to themselves anytime Joel gave them a warning look. He, be it intentionally or not, had an unspoken claim on you. So how, when his eyes were expertly trained on you at most times, had you found this lover you had taken up this past week?

Usually when you would finish your shift, you and Joel would wait for one another to hand in your time sheets and you'd walk back home together. Today however Joel stormed home, too angry to have a rational conversation with you which wouldn't end in him confessing how he felt or making a fool out of himself in public. You were disheartened to see him avoid your stare, which followed his broad shoulders and greying hair all the way down whatever street he had stormed off down until he rounded a corner and he was gone from your sight. The sigh that escaped you when you received your measly food tokens was for once not from the lack of good pay.

When the sky starts to darken and he knows you've made it home by the sounds of your keys jangling open your old rusted door lock he puts his head in his hands. He was practically doing this to himself. He knows he shouldn't. He knows he really really shouldn't. But he cant help himself. He sits up, waiting for you. Listening. Being as quiet as he can to hear for any distinguishable voice to identify your mysterious midnight caller. Nothing comes. No sneaking creek of your front door. No hushed voices. Nothing. Nothing but you that is. Nothing but your noises.

Small whines and gasps leave your lips and tumble into the room around you, echoing in the almost empty room and filtering through any old rotting walls that kept you and Joel from each other. It was driving him insane. To hear you like that. To imagine you writhing against someone else. Seeking pleasure from the hands he did not possess. It burned up in him. He hated that it made him half hard to imagine you bare against his own bed, under his own body.

It was a bad one tonight. A really bad one. Images of all the children you had burned came to you as you slept. Every single one. Their faces unrecognizable against the flames melting their flesh away. They came at you fast. They cried and they screamed and they begged and you did the same in return. You were shaking when you woke. Your mouth dry, your hair stuck to your forehead. You couldn't get back to sleep now. There was no point in trying.

The same as every night for Joel, your noises came to an abrupt stop. And the same as every night Joel had to restrain himself from going over, fists clenched until his knuckles were bright white. But this night, instead of the noises completely stopping, he hears your soft foot steps pat across the floor. In the deathly quiet he hears the smash of broken glass against your hard wood floor, and then, the recognisable heart wrenching sounds of your soft cries.

And he's up then. Without even thinking about it, he's flinging his apartment door open and banging his hand against your door. Hurried and panicked and immediately ready to do what had to be done to protect you! The five seconds from the minute he slammed his fist against your door to you opening it felt like an eternity to him. Where you alright? What had happened? Had your mystery lover hurt you? Do I have to break this door down?

Your heart felt like it jumped out your body when the banging came from your door. You stepped around the glass of water you had accidentally dropped and took your still shaking legs to your front door. You were thankful to see it was Joel through your peephole and not a FEDRA soldier.

The second you unlocked the door he flew into your place, eyes scanning all over the room.

"Where is he!" He almost shouts, without looking at you.

"What do you mean where is he?" You asked confused, "Where is who?"

"Your friend! You know who!" Joel spat at you.

"What are you talking about Joel? There isn't anyone here!" You raised your voice a little at him. He looked at you then. The fury in his eyes dying down as he saw your expression. You looked exhausted, upset. Tears wet your eyes and your cheeks were flushed. He saw the glass then on the floor in a small puddle of water. To your surprise he was looking just as confused as you were.

You noticed him look to the shattered glass, "I just...I just dropped a glass and it just, shocked me a little...I'm just tired."

"Of what?" He said, still a little mad, unsure of the situation he had walked in on.

"Are you angry at me right now?" You asked, a little fed up of his attitude, "Because...if you are I really can't do this right now. I've not been sleeping and-"

"Yeah I've heard." Joel replied flatly, trying to ignore how beautiful and inviting you looked in your little night dress.

"You...you've heard me?" You asked, quietly.

"Yes."

"Oh Joel, I'm so sorry..." You were bright red in an instant, and feeling incredibly guilty. 'Was this why he was so angry? Have I been keeping him up?' "I had no idea I was being so loud. My nightmares, they're really...they're really awful right now. I think its the new job or something..."

Now it was Joel's turn to feel embarrassed, "Wait, did you say nightmares?"

"Y-Yeah. They're like night terrors, or something. I didn't know the walls were so thin. If I had known I'd of slept at the other end of the room. I'm sorry Joel, I didn't mean to wake you." You were so apologetic and it made him want to die inside a little bit. Another wave of guilt washed over him. In his possessive depravity he had only your pleasure on his mind. It didn't even occur to him once that you might be struggling.

He sighed, and finally closed the door to your apartment. You silently wondered what the other neighbors were thinking. You bit your lip a little awkwardly as he sat down at the wobbly stool in your kitchen and put his head in his hands.

"God I'm so stupid."

