#i think a lot about that day i was on the train and i accidentally stared out the window for like three uninterrupted hours

[manupropriaindigo]

a game dev friend of mine once had a great twitter thread (which has now been sadly deleted) about how video games are a lot closer to stage theatre than they are to movies, specificially about how the player themselves are acting in the role, how playing through multiple times allows the player to fill into the role much like how a stage performer would fill into a role in a play, how a player's tendencies to reload a save to do something the "perfect way" or with the desired panache reflects the improv that happens on the stage itself, things of that nature

i think a lot about how there really isn't a whole lot of study and literature on the topic of experiental and kinetic storytelling elements themselves; we've all heard the phrase "ludonarrative" and usually in the context of how player actions and goals don't line up cohesively with the storyline, but beyond this there's not a lot of exploration of what it means to make a player do something, and what a player ought to feel or think about, and how that lines up with the game's themes. how do you make a video game criticizing the glorification of war crimes actually hit, because it sure isnt "give the player an objective involving doing the war crime, then scold it for doing the objective you told it to do" like spec ops the line did

tangentially i think lobotomy corporation is full of game design choices that deliberately push the concepts it wants to tell and more vidcon writers should be talking about it. a lot of folks including die-hard project moon fans slept on it because its a tedious motherfucker of a game and yeah it is but it needs to be in order to accurately and adequately express the feeling of being middle management in a chaebol that extracts the vitae from monsters and sells it as a variety of products.

example: customizing your agents in lobotomy corporation costs 2 LOB points (points you get that you'd otherwise spend on improving agent stats). in basically every other game of this type, customizing your agents is completely free because who doesn't want to make their friends or enemies or OCs or whatever in the game and have them do stuff. we love our Little Guys and we pack-bond and emphasize with them real hard (see also: cannon fodder giving your little army guys different names and slightly different appearances and still making you mourn their death when the gravestones on the hell at the inter-mission recruitment screen pile up). in lobotomy corporation however its a basically untenable cost up until about halfway into the game because the game needs you to understand that your little guys individually do not matter, because they will die gruesome deaths and ultimately their demise is eclipsed by the need to meet quota and train your new batch of agents so they too can die.

your attrition rate is atrocious and its entirely your responsibility but caring about individuals just means you end up wasting time savescumming so they don't die, and of course savescumming in lobotomy corporation is far more punishing because you don't load a save, you restart the day which, as the days go by and your responsibilities grow, the cost of playing perfectly for the sake of those under your watch grows and grows until you cant afford it.

so you watch your rockstar performer get eaten by a magpie's funny red tummy blotch because his rifle's bullet accidentally nicked it while aiming at an entirely different monster and you just sigh, buy a replacement rifle and outfit for the next day, and move on because the alternative isnt making any progress at all. the game's narrative explained all of this to you about a dozen hours ago and you brushed it off as bog-standard evil corporation line-go-up speak but now youre the uncaring middle manager and it hits a little different

I made a post a little while ago about video games still being in their "stage actors doing stage acting in movies" phase, and a lot of people took that to mean that I am against cutscenes in video games. Which, fair, that's the example I used, and it's a common example of video games pretending to be movies. But that's not really what I was getting at.

Video games are a medium. More to the point: they are an incredibly broad, diverse medium. It's also a young medium. We're still figuring out what works and what doesn't. To my mind that doesn't mean "no cutscenes ever", but "what does putting a cutscene here do?"

I'm circling back around to this now because I just finished 1000xResist, a game which pound for pound is almost exclusively cutscenes. And it works. So I ask myself: would this still work as well if this were a movie? A book? A tv show? A comic book maybe? And the answer, for me, is no. The atmosphere wouldn't be the same, the pacing of the story would be off, you would lose all of the small clever ways the game takes advantage of its medium, and (maybe most importantly) I wouldn't be as personally invested in the questions the game is posing to its audience.

And this isn't the only example. Sanabi and Nine Sols both games I played recently that made me invested in their story through cutscenes. Because they're good. They dont break the flow. They're as much a part of the game as the gameplay.

I want to see more games like this; games that understand what their narrative needs and how the player experience should be paced. Regardless of whether or not that calls for a cutscene.

[mintyys-blog]

Ooh!!! Steve x reader Shes finishing her training with the team and steve found out what smut fanfics are via his laptop. Accidently finding y/ns Tumblr steve is inbetween eyes wide shock till he binges on the smut that was written about him and y/n getting ideas (cause smutt is a womans fun read hehehe)

TUMBLR SMUT— steve rogers x reader

WARNINGS: mentions of sexual fantasies, implied sex.

Y/N wiped the sweat from her forehead as she finished her last set of push-ups, Natasha giving her a nod of approval.

“You’re getting stronger,” Nat said, tossing Y/N a water bottle. “Almost ready for full-time missions.”

“Almost?” Y/N groaned, collapsing onto the mat. “I swear, at this point, I could bench-press Thor.”

“Sure, sure,” Nat smirked before standing up. “Go shower. Debrief’s in an hour.”

Y/N saluted lazily and dragged herself toward her room, already fantasizing about a hot shower and possibly sneaking in a nap before the meeting. What she didn’t expect was Steve standing in the hallway, looking… tense. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his face flushed all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Uh, hey, Cap,” she said, eyeing him warily. “Everything okay?”

Steve opened his mouth, then shut it. His gaze flickered over her, but not in the usual, assessing way. No, there was something else in his expression—something she couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “Yeah, I just… needed to talk to you about something.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Sure. What’s up?”

Steve hesitated. Then he pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and turned the screen toward her.

Y/N’s heart stopped.

On display, clear as day, was her Tumblr. More specifically, her smut Tumblr. And worse? The fic pulled up was a detailed, explicit, absolutely filthy story about her and Steve.

“Oh my God.” She slapped a hand over her mouth, feeling her soul leave her body.

Steve cleared his throat, still blushing but now looking way too amused. “So, I, uh, I was trying to figure out what ‘smut’ meant after Bucky mentioned it. Thought it was just old-timey slang for dirt.”

Y/N wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

“Turns out,” Steve continued, his voice dangerously casual, “it’s not about dirt at all. And then I somehow ended up here. On this.” He wiggled the phone slightly for emphasis. “And Y/N… I gotta ask… is this you?”

Y/N scrambled for a lie. “Nope! Nope, definitely not! Anyone could write that! Lots of people fantasize about you!”

Steve hummed, unconvinced. “Right. Because this one has details about a mission we were on two weeks ago.”

She was so dead.

“I mean,” she tried again, “it could be—”

“Y/N,” Steve said, stepping closer, his voice dropping an octave. “You wrote this. About me.”

Her breath hitched. His blue eyes were locked onto hers, and there was something… new in his gaze. Heat. Amusement. And something darker.

“…Are you mad?” she finally squeaked.

Steve smirked. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning in. “I’m inspired.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“You’ve got a vivid imagination,” he said, voice deep and teasing. “And I think we should see if any of these ideas of yours hold up in real life.”

Her brain short-circuited. “Wait, what?”

Steve chuckled, brushing past her with a low whisper. “Debrief’s in an hour, but after that?” His lips curved into a smirk. “I think we need to have a private training session.”

Y/N stood frozen in the hallway long after he left, face burning, heart racing, and mind filled with very real possibilities.

She was so screwed. And she couldn’t wait.

Later That Night

Y/N spent the entire debrief avoiding eye contact with Steve. Every time she accidentally glanced his way, she caught him already looking at her, that same damn smirk playing at his lips. It was unfair—he was supposed to be the bashful one! Not the one making her feel like she was about to combust from sheer embarrassment and, worse, anticipation.

By the time the meeting ended, she had all but planned an escape route back to her room.

Unfortunately, Steve had other ideas.

The second she stepped into the hallway, a firm hand curled around her wrist.

“Not so fast,” Steve murmured, his voice low and teasing as he guided her in the opposite direction.

“Steve,” she hissed, glancing around. “Someone’s gonna see—”

“Then don’t make a scene,” he said simply.

Her brain short-circuited again.

They turned a corner, and before she could question him, he pulled her into an empty training room. The door clicked shut behind them, the dim lights flickering to life.

Y/N crossed her arms, desperately trying to appear unaffected. “Alright, Captain,” she said, sarcasm barely masking her nerves. “What exactly do you want to talk about?”

Steve just smiled. Not his usual, polite grin. No—this was slow. Confident. Like a man who had spent hours reading her most explicit thoughts and now knew exactly how to use them against her.

Her knees wobbled.

“I told you,” he said, taking a step closer. “I’m inspired.”

Y/N swallowed. “You—you actually read them?”

“Every single one,” he admitted, voice dropping to something dangerous. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Oh. Oh no.

She thought back to the things she had written—the very detailed, very filthy things. If he had read them all, then—

Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Her Tumblr was still pulled up.

Her mortification skyrocketed.

“This one,” he continued, tilting the screen toward her. “You said I’d have you begging in less than five minutes.”

Her soul left her body.

“Steve—”

“You also said I’d be too much for you to handle,” he mused, scrolling down. “That I’d ruin you, make you forget your own name—”

“Steve!”

He grinned. “That what I do with my hands alone would be enough to—”

“OH MY GOD.”

He laughed, catching her wrist when she tried to snatch the phone away. “C’mon, sweetheart, no need to be embarrassed. I loved it. Hell, I might need you to write more.”

“More?!”

“Sure,” he said smoothly, finally setting his phone down. “But first, I need to check your accuracy.”

She blinked. “My… what?”

He stepped closer, until she had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze.

“Your accuracy,” he repeated, his voice a slow, deliberate tease. “I need to know if what you wrote is actually true. If I really could have you begging in less than five minutes. If I can make you forget your own name.”

Her breath hitched.

He lifted a hand, brushing his fingers along her wrist. “So,” he said softly, his lips just inches from hers, “wanna help me test your theories?”

Y/N made a very undignified squeaking noise.

And then she made the best decision of her life.

She nodded.

Steve smirked. “Good girl.”

And then he really put her writing to the test.

The moment his lips met hers, Y/N lost all sense of reality.

Steve kissed her like he had memorized every filthy word she had ever written. Like he knew exactly how to dismantle her, piece by piece, and put her back together with nothing but his hands and his mouth.

His fingers slid up her arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake before cupping her jaw. His grip was firm—controlling—but not forceful. It was a silent promise: I’ve got you. Let me lead.

And God help her, she let him.

Y/N melted into him, fingers gripping his shirt as he deepened the kiss, his other hand skimming down her waist, pressing her flush against him. He was solid, every inch of him muscle and warmth, and the heat rolling off him made her dizzy.

Steve chuckled against her lips, breaking away just enough to murmur, “Not even two minutes, and you’re already breathless.”

Y/N’s brain refused to function.

She tried to form a comeback—something witty, something not humiliating—but all that came out was a shaky, “Shut up.”

Steve grinned. “That’s not what you wrote.”

Her entire body ignited in flames.

“Steve,” she started, but he tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him.

Oh, he was enjoying this. The smug satisfaction in his eyes, the slight smirk tugging at his lips—he was toying with her.

And worse? She loved it.

His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, and her breath hitched.

“Tell me something, sweetheart,” he murmured, blue eyes dark with amusement. “Did you ever imagine this happening for real?”

Y/N swallowed. Hard.

Yes. A million times, yes.

But she refused to give him the satisfaction.

“Not exactly like this,” she muttered.

Steve hummed, tilting his head. “No?”

His fingers trailed down her throat, barely skimming over her collarbone before tracing along her waist.

“How about now?” he asked, voice nothing but velvet and sin.

Y/N hated how easily she melted.

“I—” Her breath caught as his hands tightened on her waist, holding her in place.

She was screwed.

Steve leaned in, his lips grazing her ear.

“Three minutes,” he whispered. “And you’re already falling apart.”

Her knees buckled.

Steve caught her, chuckling darkly as he tut-tutted under his breath. “Guess I don’t need five minutes after all.”

Y/N could have died from the humiliation.

But God, she never wanted him to stop.

And judging by the way Steve was looking at her, he wasn’t planning to.

Not for a long, long time.

Y/N barely had time to process the absolute disaster she had gotten herself into before Steve was moving again.

His hands slid down her back, pressing her against him, and oh—oh. Her stomach flipped at just how easily he handled her, how effortlessly he backed her against the training room wall without breaking eye contact.

She felt small against him, overwhelmed in the best way.

“Steve,” she breathed.

He smirked.

“Yeah?” he murmured, dipping his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to her neck.

Y/N gasped. Her hands flew to his shoulders, gripping tight, her fingers digging into the hard muscle beneath his shirt.

Steve made a satisfied sound, nipping at the sensitive spot just below her ear.

“You taste sweet,” he muttered, his voice deep, rough.

Y/N’s brain stopped working.

She should have known he’d be like this. He wasn’t just a gentleman—he was a soldier. A strategist. He read people, learned their weaknesses. And right now? He was using every bit of that knowledge to ruin her.

It was working.

Her breath came in short, desperate gasps, her body burning from the way his hands traced over her waist, how he pinned her there like he had every intention of keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

Steve pulled back slightly, his blue eyes darker than she had ever seen them.

“Tell me something, sweetheart,” he murmured. “In those stories of yours… how does this part usually go?”

Y/N swallowed, her entire body trembling.

Steve grinned.

“Don’t worry,” he said, voice nothing but wicked promise. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

And with that, he bent down, lifted her effortlessly into his arms, and carried her out of the training room like he was on a mission.

The look he gave her before the door shut behind them made one thing very clear.

Tonight? They wouldn’t be getting any sleep.

[allthingsfangirl101]

Rooster's Twin Sister – Jake Seresin

Rooster's POV

The entire time I've been in the Top Gun program, no one has found out about my twin sister, Y/N. We both ended up going into the Navy. I became a pilot but Y/N became a mechanic—a damn good one, too.

A few years ago, Y/N, Maverick, and I were at lunch one day when Maverick and I found out more about Y/N's job. She was working at a garage in town and one of the guys wouldn't leave her alone. Most of the guys made jokes, accidentally brushed her when they walked by. All in all, they made her extremely uncomfortable.

After pushing her to tell us everything that was going on, Maverick convinced her to become a mechanic for the Navy. With her experience, her degree, and Maverick's recommendation, it would be easy for her to get in.

It took a lot more convincing, planning, and badgering before Y/N finally agreed to let Maverick send in her resume. Three days later, she had a job on a Navy base. She quickly became the top mechanic. She's not assigned to just one base. She moves around. She basically goes anywhere she's needed.

I walked into my and Y/N's shared apartment to see her keys already hanging up by the door.

"Y/N?"

"In the kitchen," she called back. I hung my keys next to hers and walked into the kitchen. When I got to the kitchen, I looked around to see her making her favorite pasta dish.

"What are we celebrating?" I asked as I immediately stepped in and started to help.

"Maverick called me today," she mumbled.

"He invite you to dinner Sunday?"

"Well, yeah," she chuckled. Her smile dropped. "He also told me about that Petty Officer that sabotaged your planes."

"Oh yeah," I scoffed. "Guy tried to. . . Wait, why was he telling you about that?"

"He talked me through what the Petty Officer did," she explained. "He asked if it was easy to reverse."

"Is it?"

"Very," she smiled again. "I told him it would only take an hour to reverse it."