"What?" You asked gently, stepping closer to him a little, "No you're not. Why do you say that?"

He shakes his head a little and chuckles lowly, "Honey, I thought..." he takes a breath and tries his best to not avoid your looks at him, "I thought this whole time you had someone over here...making you make them noises you were making."

Your mind goes a little blank for a second, and you stand dumbfounded, lips parted a little in surprise. And then his words hit you like a tonne of bricks, and they're heavier than any body you had picked up that day or any day previous. You laughed a little then, covering your mouth with your hands, "No! Oh my god no!"

"Hey! Don't you laugh at me." He laughs back a little, loving hearing these sounds. Even if they were at his expense, he could not help but think of the comparison to the ones he had been hearing before. He much preferred these.

"I'm not, I'm not." You denied playfully.

"You are." He looks away from you and to his feet. You stop laughing but you smile at him softly.

"Joel?" You ask, and he looks to you instantly with those big brown puppy dog eyes and you feel like you might melt, "Where you mad because I was waking you up or where you mad because you thought I had a man in here?"

"You're not dumb."

"I'm not." You nod with a smirk, "Still want to hear you to say it though."

The look he gives you is more intense than you feel you've ever shared. You feel like your heart is in your throat.

"Course you do," He fails to hide a little smirk of his own, "It wasn't because you were waking me up."

"No?"

"No."

The room was silent. You were stood, staring at each other, much too far away for your liking. You swallowed a lump in your throat. Waiting. Wondering.

"I was driving myself insane," Joel says then, "thinking about you with someone else. Thinking about someone else's hands on you."

Your heart was beating so fast and so loud you thought Joel might be able to hear it.

"You really think I'd have just anyone in here?" You teased him.

He raised his eyebrows a little, "You're a grown woman you can do what you like. Who you like. I can't stop you."

"We both know that's not true."

You watched how his eyes got a little darker then as he stared at you, his chest rising and falling in time with his deep nose exhales. He looked like he was ready to eat you. Perhaps in his head he was. He had a problem with possessiveness. 'Did she know this whole time?'

"Do you have a problem with that?"

You let his words settle before you ventured to step a little closer to him, "You're not dumb." You echoed Joel's earlier words.

"Still wanna hear you say it." He teased you back with repeating your own, his words meeting a smirk so handsome you thought you might pass out - you smiled at him. Content. You were both bad at feelings. You struggling to admit how strongly you both felt for one another with words. This moment right here felt like the closest you would get to ever being upfront about how deeply you both felt.

"Joel," The hum of his name on your lips had him reeling. You closed the gap between you both, standing on two feet in front of him as he still sat in your rickety old kitchen chair. You brushed your fingers through the sides of his hair delicately, caressing the side of his stubble kissed face. He leaned into your touch, an arm resting loosely at your waist, the feeling of the pads of your fingers sending goosebumps up and down his body. He closed his eyes for a brief moment. It was the most vulnerable you had ever saw him look. So love drunk. Your heart melted, "Joel I don't want anyone else. You know that right?"

"Well, you have me if you want me that badly, darlin'" He teased you, smiling as he felt you fake shove his chest a little in protest, "Wouldn't let anybody else have you anyway."

"Wouldn't have guessed by the way you nearly took my door off the hinges."

"Almost did it two nights ago when I heard you making those little noises."

"Hindsight Miller."

He laughed heartily at that.

"I'm sorry sweetheart," He said, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, "If I'd of known you were upset I wouldn't have been so harsh on you. Shouldn't have been harsh on you anyway for that matter."

"It's alright. If I'm being honest, I kinda like the thought of you all worked up over me."

"You wanna quit talkin' before you start something you can't stop." He looked over you with that intense dark gaze in his eyes again.

"You think I'd wanna stop?" You challenge despite your heart being in your throat. When he didn't reply you ventured to push him a little further, "Are you going to stay the night or do I have to beg?"

He gave you a chuckle through half lidded eyes, "Guess you're gunna have to get on your knees then."

"Oh look who's got jokes," the banter you shared was not uncommon, but this had been the most flirtatious. The most open about your now clearly mutual feelings, "So that's the stuff you're into huh?"

"You got no idea."

"You're right, I don't," You chuckled at him, watching as he stood from his seat so he was looking down at you now, "Why don't you show me?"

"You're playing with fire, you know that?" The hand still wrapped around your waist pulled you into him then, his other hand caressing your face.

"Would you just shut up and kiss me already?"

He didn't have to be told twice - his lips met yours, more gently at first than you had thought he would do. Almost like he was still unsure. You could feel the pair of you smiling. And then his hand had moved from your face to the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly close so you didn't know where your body stopped and his began. And you weren't smiling anymore. Panting, clutching at his shirt with your hand like you couldn't ever bare to let go. Terrified if you did he'd be gone. Your lips never parted, your tongues slipping past each others mouths, tasting one another with a hunger neither one of you had satisfied for a long time.

He grabbed your face in both hands, moving you so his mouth could more easily place kisses across your jaw and onto your neck. The feel of his beard scratching you gently, the light nips of his teeth as he sucked gently against your neck and the low grunts into your ear had a soft whine escape your mouth. A real one. One he had caused. Joel couldn't think of a time he had gotten that hard that quickly in his entire lifetime - your sounds were like honey. Delectable. And he devoured them, tongue in your mouth, desperate for more.

His hands grabbed at your ass then, his fingers delicately tickling their way underneath your night dress to knead at your ass.

His lips parted yours, panting and breathless. His forehead was pressed against yours, your noses touching still, "Jump for me." He said.

"Not with your back." You tormented.

"Shut up," He scolded you, but with a tone that was far from menacing, "Jump."

You did as you were told with a chuckle, putting your hands to his broad shoulders to steady yourself as you jumped. He expertly wrapped your legs around his waist and walked you over to your bed. Joel was silently thankful that your bed wasn't too far because realistically his back did hurt - he didn't even feel embarrassed for the way in which your words, how they proved to care for him, had the corners of his mouth turning up. He hadn't felt this feeling he had for you for a long while. So long it felt foreign to him; he welcomed it.

He just about tossed you onto the bed then, immediately leaning over you as you let out an excited laugh. Your night dress had rode up so your upper legs and underwear was exposed to him. The guttural noise he made at the sight made your head spin. His mouth was on yours again and his hands grabbing at your thighs, the feel of his fingers on your exposed skin making him even harder than he thought he ever could be. You wined at the strength of the grip he had on you and he let go a little, a little panic in his eyes as he looked you over. He was uncharacteristically nervous - trying so hard not to ruin this with you after wanting it for so bad for so long.

"What's wrong?" You ask, your hands coming to stroke his upper arms.

"Don't wanna hurt ya."

You touched his face sweetly, and kissed his cheek, understanding his apprehension. It had been a while for you too. "You won't break me Joel."

"I might."

"Why don't you show me how you do that as well then?"

He groaned a little at your words, his forehead pressing into yours.

"You're killing me, you know that?" He sighed, "Don't wanna be too much too soon...don't wanna scare you off."

"You could never scare me off. Ever." You said, he avoided your eyes a little, so you continued, thinking he maybe needed reassurance to let loose a little more, "Joel. I want you. I want this. I've always wanted this."

That seemed to do the trick with him. His hands were under your dress then, feeling the curves of your waist, cupping your breast, running the pad thumb over your nipple. The feeling of his hands on you had you whining softly again for him.

"You gunna take this off or do I gotta rip it off?" He growled at you, his hands and eyes desperate for more.

You thought you'd never moved so quickly in all your life. The nightdress pulled over your head and thrown to the floor, Joel's shirt joined it and your lips were locked once again. You were under him, in only underwear, exposed to him under the dim light of your apartment. You felt like you were in a dream with the way he kept looking at you - drinking you in.

"Don't know how long I've waited for this," He said breathlessly, pinning your arms expertly above your head, "Waited to touch you."

You whined in protest a little, desperate to touch him as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, kissing, licking, sucking expertly. A moan left you then, followed by a whine of his name.

"What's the matter sweetheart? You want me to touch you?"

"I wanna touch you."

"You can wait your turn," he chuckled, continuing his assault on your breasts, "Wanna make you cum on my tongue before I fuck you."

You bit your lip at his words and watched him as he released your hands and kissed his way down your body. He admittedly would not normally take such a long time with this, but he'd been wanting you like this for so long he wanted to make sure he lasted. Make sure you were satisfied. You were practically dripping for him by the time his head found his way between your thighs.

He lifted your legs, pulling your panties away from you and exposing your wet heat to him. He groaned, his hands stopping you from closing your thighs together shyly.

"Fuck, you're so wet," He said, enjoying how fast your face went red. You tried to close your legs again, but Joel gripped them hard, "You gunna be a good girl and keep em open for me?"

You nodded, completely unable to form words at the prospect of Joel Miller saying these positively sinful things to you. You were so caught up in his words that the feeling of his tongue licking a stripe from your hole to your clit made you gasp. You watched him as he licked and sucked at you, slowly teasing your clit in circles with his tongue, then sucking the bud and then going back to licking. You threw your head back into the pillow, overwhelmed by how quickly you thought he was going to make you cum, your orgasm already building tight in your stomach.

He couldn't get enough of you, the moans and grunts of his own vibrating against your sex. The taste of you. You couldn't help yourself then - you were a writhing mess beneath him, grinding your hips into his face with your fingers threading through his hair. You slapped one of your hands to your mouth to choke back a moan, and suddenly Joel was pulling away, one of his hands slapping gently at your arm.