"One hour to reverse it on all of our planes?"

"Well, an hour per plane," she smirked. "But I could easily get it done in a day or two. It was a small issue. Honestly, I could've done worse in high school."

"Did you explain to Maverick how to reverse it?" I chuckled.

"I didn't have to," she said, suddenly avoiding my eyes. "He asked me to come in next week and look at your planes and reverse the sabotage."

"That's awesome," I started to say, but she cut me off.

"He also wants me to see if I can tweak the computers so they can fight against anyone else who tries to sabotage or hack the planes."

"I didn't know you could do stuff with computers," I said, realizing just how long it's been since I had a real talk with my twin sister.

"I got a minor in cyber security, Bradley," she sighed.

"Did Maverick know?" I asked.

"I helped him put a few extra layers of security on the airplane hangar he keeps his plane in before he started training you guys. Now, Maverick wants me to spiff up the security on all your planes."

"How long would that take?"

"I said maybe two weeks," I shrugged. "Nothing more. But Maverick didn't put in for a limited transfer."

"What did he put in for?" I asked. I studied her and instantly knew what he put in for. I smiled as I answered my own question, "He got you permanently transferred to our base."

"Are you. . . Are you okay with that?"

"Of course," I laughed as I turned and stirred the sauce. Y/N grabbed my arm and pulled me back so I was facing her again.

"Are you really?" She double-checked. "I don't want to come to your base and. . . I know that you don't like me following you around. . . I mean, we're each our own person. And. . . Well, does your team even know about me?"

"They don't," I sighed. I hated that the look in her eyes slightly dropped. "The only reason I didn't tell them about you was to protect you. As soon as they find out I have a twin sister, I know several of them will look you up on the Navy website."

"And they'll think I'm disgusting?" She fake laughed.

"No," I said firmly. "They'll think you're amazing and bother me until I bring you around."

"And you don't want to bring me around because. . ."

"I don't want to bring you around them because I don't want them tripping over themselves to get to you."

"Like they would do that," she scoffed under her breath and walked back to the stove. I sighed before setting the table.

I hated it when she did this. Y/N's always struggled with her confidence. Part of it has to do with her being a mechanic. The other part was typical teenage girl stuff.

I thought that she'd grown past that.

As we ate, I got an idea. "What if I took you to my favorite Navy bar on the beach and we can celebrate you coming to base?"

"Your favorite Navy. . . Won't your friends be there?"

"I hope they are," I smiled at her.

"You want. . . You want me to meet your friends?"

"I do, Y/N."

* * * * *

Reader's POV

I subconsciously straightened out my uniform that I rarely wore. Bradley looked over my shoulder and laughed.

"What?" I scoffed. "I'm usually in my mechanic jumpsuit."

"You look good," he chuckled as he opened the bar door. As soon as we were surrounded by other Navy guys, my heart jumped into my throat. With my nerves and anxiety all over the place, I grabbed my twin brother's hand.

"It's okay," he said under his breath. "If the guys look at you wrong, just let me know. I'll kick their ass."

I rolled my eyes as he kissed my cheek.

"Bradshaw. As I live and breathe."

I looked away from my brother to see a guy smirking at me. His eyes fell on me and his smirk changed.

"And who is this, Bradshaw?" The guy asked.

"This is Y/N," he introduced me. "Y/N, this is my team. Phoenix, Bob, Payback, Fanboy, Omaha, Coyote, and Hangman."

"It's nice to put faces to the names on the sides of planes," I chuckled.

"What does that mean?" Coyote challenged.

"Easy, Lieutenant," I chuckled. "I'm a Navy mechanic."

"She's the best mechanic the Navy has ever seen," Bradley bragged about me as he threw his arm around my shoulders. "And she's joining our unit."

"You're the mechanic Maverick called after someone hacked our planes," Phoenix said as she crossed her arms over her chest. "He seemed to believe that you could reverse it."

"She already did," Bradley smirked. "She went in today and reversed it on my plane. She even added like 7 layers of security."

"I only added one," I scoffed, pushing his arm off me. "And spiffed up the original security and added my own code to strengthen it."

"Do Navy Mechanics have callsigns?" Bob asked, making me smile.

"Sort of," I shrugged.

"Sort of?" Fanboy asked.

"Callsigns are only meant for pilots," I said like it should've been obvious. "Don't all pilots know that?"

"We do," Fanboy said crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, mechanics aren't pilots. But we do have nicknames for each other," I clarified.

"What's yours?" Phoenix asked, glancing at the other guys with a smirk on her face.

"Tinkerbell."

"Tinkerbell?" They all repeated.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "Mechanics 'tinker' with things and I'm a girl. Tinkerbell."

I sent Bradley a smirk, making the two of us laugh. I looked over to see Hangman studying us.

"So, Bradshaw," he finally spoke up, "how do you know the Navy's Best Mechanic?"

I glanced at him, not sure if he was going to tell his flight crew the truth.

"Y/N is my twin sister."

"You're what?!" His team gasped in sync.

"Do you guys always talk in sync?" I asked, making Bradley laugh. "You've done it twice now."

"You have a twin sister, Bradshaw?" Hangman laughed. "You are his twin sister? That's not possible."

"Why not?" I challenged.

"Well, he's eck and you're hmm."

I turned to my brother and said, "I don't know whether to be flattered or offended."

"Offended," Bradley answered instantly. He turned toward Hangman, his Protective Brother Glare on his face, and added, "With Hangman, the default should always be offended."

* * * * *

When we got home later that night, Bradley talked to me for over an hour. For some reason, he made it his life mission that I know everything about his team. Especially Hangman.

Bradley spent most of the time warning me about the kind of guy Lieutenant Jake "Hangman" Seresin truly was. He wanted to make sure I knew what kind of game he played and how he treated/talked about women.

I'd be lying if I didn't get the "womanizer" vibe from him. All night it felt like he was studying me. He'd say things that were clearly meant to be brags. After he said them, he'd look at me like he was waiting for me to be impressed.

I've been here a little under a week now and Hangman has fulfilled every warning my brother gave me. He was busy on the flight simulator while I was working on his plane. When I get working, I tend to tune everything around me out. So much so, I didn't hear someone walk in.

"Gotta say," someone said as they walked in. "Seeing another body in my cockpit doesn't sit well with me."

"Aww," I fake-cooed. "Is Mr. Hangman feeling a bit self-conscious about his cockpit?"

I smirked and the look in his eyes slightly darkened. I laughed as I went back to tweaking the security.

"Can you at least tell me what you're doing to my plane?"

"Your baby is perfectly safe with me, Hangman," I said. "I've almost broken down the previous hack. Once I get it off, I can put in my own code of security."

"You write code?" He challenged.

"I'm not just a mechanic," I sighed. "I got my degree in cyber security. A part of that is understanding code. Once you understand it, it's easy to write."

Hangman kept asking me random questions as I worked on his plane. Most of the questions were about Bradley and my childhood. I didn't give him full answers—just your basic half-assed ones —until he brought up the bar.

"You didn't seem impressed by me," he laughed off.

"Was I supposed to be?" I challenged. I glanced over my shoulder and smirked when I saw his jaw clenched.

"Well, yeah," he tried to shrug off. "My numbers and stats are. . ."

"Let me stop you right there," I cut him off and stopped what I was doing. "Something you should realize, Hangman, is the fact that I am constantly surrounded by insecure men who think they have to prove they're more masculine than me."

"More masculine than you?" He smirked.

"My brother wasn't exaggerating when he told you guys that I'm the best mechanic the Navy's got," I explained. "Men don't like women trampling their turf. They get defensive and angry and insecure."

"Why are you telling me this?" He asked, his usual bravado failing.