"Wanna hear you baby," He said as whined from the lack of contact. He pressed a thumb to your clit but didn't move it, "don't go shy on me now, wanna hear how much you like me tongue fucking your little pussy."

"Oh God," you moaned, his dirty words getting you off.

"Atta girl."

He began moving his thumb in slow circles around your clit, moving his index and middle to slide through your folds. The slick sound they made as they glistened against his finger had him leaking precum onto himself. He slid a thick finger into you and you moaned. He added another an you moaned again, the feeling of your walls gripping his fingers making his head spin at how they might feel wrapped round his cock.

"Fuck, you know how turned on your little noises have been making me? Felt like a fucking pervert, had me hard as a rock thinking about what you'd look like if it was me on top of you, making you whine like that."

He said, picking his pace up, expertly fucking his fingers into you and licking and sucking at your clit in intervals until the grip in his hair got a little tighter and he could feel all your muscles begin to tense up.

"You gunna cum baby?" He asked at the increase in your noises. Words were still failing you so you nodded frantically, your shut in bliss, "Come on, you can do it, come for me beautiful."

Who were you to deny him? Especially when he showered you in compliments. The tight knot of your orgasm unraveled for him, the feeling like stars warm across your whole body. You cum on Joel's fingers as his mouth drank every last bit of you, reveling in how you were gushing for him. Your moans were sinful, and now that he was hearing them, really hearing them, he thinks he was so stupid for believing the noises you had been making were from anything close to this.

He let you ride out your orgasm before your breathing evened out and you started to giggle and push him away from him overstimulating your clit.

"Come here." You beckoned him to come closer to you. His mouth and chin and beard were all glistening with your juices. You could taste yourself on his tongue as he climbed on top of you and captured your mouth on his own. You were practically clinging to him, your arms at his neck and shoulders, his arms either side of your head boxing you underneath him. He leaned on you a little, your breasts coming into contact with his bare chest and you moaned a little as you pulled his hips closer to your own with your legs wrapped around him.

You could feel how hard he was as his hips pressed against yours, the outline of his clothed cock enough to have you biting your lip. You fiddled with his belt a little but struggled to get it off him. He laughed at your attempts and sat back to help you, the wetness of your pussy evident on his trousers.

You sat up, ghosting your hand across his covered length wanting to take him into your mouth but Joel couldn't stand waiting any longer, he was getting a little more desperate to feel you around him. To claim you. Make you his.

He gripped your hands, "Stay down."

"Wanna suck you off." You pouted a little.

He laughed darkly, "As much as I'd love to feel that little mouth on me, that can wait," He discarded his jeans and underwear, his hard weeping cock bouncing up against his stomach, "Just need you right now darlin'"

"Next time then." You giggled at him, trying not to feel intimidated by the length and girth of Joel exposed in front of you. He was big. So big you maybe thought he was doing you a favour - saving the ache of your throat for a different time.

"Next time." He chuckled again lowly, excited by the prospect that this wouldn't just be a one time thing.

He pulled you closer to the end of the bed by the thighs and you let out a surprised laugh. You were smiling up at him, watching how his big hand gripped his length and gave himself a few loose tugs, the site of you had the head red and weeping.

"You're so handsome." You said softly, and for a brief moment his dark eyes softened on you. He leaned down to capture your lips briefly. It was much slower than he had been. Gentle like the first kiss you shared. You held his head in your hands as he ran the head of dick through your folds, "Don't think you'll fit."

"You can take it." He growled into your ear, his big wide hands angling your hips. You moaned a little at his words.

He teased your entrance a little with the head of his cock, running his full length along your folds, over your clit and back down again, gathering up your wetness to help aid himself the fit. When he notched the tip just inside he made a noise so animalistic it sent goosebumps across the expanse of your flesh. He pushed in slowly, not wanting to hurt you. He was so thick. Your mouth hung open a little as he seated himself fully inside you.

"Fuck... You're so- so tight," Joel grunted, moving his hips just a little and looking down to watch how your walls clung to his length. He kissed your cheek and held you close as he pulled out all the way and pushed back in.

His pace was slow at first but still hard, his hips snapping roughly against your own. You felt so full, your body and mind consumed by him. You felt just as demented as he did no as you watched how his lips parted a little, his curls stuck to his perspirant covered forehead. He grabbed your thighs a little rougher, throwing each of your legs over his shoulders and then somehow he was hitting so deep your felt like you couldn't breathe.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Oh God. You're so big Joel," You were rambling, his dick rubbing hard against your walls, "Fuck. So big."

You words only made his more eager, and he picked up the pace, practically slamming himself into you.