"Because I wanted you to know why I wasn't falling for your little tricks," I said, turning back and finishing what I was doing on his plane. "You do know that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, you catch more women with honesty than with lies."

I sent him a look before wrapping it up. The entire time I finished working, Hangman stayed where he was and watched me. I got hyper-focused on his plane and forgot he was there until I climbed down. My foot missed the third-to-last step. I would've fallen if Hangman wasn't there.

He caught my hips and we both went down. We landed with matching grunts.

"You okay?" He asked, his arms still wrapped around me. My brother's words of warning popped back into my mind.

"I'm good," I said, standing up and brushing myself off. I looked up, instantly coming face-to-face with Hangman. "Thank you."

"Of course," he said, instantly snapping back into his cocky demure.

I saw the clock on the wall and smirked. I crossed my arms over my chest and slightly shifted my weight.

"You might want to get out of here."

"And why's that?" He asked, copying my stance.

"My twin brother is on his way and if you're here when he gets here, he'll throw you off this ship."

"Your brother warned you about me?" He laughed, but there was a bit of concern hiding in his eyes.

"Oh yeah," I chuckled. "He warned me thoroughly about you."

"What if I told you I was actually a good guy?" He asked, his voice slightly dropping. "And that I only act this way because everyone expects me to?"

I scoffed as I started to walk away. "Y/N," he stuttered.

"Guys only say that because they're too embarrassed or insecure to man up," I cut him off. "They either act like dicks because they are playing a facade to cover up an insecurity. Or they act like dicks because they are dicks. So my question for you, Hangman, is which type are you?"

I couldn't help but smirk when I saw the look on his face before walking away.

[flovverworks]

(person whos exhausted and thought of chloe a second too long) u know how im 70% sure chloe has an area convo where akira says something nice and chloe goes "is this what its like to have a big sibling?!?!", i need rustica to date someone n chloe to go "is this what its like to have (loving) parents?!?!?"

[dawning-day]

✨!!!!!! <333333333333 (hello my most beloved)

[inkskinned]

i love finding out how big this world is. my girlfriend has only visited boston a handful of times, but i grew up here. i told her we'd be going to do the tourist traps in salem, and she said - which salem?

to be fair to her, there are a lot of other states that have a town named "salem." and i think there's some evidence that the witch trials actually happened in what is now called Danvers. but the thing is - she thought "salem" was like, a made-up thing. there wasn't actually a salem, massachusetts - like there isn't a gotham city.

they don't talk about it that much where she grew up, is the thing! and this made me laugh. a week ago she was talking about her hometown and said something akin to "well the museum's kinda like the one in richmond," and i had to explain i still had no frame of reference for what the hell this museum was like.

i love finding out what knowledge i take for granted. i used to live with 5 other women. 3 of them were from south korea. they had to take, like, a solid fifteen minutes to explain their birthday system to my gay math-blind ass, laughing as they did.

that same month, our roommate from denmark taught me the danish word for wreath by accident - she'd been talking about decorations, used krans, and i'd been able to figure it out through context. i just picked it up and kept talking. our entire house used krans as the word. she came home and slammed the door one evening, mock-angry, shouting: you motherfuckers! it's a - a wreath!

and how often do you use certain words, anyway! i am cuban, so i was raised with certain spanish words sort of sprinkled in there; but never how you'd think. in middle school i asked someone to pass me the recogedor - in a completely american accent, like i was speaking english. i hadn't registered it as a spanish word. i mean, how often in school do you actually use the word "dustpan" - i'd only ever heard it in the context of cleaning my house.

there are places that you grew up that you, just, like, know. that you assume everyone knows. there are things and people and "common knowledge" that you have that, just, like. doesn't exist for me. i don't know what you call your public transportation system, but in boston we call it "the T". our train cards are called charlie cards because of a song where a father accidentally abandons his family, which was written because our system of transportation. in boston, most people would snort and say everyone knows that, kid.

i think you and i should go on a long walk - it's getting dark early these days and we need any sun we can manage. tell me about the first time you saw snow. tell me about the stuff everyone knows about your home. tell me about the cities "everyone's been to," about the food "everyone's already tried." who knows. maybe it will feel nice to you - watching someone learn about it for the very first time.

[flowersforbucky]

where the lines overlap

logan howlett x reader (dofp!logan x mutant!reader)

word count: 8.7k

summary: no one gets under your skin quite as much as logan howlett - and he knows it, too. sex pollen trope.

warnings/tags: 18+ only mdni, smut, sex pollen so dub con, frenemies to lovers? they aren't enemies but logan and reader don't really get along, reader is a mutant with pyrokinesis, reader is afab, reader is described as being smaller than logan, no use of y/n, wet dream, fuck or die situation, oral, pet names (bub, princess), brief pain kink for logan, unprotected p in v, cream pie

author's note: takes place after the events of days of future past - so everyone's alive, charles is old af, and logan has a pretty streak of silver in his hair. not proofread super well so please ignore any errors.

There's certain things that you like to think about when you're pissed off. It’s a coping mechanism that you learned in therapy at the ripe age of eleven.

Go to your happy place or whatever.

For you, that's the mansion's courtyard after a fresh snowfall, and having the library all to yourself on a rainy day, and the comfort of your bedroom on one of the rare days that you aren’t teaching, or training, or on a mission.

At this point in your life, you’ve forgotten just about everything you were taught in that therapist's office. It's not like you had wanted to be there, but your parents had been worried and scared – and rightfully so. With the unexpected emergence of your pyrokinetic abilities came multiple accidental house fires born out of preteen angst.

So they did the only thing they knew to do at the time – stick you in therapy in hopes you would acquire some anger management techniques.

These days, you have a pretty good handle on your powers. With a lot of time and effort, you learned to control them – and not just control them, but yield them in a beneficial and productive way.

All of that progress comes dangerously close to going out the window anytime you're in close proximity to Logan Howlett.

Maybe all is an exaggeration – but no one else makes your fingertips burn hot with fire that threatens to break through the barrier of your skin quite like him. From his bossiness to his arrogance and attitude, you’ve clashed heads since the first day you met him.

Today is no different.

“Don’t use so much force.”

You curse as the tip of the blade impales the target a whopping three inches from the center. By far your worst throw yet, though this one isn’t entirely your fault.

You snap your head towards the unexpected but familiar voice, pulling your last dagger from the holster secured around your thigh before chucking it in his general direction. It flies past him, bouncing off the wall behind him.

You knew that it wouldn’t actually hit him. And if by some miracle it had, he’d heal in two seconds and then go right back to being a pain in your ass.

A good looking pain in your ass, admittedly. But a pain in your ass nonetheless.

He looks at you with an amused expression. “See? Too much force.”

“I didn’t know that having giant forks for hands made you an expert on throwing knives.”

He exhales a breathy laugh, staring at you for several seconds before turning to pick the dagger up from the ground. He then proceeds to collect the rest of the knives that you had previously thrown from the body of the practice target.

In heavy silence, he struts over to you with the daggers in hand. He turns to face a wooden target board, finding the balance point of the knife before sending it flying through the air.

Bullseye.

“A long time ago, when I first joined this team, Charles made me practice a non-power related method of self-defense, too.” He pauses, lining the second dagger up with the practice dummy. To no surprise, it’s another perfect throw.

“Wanna guess what I chose?”

You snatch the remaining knife out of his hand.

“How to annoy someone by sneaking up on them and giving them unsolicited advice while they are minding their own business?”

You position your feet once again, holding the knife up in preparation to take aim. Your eyes dart back and forth between the blade and the target ahead of you. You hesitate, feeling nervous under his gaze.

Logan moves from standing beside you, to standing behind you. Your breath catches in your throat as his large figure looms over you. If he were to took a step forward, his chest would brush against your back.

He uses the tip of his boot to nudge your heel forward half an inch, adjusting your stance. He takes your right hand in his, and you have to consciously remind yourself to breathe.

A wave of annoyance washes over you that he’s able to fluster you so easily. It makes you as pissed at yourself as it does him. He’s barely touching you – his hand dwarfing yours is the only point of physical contact, but you’d think that he were pinning you up against a wall with his body.

You tell yourself the sudden light-headedness and increased heartrate is because of the newfound closeness, and nothing more. You’re used to being around Logan – the two of you live together and work together. His general presence is nothing new. But the intimacy of your current predicament is.

And maybe the fact that notes of tobacco and bourbon are infiltrating your senses doesn’t help.

“As unsolicited as my advice may be,” he says lowly as he pulls your hand back slightly, “I give it because if there is ever a situation where someone's trying to hurt you, and you’re unable to light them on fire for some reason, I would really hope that you could at least impale them.”

He tightens his hold on your hand, and then snaps both of your wrists forward. Surprisingly, your brain registers to release your grip just in time. When the tip of the blade impales the center of the target perfectly, he drops your hand.

But he doesn’t move from behind you.

“Much better. Now come back upstairs. Charles needs to see all of us in his office.”

••••••

You and Logan are the last people to enter Charles’ office.

Storm, Scott, Jean, Marie, and Bobby have all found places to sit throughout the small room. Logan chooses to lean against the door that clicks shut behind him, while you exhale in relief at the sight of an empty chair on the opposite side of the room, next to Marie.

“Ah, how nice of you two to join us,” Charles greets. “I was starting to think that Logan got lost on his way to retrieve you.”

You force out a laugh, earning a side-eye from Marie as Charles launches back into whatever he had been in the middle of before you two interrupted.

“Everything okay?” Marie murmurs to you. “You looked a little sick when you walked in.”

“Oh, yeah,” you shrug her off without looking at her. You keep your eyes on Charles. “Yeah, I'm just tired. Been training all morning.”

What were you supposed to tell her? That you were thankful to be wearing a tactical suit so that Logan couldn’t see all of the goosebumps that bloomed across your skin when he was practically breathing down your neck less than five minutes ago? Or that the walk back up to Charles’ office was filled with a loaded silence in place of your usual bickering and banter?

Marie might be one of your closest friends, and you trust her, but Logan is something of a fatherly figure to her. There’s no way you’re letting her hear those words come from your mouth.

You try your hardest to focus on all of the information that Charles throws at you. You’re all to leave on a mission early tomorrow morning. When he explains where you’re going and why, chills run down your spine.

Alberta, Canada – more specifically, Alkali Lake. All of your friends seem to tense up at the mere mention of the place.

You dig your teeth into your lower lip, fighting the urge to sneak a glance to try to gauge Logan's reaction. You’ve never been to Alkali Lake before, and you’re far from excited about going – you can only imagine how he feels, given his history with the abandoned military base.

After no word of any activity surrounding the base for years, Charles had been made aware that the recent disappearance of a group of young adult humans had been traced back to Alkali Lake – to a modern day subsidiary of the group Weapon X.

The same group responsible for Logan’s skeleton being made from adamantium.

This, of course, is where all of you come in.

After a detailed rundown of the goals for tomorrow – the main one being safe extraction of the humans – Charles dismisses all of you to rest for the remainder of the day.

When everyone stands up, you finally risk glancing at Logan, but he’s already opening the door to Charles’ office and strutting away.

••••••

Thick stubble scratches your innermost thighs as sharp teeth and soft lips alternate between kissing and biting the sensitive flesh between your legs.

His face is covered in your slick from the three orgasms he’s already pulled from you with his tongue. He lays nestled between your legs, pinning you to the mattress beneath you. Your thighs rest across his shoulders, his hands splayed across your belly.

You're putty in his hands.

“I've gotta say, the sounds you make when you cum are way cuter than the sounds I'm used to hearing from you,” Logan muses against your cunt. His voice sends a vibration over your already overstimulated core.

You can only guess that the sounds he’s referring to are annoyed sighs and you telling him to shut the fuck up, but right now, you don't care enough to ask for any clarification.

“Yeah?” You yelp when his tongue flicks against your swollen clit. “Maybe if you spent less time pissing me off you’d get to—”

You're cut off by him plunging the tip of his index finger inside you. You writhe against him, your walls constricting around the digit.

“Less time pissing you off, more time letting you fuck my fingers and face. Got it.”

The slamming of a door somewhere outside of your room causes you to bolt upright in your bed.

You open your eyes to darkness except for the red glow of the numbers on your digital alarm clock that read 12:26 in the morning. Your heart feels as if it’s going to beat right out of your chest, and your skin is clammy with a thin layer of sweat. You throw your covers away from you in an attempt to cool yourself off.

“What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck—”

You whisper the three words to yourself over and over again until your breathing resumes a normal pattern.

You’re alone, of course. In the comfort of your private room, where you had fallen asleep several hours ago. The difference between now and then is an uncomfortable pool of wetness between your legs, soaking your underwear.

You can’t even recall the last time you had such a vivid sex dream. It felt utterly lifelike – you reach down between your legs, trailing your fingers over the skin of your inner thighs where you had felt his beard tickle and tease you.

How the fuck are you supposed to look him in the eye tomorrow, when you’re having to work together to rescue humans from Alkali Lake? How are you supposed to come up with smart-ass remarks for his endless taunting and teasing when you’re going to be trying your hardest to not replay the images of his hazel eyes looking up at from between your thighs?

“Get a fucking grip,” you whisper hiss to yourself.

It’s Logan. The same Logan who acted like he was too good to say more than ten words to you the first half a year that you were with the team. The same Logan that tries to get you benched for the dumbest, smallest reasons he can think of. The same Logan that condescendingly calls you kid or princess every chance he gets because he knows it gets under your skin.

You need a glass of water. And some fresh air, and a cold shower—

You start by picking up the pair of sweatpants that you’d discarded before falling asleep a few hours ago. You step back into them, deciding to trek to the kitchen for some ice water. Your mouth feels as dry as cotton.

As you approach the end of the hallway that leads from the team member's bedrooms to the kitchen, you hear the soft shuffling of footsteps and see low lighting that spills from the refrigerator.

As soon as you step into the kitchen, you come to a halt. You recognize the large frame standing in front of the open fridge right away.

Of fucking course it would be him. And of fucking course he wouldn’t be wearing a shirt.

You clear your throat to announce your presence, not quite trusting your voice to speak. He looks at you over his shoulder, a bottle of beer pressed to his lips.

You walk over to the cabinet beside him, keeping your eyes off of him entirely as you get a glass.

“What's got you awake at this hour?” He closes the fridge, leaning back against the edge of the countertop. The only light in the room now comes from the small, dim bulb above the sink.

If he only fucking knew, you think. If he only knew that the real reason you are out of bed right now is because you’d just woken up from an extremely graphic, jarring dream of you riding his face.

You fill the cup up with cold water from the kitchen sink and take a large swig before once again turning to face him.

“Could ask you the same thing,” you answer with a vague gesture to his half-dressed form and beer bottle.

He takes in your appearance, too. His eyes trail from your exposed feet, to your baggy sweatpants, and up to your even baggier t-shirt before settling on your face. You feel particularly vulnerable under his gaze right now. You compare how you look to how he looks – with his stupid abs that look like God himself chiseled them from stone and his sweatpants that hang just a little too comfortably.

You sip on your water just to keep from biting your lip.

“Guess we were both thirsty,” he shrugs as he takes another sip of his beer.

“Guess so,” you hum, and because you don’t want to fall into an awkward silence and it’s the only thing you can think to add, you say, “Nervous about the mission?”

His expression darkens and posture tenses at your question. “I am,” he admits. “And if you knew as much as I do about that place, you’d be nervous, too.”