"Taking me so good. Thought about this for so long," Joel confessed, "Thought about what you'd look like wrapped around my cock. Imagined how you'd scream when I fucked you." He was rambling too, the feel of you squeezing him ever time he pulled out like you were sucking him back in so he couldn't escape made him feral. He groaned, mumbling your name like a little prayer as he continued his brutal pace.

You would normally be embarrassed by the sounds you were making, but the way Joel obsessed over your noises you'd never felt more relaxed about letting them out. Moans, whines, grunts, the wet slapping of skin, the creak of the old headboard against the wall. You briefly felt sorry for your downstairs neighbour.

Joel pulled out and scooped you up then surprisingly, his knees shuffling a little more on the bed so he could kneel and bring you down on top of him. Even though he'd been fucking you the change of angle still touch a stretch, the slick of your dripping pussy helping you to sheath him entirely in one move. He moaned, his forehead pressed against yours now. Your heart swelled as you thought perhaps this change in angle was to appeal to the side of Joel that wanted to be close to you, that wanted affection.

You moved your hips with his own, your thighs barely able to move around him he was so buff. He gripped your ass and helped you, bouncing you up and down on him as he continued to fuck up into you. You cried out as he practically split you open, your arms clinging to him, your nails scratching his back and shoulders a little. The movement of him so close against you had the knot of orgasm building again. The brush of your nipples on his chest, the way his pelvis rubbed at an angle so perfect that it stimulated your swollen clit.

"Fuck you feel so good. You take it so good," He rambled again, his teeth and lips grazing your shoulder, "Look so good riding my dick. Shit."

"Joel, I'm gunna cum."

"Good girl. You take it baby. Take what you need. Cum on my cock. Come on sweetheart, give me one more."

And you were cumming again, gushing all over his length, walls pulsing madly on him. Your hands pulled at his hair. The feel of you had Joel panting, his grip bruising as he fucked you hard and fast through your orgasm. You were practically howling his name, your legs shaking and tears clouding your eyes.

"So good for me. Look so pretty when you cum," His hips were loosing their rhythm a little and his grunts were getting quickly and father between each other.

You could tell he was close, and even through your fucked out exhaustion you helped him along, pulling at his hair, sucking at the expanse of his neck, whispering little things for him, "Cum for me Joel, want you to cum. Love your dick in me. Love how you fuck me."

You thought you might have heard him grunt, "Mine," but you couldn't be sure because then he moaned and dragged you off him so he could cum all over your front. He collapsed on top of you, your breathing both heavy as you come down from your highs. Your bodies sticky with cum and slick and sweat. He didn't care that his own cum was all over his front now too as his head found its way to the crook of your neck. Kissing you softly, you smiled at this new bought of affection. His palms rubbing slow gentle circles on your thighs as he still had your legs around him.

"You think our neighbours are going to be mad at us for keeping em up?" You giggled a little as your fingers found their way into his hair, twisting his curls around your fingers.

He was touch starved, the mere thought of having your fingers in his hair a few days ago would have made him hard. Now, empty of his pining lust - evidence of which seemed to be all over the place - he could only think of how much he cared for you. How deeply his heart ached for you. He didn't know how to say it, but he smiled against your skin.

"Let 'em be mad."

He took you both to the bathroom to clean up, kissed every part of you as you cleaned. You loved this side of him. This gentleness. This softness. It was such a stark comparison to the man who had left bruises on your thigh mere minutes before. And the minute your body was back on the bed and your head hit the comfort of Joel's embrace you were out like a light. He kissed both your eyes and let sleep take him too.

Undisturbed with any thoughts but the man who's arms you had wrapped around you, you, unsurprisingly, slept like a baby. No dreams. No nightmares.

[dandelion-wings]

Sometimes you're trying to go to bed and then the brain gremlins pin you down right then and demand that you write something up that you haven't even thought about in six months. I don't know why. There are like six versions of this AU and none are good coherent cores for a larger story so this isn't really a fic, even, but the brain gremlins wouldn't let me sleep, so have a Vision-swap AU with a particularly nasty canon-divergence premise, and dear gremlins please let me sleep now.

---

Diluc's Vision comes to him in the midst of a fight with Kaeya.

It's the first time he's fought Kaeya, ever, since he took his little brother into his care. He's hurt Kaeya enough by accident, every time Father told him to help him dress, to braid his hair, to spar with him, to give him a hug- he's hurt him enough that he's never thought, ever, that he would *want* to hurt him, having seen him scream so often under Diluc's touch.

Kaeya doesn't even deserve to hurt for what he'd said. Why would he have loved Father? Why would he have loved Mondstadt?

But *Diluc* hurts, a horrible screaming inside him desperate to get out, setting papers and paintings and molding aflame, in his father's office that had never been fire-proofed and as a consequence he'd never before been allowed inside. So when Kaeya says what he says, all he can think to do is to swing his blade and let the fire rage.

The rain doesn't cool his fury. The Vision, or the thing that at that moment he still thinks is a Vision, only burns hotter, as it always does. The only way not to be consumed by its Pyro is to turn it outward. So Diluc Vaporizes the very air around him, watching Kaeya retreat from the hiss of scalding steam, stumbling and slow with the old burn on his leg and the eye that Diluc hasn't melted wide with belated fear. Diluc advances, panting in the heat.

"He took you in when you would have died otherwise," he says, a low hoarse growl, leveling his blade.

Kaeya stares back at him, fear fading out of the eye, flame-scarred arms dropping to his sides. "I wish I had," he says, level and cold, the words twisting like a knife in Diluc's gut. "I would rather have been dead then been *here*."

Fury drives Diluc forward, sweeps his blade up, brings it down. Fury and fire, dancing through him, flickering over the abestos-laced wool of his coat, dancing over his own scarred hands and the blade he bears, the dull vicious roar of a fire he's never been able to control. Kaeya steps back, trips, falls, lies on his back, looking up, dully resigned-

And at the last moment Diluc manages to regain control, tamp the fire down, turn the blade away. He's spent so many years setting Kaeya on fire, not allowed to stop trying, not allowed to stop *touching*, not allowed to give up and set the thing he thinks until that moment is a Vision aside. Because Father was so certain that if his failures kept hurting someone he loved, eventually he would learn control.

But Father isn't here now, to scold him for refusing to try for control. Father isn't here to make him hurt Kaeya. He doesn't have to. He doesn't want to.

Uncontrolled, what the Pyro wants to burn is *him*. It struggles to catch on the fire-damping overcoat, in the wet air, but it burns merrily in his hair even in the rain. Diluc does his best to drag it into his own flesh. He's used to such scorching heat.

What he isn't used to is cold. Sudden, damping, bone-deep cold, spreading out across the cobblestones at his feet, stiffening his steam-soaked coat, putting out the Pyro in his hair and the Pyro on his skin and the Pyro at his hip, freezing solid around the dull red glow until it's nearly invisible beneath layers of ice. Diluc's claymore slips from his hand, and another weight settles into his palm in its place.

Diluc looks down and sees Kaeya sitting up, wide-eyed this time with astonished relief, and the pale gleam of Cryo glinting in his hand.

***

Jean's Vision comes to her while she's pursuing justice for Diluc.

More specifically, it comes to her while Il Dottore is standing over her, gloating. She should never have followed him alone to Dragonspine, however suspicious his quiet talk with Eroch was, however desperate she is for evidence that links the Fatui to the distorted imitation of a Vision that Master Crepus had inflicted upon Diluc.

She can see the shape in her own head, the three-part triangle, Master Crepus' friendship with the Inspector, the Inspector's quick willingness to fete the Fatui, the Fatui supplying that awful device to feed Crepus' ambitions for his son. But seeing it herself means nothing without proof. Il Dottore killed Ursa the Drake and become a local hero, Inspector Eroch has made public apologies for letting Diluc's lack of control go unexamined, and Master Crepus is dead and safe for everyone else to revile without asking inconvenient questions about his friends.

And now she's here, at the bottom of a steep dead-end pit just within the walls of Dragonspine, looking up at Il Dottore as he weaves vines back and forth across its entrance.

"Too bad," he says, smiling wickedly behind his piebald mask. "The up-and-coming cavalry captain, top candidate for the next Master of the Knights, vanishing into the snow on Dragonspine. What a shame."

"You won't get away with this," Jean says, the words hollow even as she says them. He will get away with this. No one knows where she's gone. She'd been in such a hurry she hadn't even told Kaeya.

"Won't I? It will be an interesting experiment to see how long Sheer Cold takes to kill an unaltered, physically fit adult. You're the first test subject of this caliber I've had a chance to study up here."

Jean feels stick to her stomach. She's heard the rumors about the Fatui's trafficking; she can only guess what other *test subjects* he might have dragged up here, to this mountain the Inspector had long since advocated be blocked off and left alone. How long have the Fatui been visiting Dragonspine? What have they done?

What are they doing here right now? Jean tries to focus. Her fingers and toes are already painfully cold. She has no evidence, and now she won't have any evidence--but if she can find anything out at all, maybe she can leave a record. There's just enough bend in the tunnel that if she nestles at the very blocked-off end, she could, perhaps, write in the snow. If the Knights ever come here again, if a Fatuus doesn't look down here first, she can at least create a record.

She can't just lie here and docilely freeze.

"What sort of experiments have you done?" she says, trying her best to sound curious and not merely horrified.