You huff. Your grip tightens around the glass in your hand at the mere insinuation that he knows your feelings. “Who says that I’m not?”

“If you’re going, you’re not nervous enough.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. You take a deep breath, knowing damn well the direction that this conversation is headed. You’d heard it all from him before – anything to keep you as far away from him as possible.

“Of course I’m going, Logan. Whether you think I’m good at it or not, it’s my job.”

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re good at your job. It’s about experience—”

You laugh, cutting him off. You can feel the telltale warmth of fire beginning to form beneath the tips of your fingers, your irritation threatening to bubble over.

“Experience?” you exclaim. “Do I need to remind you that I’ve been with this team for three years now? Just because I’m not two hundred years old like you doesn’t mean that I don’t have experience.”

“I’m very aware of how long you’ve been with this team, bub,” he says calmly, which makes you all the more heated.

“For three years you’ve spewed every bullshit reason you can think of to keep me on the sidelines,” you laugh. “I wish you’d fucking admit that you just don’t like me. It’d be a lot more respectable than acting like you’re worried about—”

Logan’s gaze drops to the glass in your hand, making you come to an abrupt pause. You follow his stare, realizing that you’ve managed to melt the glass where your fingertips grip the glass. Water begins to leak out from the holes, spilling onto your sweatpants and the floor below you.

There’s no visible flames emanating from your fingertips. Your anger hadn’t progressed to full on fire, just intense heat, but still. No one else makes you come as close to losing control as him.

No one. And he seems to know it, too. You can tell by the smug look on his face.

You dump what little liquid is left into the sink before chucking the distorted glass into the garbage.

You start to storm past him, to get away from him and go back to your room without another word, when he grabs you by the wrist. You look at him in bewilderment – this is the second time in the last twenty-four hours that he has held your hand in his.

“Didn’t know you were so hot and bothered over me,” he says with an amused smirk.

You rip your hand away from him, an exaggerated look of disgust on your face. Your recent dream pops into your head and you have to remind yourself that he’s not Jean or Charles – he can’t read your mind.

“You're lucky that you've got those handy healing powers,” you spit as you once again begin exiting the kitchen. “If I thought there was a chance of it actually shutting you up, I’d burn more than just Charles’ vintage glassware.”

You hear him say your name, but you’re already speed walking back to your room and playing your list of happy place thoughts on a loop in your head.

The soup that Storm makes when everyone at the school seems to get sick at the same time. One of your younger students picking you a flower. The smell of fresh laundry, the crisp pages of a new book.

Finally, your bedroom door clicks shut behind you.

You would have been better off just enduring the discomfort of a dry throat, you think. You don't know what's worse – not being able to sleep because you're rattled from a wet dream about him, or not being able to sleep because you've once again allowed him to get under your skin.

You crawl back under your covers, hoping that when you close your eyes, you don't see his face again.

••••••

Logan doesn’t make any more appearances in your dreams for the rest of the night, but that doesn’t stop him from being the first thing you think of when you open your eyes in the morning.

And as much as you hate to admit it to yourself, the only thing on your mind the entire flight from New York to Alberta.

From the tension that filled the air when he corrected your knife throwing technique yesterday morning to the warmth of his calloused hand when he grabbed you by the wrist in the kitchen last night, you're fighting a losing battle with no one but yourself.

As far as you can tell, he’s utterly unaffected. The fact that he chose to sit directly in front of you on the jet instead of any of the other empty seats says as much.

Not even ten minutes into the flight, you're staring at the tufts of his hair and his broad shoulders when you have to remind yourself that there's two telepaths occupying this jet with you. Though you trust both Charles and Jean to not read your mind without cause, the mere possibility of either one of them accidentally tuning into your thoughts and seeing a replay of your most recent dream or hearing you think about what it would be like to tug on those stupid fucking tufts of hair that resemble kitten ears is enough to mortify you.

You find yourself grateful that you brought a book and headphones with you to distract yourself for the duration of the trip.

An eerie feeling creeps into your bones as soon as you step onto the hanger of the jet. You can’t deny that the scenery surrounding the military base is beautiful – from the snowcapped mountains to the frost covered lake, it’s picturesque. But then your gaze settles on the large dam, and you remember what lies beneath.

“Can't say that I've missed this place,” Logan grunts, drawing your attention to him. His face is impassive other than his mouth being set in a hard, straight line as he stares out towards the water.

It's rare for Logan to elicit feelings outside of burning irritation (and maybe, possibly, sometimes arousal) from you – but right now, there’s a part of you that wishes the dynamic between the two of you were different.

As much as he infuriates you, you still care about him. You wish you could say that you didn’t, but the fact that you feel the urge to reach out and give his hand a reassuring squeeze makes that pretty hard to deny.

That urge dissipates as quickly as it comes over you. The bitter chill of the mountain wind and your teammates voices pull you back to reality. You awkwardly fiddle with one of the daggers strapped to your thigh instead.

“Jean and Scott, the two of you take the west side of the building,” Charles instructs when the group nears the discreet entrance. “Bobby and Rogue, clear the east wing. Storm and I will be keeping watch outside to make sure that no one tries to escape with the humans.”

“What about us?” you ask with a slight nod towards Logan. The fact that neither of you had been given instructions yet leaves it to be assumed that you’ll be paired up together.

You and Logan working as a pair was nothing out of the ordinary, and although that typically comes with a lot of annoyance, right now you can’t help but feel a little relieved by it.

Even if you are still irritated at him for his behavior and choice of words in the kitchen last night and even if you do think of him between your thighs every time you look at him for more than five seconds, he’s still more familiar with this place than anyone else here.

And no matter how much he makes you want to tear your hair out, there's never a time that you feel unsafe when he's near.

“You and Logan are to inspect the basement,” Charles answers. “I trust that you can refrain from melting any antique personal property until we are back at the mansion, my dear,” he adds with a knowing smirk.

“I was planning on paying you back for that,” you mumble.

“No,” Charles sighs. “You weren't. It was very expensive.”

Logan snorts, earning curious glances from everyone other than you and Charles. He does get a nasty side-eye from you – a silent promise to deliver on last night’s threat to find something to burn other than vintage glassware.

Your teammates split up into their respective groups upon entering the base, leaving you to follow Logan's lead towards the lower levels.

It’s unsettling just how silent it is. The only sounds are that of yours and Logan's boots against the ground. You'd be able to hear a pin drop from across the building.

And it's cold. The kind of cold that makes your bones ache. You instinctively flex your fingers, focusing on the warmth that radiates from the tips.

As the two of you make your way through the dark, seemingly endless basement, checking each room for signs of life, you can't help but think of Logan being here under much different circumstances.

You don't know the full extent of his time here – even he only remembers bits and pieces. But you know enough to know that this can’t be easy for him.

The fact that he's being uncharacteristically quiet only reaffirms that. He makes none of his typical taunts and jabs, only speaking when absolutely necessary.

You find yourself damn near wishing he’d make some snide comment about how you’re walking too loudly and how being partnered up with you feels like babysitting duty – if he did, maybe then you wouldn’t feel this annoying, persistent worry over his mental well-being.

“Logan,” you begin quietly as the two of you approach a large set of hospital style double doors at the end of a corridor. “I know being here can't be easy for you. I'm sorry that you have to be.”

He huffs a laugh under his breath, not meeting your eyes as he slowly pushes one of the doors open, peaking into the room before stepping inside and holding the door open for you.

“Just part of the job, bub,” he sighs. “I know what I signed up for.”

You enter, walking past him into the dark room. You shine your flashlight around the cramped space. Right away, you can tell that it’s vacant, as all of the other rooms you’ve checked have been. But it’s different – whereas most of the rooms have been completely empty, this one contains multiple twin sized beds. No frames, no pillows, just plain white sheets on each one.