Il Dottore's red eyes sparkle with his laughter. "Good try, Captain, but I'm not one of your pitiful alchemists, desperate for attention. The only interest or approval I care about comes from the Tsaritsa. Yours is worthless to me." He reaches down, stroking his hand over something hanging just inside his coat. "Test subjects don't need to know what's happening. The data is better that way."

Jean leans forward, her eye caught by that movement, by the not-quite-orb he's touching. Green, the color of Dendro--a Vision? Except that it's a darker green, and duller, despite a faint light from within. Dark and dull like Diluc's device had been, once she and he had broken the case and scraped off the layer of paint. She presses herself up against the thick vines, watching avidly as he turns, trying for a better look-

Yes. There. The same four-lobed symbol as on that thing that Crepus had claimed was a Vision, and Diluc had never known he could put down.

If she can take that off of him, off a Fatuus, then she has *proof*. Her three-part triangle confirmed.

If she can get through the vines, which seems impossible. Jean takes a deep breath and reaches out to grasp the vines. She may not be able to pull them apart, but she would be undeserving of her title as a knight if she didn't give it her best effort. Il Dottore doesn't move to stop her, just looks amused.

And in the curl of a vine, something red shines, not dark and dull but warm and bright.

Jean snatches the Vision up, hope and determination flooding through her, as the heat of Pyro soaks through her skin and banishes the cold.

***

Kaeya's Vision comes to him in the moment he chooses not to kill Jean.

The order came a week ago. He tries not to resent getting orders only now, after the six years he thought he was forgotten, abandoned to Crepus' plans and regular burns and an ever more restrictive life as he grew more and more embarrassing for Crepus to let out in public. It hadn't been until Jean brought him to the city that the first one had arrived.

For six years the Abyss Order--his father--hadn't acknowledged his existence, because he hadn't been useful to them in the way they'd hoped. But at the same time, at least they're acknowledging him now.

And he has been useful. People talk in taverns, and he's learning gradually from Margaret what to do and say, and from Diona what not to, in order to get them to relax in his presence and pay him no heed. Once they're in their cups, they all talk, knights and merchants, sisters of the Church and the hunters of Springvale, and he smiles and listens and brings them more until they've said all they're conscious enough to say. He doesn't know how much of it has value, but the orders keep coming, a particular person to cultivate, a particular set of questions to ask, so some of it must mean something.

This order, though, is different. He's spied on Jean before, pried plenty from her, taken advantage of her trust and her guilt and her desperate desire to make his life better, as if she owes it to him in Diluc's place. He's sent all of that along without remorse. He has no compunctions about betraying Mondstadt's defenses through her.

He didn't think he would have compunctions about this. He knew that the Abyss Order would strike, eventually. He knew that people would die. Especially knights. Especially high-ranking ones. But... why her?

Which is a stupid question. Kaeya knows why. It's because she's the one he has access to.

She hasn't even woken up as he's come padding into her room. He tries to be quiet, but he knows he isn't silent--the leg Diluc lamed by pure accident, a hand on his ankle to try and tug him out of a boar's path and unmeant flame arising at the touch, makes his step heavy on that side no matter how he tries. It's familiarity that keeps her sleeping.

Familiarity and trust. Kaeya may not have a knight's training, but he's made himself useful to her as a tactician, and spent the last year a regular presence in her house.

He looks down at her, eyes closed, breathing slow and even, a sliver of moonlight slanting in through the window to slash along the underside of her chin. Almost a guide for his own cut, if he chooses to go for the throat.

It would be fastest. Kindest. Least likely to get him set on fire in her last moments, he tells himself, trying to be cynical, but the truth is that Jean locks her Vision very carefully away in a chest at the foot of the bed when he's here, and he doesn't know if Visions work from that far away. The thing Diluc had wouldn't be proof even if Diluc had ever thought, had ever dared his father's wrath, to set his aside.

Jean hadn't hesitated to set it aside the first time she saw him flinch away, and every single time they've been together since.

The knife is heavy in Kaeya's hand, the grip growing slick with sweat. He takes another step forward, towards the bed, and stops.

He owes nothing to Mondstadt. Jean is a Knight of Favonius, the butchers of the Cataclysm, the Ordo that turned their gaze away from anything that happened on the Dawn Winery that some brave maid might happen to report. That she is personally kind to him, personally his friend, doesn't change that. This is for Khaenri'ah's future.

He wishes the Abyss Order had asked him to assassinate anyone else.

The knife, heavy in his hand, slips from his sweat-slicked palm and thuds dully against the floor. Jean stirs, pushing the covers back, blinking blearily. "Kaeya?" she asks, voice blurred with sleep, and he clenches his fist around the knife-hilt's phantom weight, only to feel the bite of something like metal against his palm.

Kaeya opens his hand, holding it out in front of Jean like an offering, letting her be the first person to see the Anemo shining in his hand.

[shesadollette]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ❝ König x Antsy Masked Recruit ❞ - II. One Step Forward ࣪ ˖

(➳ Prologue)

Note: I think… there will be a few more chapters to come, they’re not predetermined to be either in bullet points or narrative style yet, however I’ll write whatever is on my mind the very second. I tried writing König based on his voice lines + the very little lore that we’ve gotten out of his wiki fandom page + how I interpret him to be as a colonel so if he comes off to be “meaner” than what most of the COD fandom population make him out to be, then you know why :))

The door creaks — discreetly, you hope, at your best attempt — noticing that most of the lights in the faction are off. Your head makes itself conspicuous of its weight as your feet drag themselves out the door. Too awake to fall asleep, gotta sleep but you’re too anxious.

You merely equip a pocket-sized dagger, just in case. Other than that, you are mostly unarmed and completely unmasked, leaving only your survival skills and instincts to rely on. You merely hope you’ve made a normal decision out of the (unfortunate) impulsive decisions so far, just this time.

It’s beginning to feel eerie, silently eerie. You swallow, heartbeat stuttering.

Whatever, it’s not like something’s gonna pounce on you from the back and stab you or something… right? That would be one hell of a ridiculously hilarious death.

Dislike taints your features, you place your hands on your hips as you click your tongue, not wishing to jinx it. You frequently loathe your intrusive thoughts as you reassure yourself that you’re just gonna pace around for a few meters and go back no matter the case. Or… should you just get inside and force yourself to sleep anyway?

Whatever, back to plan A, forcing yourself to sleep would only cause you to feel more stressed and anxious. Perhaps you could also use this opportunity to familiarize yourself with the foreign surroundings while there’s nobody around… hopefully. Win-win, eh?

You do not realize how long you’ve been walking for until your brain endeavors to once again be logical.

Perhaps you ought to head ba—

A subtle rustle appears out of the blue.

You feel as if your breath is knocked out of your lungs as your heartbeat stoops to your buckled legs, faint panic flaring as your flight or fight arise. There was movement, which means there is definitely something — or someone in the room with you.

Fear has imprisoned you first than your ability to turn back.

Something flat and heavy lands on your shoulder, forcing an audible gasp and an involuntary curse in your native tongue out of your lips.

You clumsily swivel around, only to have your wrists gripped firmly with a dull thud, your arms in mid-defense stance at an awkward position with the dagger pointing at a complementary angle away from the figure instead. You look up, in between exhales you dreadingly realize that the way the figure stands in front of you…

Is someone…

You gulp.

…you are undoubtedly frightened of.

You are certain of who it is, given his trademark figure swallowed up by the darkness. Your body is however frozen dead, your mind still not awake from the flight or fight.

To your dismay, you do not have your mask on, you could only pray he wouldn’t be able to see your face as you cannot see his. Quietude sings to fill the tension, until…

“Sir, what are you doing here?” Your mutter comes out soft-spoken, strangely the very opposite of how you wanted it to sound like.

He barks out a dry chuckle, “What are you talking about?” Your face picks up on his hot breath fanning from his mask, “I find it funny, because I should be the one asking you instead.” Grainy words enveloped in a thick accent pushed out through gritted teeth.

You stagger back to balance yourself, yet his grip stays firm on your wrists, nigh punishing. You swallow then hang your head down, staring at your feet, guilt and embarrassment and anger crawling due to being caught, and even in such uncomfortably close proximity. A weightful lump forming in your throat due to the trepidation of what’s going to happen to you next.

Thoughts of how you should respond and with what begin waltzing rapidly in your mind as you try to wrestle your fright.

“I-I’m sorry, sir. I…” You pause, nibbling your lower lip. “I didn’t mean to,” your voice thickens with pressure and wavers, “I was just… taking a walk to clear my head. I’ve been feeling anxious and because of that, I cannot sleep and I need to take a walk because of… that.”

Deafening quietude ensues.

“You’ve been acting slightly off this morning,” he sneers, “And to top it off, you are still loitering around in the middle of the night — with a weapon of choice.” He brings your wrist with the equipped knife in front of you, gripping it firmer and shaking it. “What exactly are you up to, huh?”

You swallow. “I’m sorry again, sir. I won’t do it again. I promise. Please don’t kill me.”

“You are up to no good, are you?”

“No sir, I—”

“Be quiet, I do not need an explanation. Off you go to your quarters. Do not let me catch you one more time.”

”… Right away, sir. Thank you, sir. Sorry.”

• • •

You are lying awake in bed when you realize how your cheeks and ears have been ridiculously dampened and your lids heavier than stones. You cover your face with your palms as you let out short, shaky sobs. Perhaps it would be easier for you to fall deep in slumber now that your eyes are going to be sore.

(➳ III. Two Steps Back)