“I know you do. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and he shines his own flashlight around the room from right behind you.

“It’s okay, princess,” he snorts. “I’m a big boy. You don’t gotta pretend to be worried about me.”

Princess. Your fingertips tingle as soon as the pet name leaves his lips.

“I’m not pretend—”

The sudden, loud clicking of a deadbolt echoes through the room, silencing you. You and Logan stare at each other for a brief moment, startled and confused, before he turns around and pushes on the double doors to no avail.

He slams the full weight of his body against the metal, but it doesn't budge.

“What the fuck,” he growls in between repeated strikes against the doors.

“Logan and I are locked in a room in the basement,” you say as you click on the communication device in your left ear. “The door automatically locked after we came inside. We can’t get it open—”

You’re met with white noise.

“My fucking comm isn’t working.” Panic begins to set in as you yank the device out of your ear to inspect it. There’s a small green light indicating that it is on, but for whatever reason, it isn’t getting signal.

“Scott? Storm? Can anyone hear us?” Logan says as he messes with his own communication device. “Nothing,” he grunts after a moment of silence.

“Professor? Jean? If either of you are listening, now would be a great time to poke around in our brains and let us know.”

Nothing indeed.

“Okay,” Logan says as he backs away from the double doors. “Blast them.”

“Blast them?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “They’re industrial metal doors. They’re like two feet thick. These walls are made out of concrete.” You bang your first against the rock solid wall for emphasis. “What the fuck do you think fire is—”

“I don’t hear you suggesting anything!”

“How about not setting the room we are trapped in on fire? Only one of us has regenerative—”

A loud hissing noise sounds from above, causing you and Logan to both point your flashlights up towards the ceiling. You squint, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. Large vents make up well over fifty percent of the ceiling, releasing what appears to be a fog like substance. It quickly transforms the air above you into one large, milky looking cloud.

“Charles! Storm! Scott – we need help. Quickly, we need help. I don’t know what’s going—”

You continue to shout into the communication device while Logan alternates between punching the door with his fists and throwing the full weight of his body against the metal, but all of your efforts are futile. The doors don’t budge, and you hear nothing but static from the comm.

You frantically glance around the room, looking for another escape route. There’s no other doors, and no windows. You’re completely enclosed by the four concrete walls and the impenetrable metal doors.

“Hold your breath!” Logan shouts as the fog descends upon the two of you, but it’s too late. The sickeningly sweet smelling mist encompasses you, making it impossible to see anything other than the thick silver vapor. It infiltrates your nostrils, causing you to gag. You cough, desperately trying to clear your airway of the substance.

It burns – your throat, your nostrils, your eyes and skin. Anywhere that it comes in contact with you feels like pins and needles.

You’re vaguely aware that Logan is somewhere to your left, asking if you’re okay in-between coughs and gags of his own. You can’t catch your breath well enough to answer him.

His hand clasps around the top of your arm. Your vision goes fuzzy and you collapse into him, light-headed from the profuse coughing.

“I think it’s dissipating,” Logan whispers in a strained voice, still supporting you so that you don’t fall to the floor. You risk cracking your eyes open the slightest bit, and realize that he’s right. There’s still a veil of mist surrounding you, but it’s no longer so opaque that you can’t see even two inches in front of your face.

You take deep breaths, making no effort to step away from him as you attempt to regain control of your breathing. Your lungs feel like they are on fire and your throat feels like you haven’t had any water in days.

“What the fuck was that?” Your voice comes out as a croak.

“Can you stand?” he asks you. You nod, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace.

As soon as he steps away from you to see if the doors are still locked, the momentary relief that you felt when the fog began to dissipate is replaced with renewed terror. The room, which was previously dark except for the light from your flashlights, suddenly glows a deep red color from the ceiling that now emits crimson fluorescence.

You open your mouth to call out for Charles or Jean again, when a throbbing sensation radiates throughout your gut. You clutch your hands over your abdomen, gasping at the sudden and awkward feeling.

Logan turns his attention away from the doors and back to you as soon as he notices how you’re hunched over. You stumble over to the bed that's closest to you, the world blurring around you in shades of red.

“Something is wrong,” you gasp out. You know you're stating the obvious – something has been wrong since the moment that the doors locked behind you.

He's next to you in two long strides, kneeling beside the bed and looking up at you in concern. The ache in your lower belly seems to worsen with his close proximity. Your skin feels feverish, making you want to peel your tactical suit off of your body.

“Tell me what you're feeling,” he demands. Other than obvious confusion and fear, he appears physically fine. You piece together that whatever that shit was, it’s effecting you much differently than it is him – undoubtedly due to his healing abilities.

You can't form a coherent sentence – all you can focus on is the way that the discomfort in your abdomen travels down to your groin, making you clench your thighs together. You have the inexplicable desire to reach out and pull him to you, as if having him as close as possible to you is the only solution for every uncomfortable thing happening to you.

“You gotta talk to me, bub. Tell me what’s going on,” he says when you don’t answer him. He puts a hand just above your knee and you have to hold back the whimper that threatens to break through your lips. He notices your pained expression and quickly withdraws his hand from your thigh.

“No!” you gasp, grabbing his hand in yours out of desperation to maintain some level of physical contact with him. “I – I don't know how to explain what’s happening. Just – I just need you to keep touching me. Please. Whatever that fog was, it’s making me feel like…”

You trail off, realizing that you must sound every bit as insane as you feel. You don’t know how to begin articulating what’s happening to you, because it makes no sense. When the silver mist first started to rain down from the ceiling, the last thing on your mind was Logan pinning you to one of these mattresses and railing you until you until you see stars. Now, you think that if he so much as stops holding your hand, you'll fucking die.

A look of clarity washes over Logan’s face – with a hint of something else that you can't quite pinpoint, too.

“I think I know what this is,” he murmurs. His stare is locked on one of the daggers strapped to your thigh. He squeezes your hand in his, though you don’t know if it’s to comfort you or himself.

“I’ve heard of this before. Didn’t know it actually exists. I came across it once when preparing a lesson on Alkali Lake—”

“What is it?” you implore.

His eyes finally flicker back up to yours. Images of last night’s dream flash through your mind again. Instead of his hand holding yours, you visualize his slender fingers pumping inside you. You stare at his lips, imaging the feeling of them sucking love bites into the meat of your inner thighs –

“It’s a chemical created for breeding experiments,” he answers after a pregnant pause. “They – Weapon X – wanted super mutants. Some of the subjects were… less than compliant. This made it so that they weren’t able to fight it.”

You let his words sink in. It’s not something you’ve ever heard of, but you don’t doubt that what he’s saying is true. How could you, with the way that your pussy is throbbing at the mere sound of his voice? Under normal circumstances, you might not read too far into that. But right now? On a mission, locked in a creepy basement, unable to get in contact with your teammates?

“Weren’t able to fight it,” you repeat slowly. “You're saying there’s only one way out of this.”

He doesn’t answer – just looks at you with sympathy. With pity.

“No,” you shake your head. You yank your hand from his grasp and move back across the mattress as the gravity of the situation hits you. To distance yourself from him feels like ripping air out of your own lungs, but the alternative is borderline unthinkable.

“I can’t – won’t ask that of you,” you declare. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that laughs at you, as if saying it’s cute that you think you have a choice. The pain and longing grow with each passing second, threatening to consume you from the inside out.

“You’re fine. It would be different if it was both of us. But you shouldn’t have to do this just because you're stuck here with me.”

“Have to? You make it sound like it would be a punishment for me,” he chuckles darkly. He finally rises from where he had been kneeling next to the bed. He stands beside the mattress, looming over you in the maroon lighting.

“Let’s not overcomplicate this, princess,” he murmurs. He grasps your face in his palm and tilts your head to look up at him. His touch is a balm – it feels like running a burn under a cold stream of water.

“I'm gonna take care of you, and then you can go right back to tolerating my existence.” He runs the calloused pad of his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip. Your eyes flutter shut, reveling in the sensation of the singular digit against your flesh.

“Besides, it’s not like you haven’t dreamed about this. Or were you moaning about someone else who just happens to have the same name as me last night?”

Your eyes shoot open at the revelation that not only had you said his name in your sleep, but he’d fucking heard you. And has the nerve to tease you about it at a time like this.

He's smirking down at you. His smugness irritates you often, but right now it’s enough to cause the tips of your fingers to burn hot. You jerk his hand away from your face, causing him to hiss when your fingers wrap around his wrist.

He chortles, his eyes rolling back in his head at the sensation. The reaction fills you with annoyance – of course he would have a fucking pain kink.

As much as it pisses you off, it also spurs you on. Blame the influence of the chemicals that you’re currently under, but the fact that he can so easily tolerate and even enjoy something that would have anyone else running in the opposite direction does something to you.

You’re past the point of finding it in you to care about consequences. You’re no longer thinking about how you’ll be able to look him in the eye when this is over, or how you’ll pretend like everything is perfectly normal when the two of you are back on the jet with your teammates.

Maybe you can fight this drug, or maybe he’s right and there’s no point in trying. Either way, you’ve decided that you're going to have him before you leave this room.

You drop his hand, bringing yours to the zipper at the neckline of your tactical suit. You slowly tug it downwards, gauging his expression as he watches you expose your chest and stomach.

For once, he’s all out of smart remarks.

A part of you feels a sense of satisfaction and wants to continue taking your time with undressing yourself, just to keep him looking at you like this – but every fiber of your being is screaming at you for more.

You waste no more time with shoving the restrictive Kevlar material down your arms, leaving you in only your bra from the waist up. Logan unfreezes at the sight, crawling onto the bed on his knees. You maneuver yourself so that you’re laying flat against the mattress, pulling him down with you.

He rips the fabric of your bra away from your breast, immediately attaching his mouth to your nipple. He rolls it between his tongue and teeth, causing you to arch your back into his touch. Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips, pinning yourself to the mattress with his body. You mewl at the feeling of your pebbled nipple in his warm mouth.

His other hand attempts to free the opposite breast, but the fabric is too tight and restrictive. He let’s out an annoyed growl, pulling back to unsheathe his claws and snip the material in between your tits, letting them spill free.

“Hey! I loved that bra—”

Your complaint dies in your throat when he slates his lips over yours.

There’s nothing slow or sensual about the way that he kisses you. He slips his tongue past your lips, moving his lips with fervency and urgency – like he needs this as badly as you do.

You buck your hips up into him, desperate for any amount of friction. He grinds down against you, his erection evident even through the thick material of both of your tactical suits.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss to unzip your suit the rest of the way down. He peels it down your thighs, only stopping to discard your boots. When you’re left in only your underwear, he looks at you with a satisfied smirk.

“So, what exactly was I doing in your dream to have you saying my name like that, huh?” he asks as he toys with the waistband of your panties.

You roll your eyes, your patience growing thinner as the ache in your belly grows stronger. He can tease you about that all he wants when you’re back in the safety of the mansion, when you’re no longer under the influence of potentially life threatening chemicals and capable of thinking of a proper comeback.

“Shut up and eat me out.”

His smirk only grows, but he doesn’t tease you any further. He tugs your panties down your legs, tossing them to the floor. He lowers himself onto his stomach, still fully dressed. Under less dire circumstances, you would’ve been eager to get him out of his clothes, too – but right now, your highest priority is feeling his mouth on you.

No wet dream could have prepared you for how euphoric it actually feels for his teeth to nip at the tender flesh of your inner thighs, or the way that his tongue draws lazy circles at your hole before his lips lock around your clit.

You writhe against him, chasing the release that you’ve been desperate for since the second the vapor first came in contact with your skin. He’s more than generous, expertly nursing at your swollen bud as he eases a slender finger inside your cunt.

One finger – that’s all it takes to feel your climax building, the coil in your lower belly tightening. You feel your walls pulse around the digit as your orgasm washes over you. You don’t even try to hold back your cries and praises of pleasure, letting him know how good he’s making you feel.

When he sits back, his lips and beard glisten with your slick in the red glow that encases you both. You push yourself into a sitting position and reach for the zipper of his suit, antsy to shed his clothing now that your physical discomfort had been quelled – at least for the time being.

He helps you, shrugging out of his vest and tugging his undershirt over his head. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. You’ve seen him shirtless before, but never shirtless for you. You want to dig your nails into the planes of his chest, and run your tongue along the protruding vein that disappears beyond the waistline of his pants –

You undo his belt buckle and pop open the button of his pants before hastily yanking both his pants and boxers down in one movement. His cock springs free, bobbing inches before your face. You start to adjust your position on the bed – to get on your knees and take him in your mouth – when a low chuckle causes you to pause and look up at him.

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts, earning a confused pout from you.

“You don’t want me to suck your dick?” You ask with raised brows.

“S’not about me right now, bub. I said I was gonna take care of you, and that’s what I’m gonna do. Now lay back down for me.”

You aren’t going to argue with that.

You return to your original position on the mattress, pulling him down with you. He hovers above you, using one arm to support himself on the bed. He takes his cock in his free hand, stroking his length a few times before nudging his head through your folds until he’s lubricated in your juices.

“Don’t you worry, though,” he murmurs against your lips. He teases his tip at your hole. “If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I'll let you.”

“Oh, you’re so thoughtfu—”

He sheaths himself inside you, turning the end of your retort into a gasp. He fills you entirely, stilling to allow both of you time to adjust to the sensation. The stretch is damn near blinding, making your eyes roll back into your skull. You glance down between your bodies, halfway expecting to see him jutting out of your stomach.

He fucks you similarly to how he kisses you – like this is saving him as much as it is you. It's rough, and fast, and messy – and you dread the moment that it’s over.

No one has ever filled you as completely and perfectly as him. You don’t think anyone else ever will, again.

Each drag of his cock along your walls has you clenching around him, each time his head rams against your cervix you can’t help but cry his name.

He snakes his hand in between you, reaching down to where his body collides with yours. His thumb massages over your sensitive clit.

You rake your nails down his back and he hisses in approval, snapping his hips into you at a brutal pace.

“Fuckin’ ruinin’ me for anyone else, princess,” he grunts before kissing you again.

You don't have time to overthink the sentiment before your second orgasm is washing over you. Logan cums as soon as he feels your pussy pulsating around him, fucking you until he's spilled every last drop of his warm seed deep inside you. When you're both finished, he stills inside you and rests his sweat-slicked forehead against yours as he catches his breath.

“You think it worked?” he grunts.

As if on cue, you hear the deadbolt unlock from the other side of the room. A second later, Storm’s voice sounds from your communication device that had fallen to the floor at some point.

“I don't feel like there’s a ticking time bomb inside my vagina anymore. So, I’d say yeah, it worked.”

He huffs a laugh, and then pulls out of you with a sigh.

“Logan,” you say, stopping him before he can pull away from you entirely. He stares down at you, waiting for you to continue.

You aren’t even sure what to say. Truthfully, you just weren’t ready for the moment to end and for things to go back to normal between the two of you.

“Thank you,” you spit out after a moment of loaded silence. “For… helping me,” you finish lamely.

“Don’t thank me, bub,” he chuckles. “It’s far from the worst thing that's happened to me in this place.”

••••••

You sleep the entire flight back to New York.

And as soon as you've showered and your head hits the pillow after returning home to the mansion, you sleep for another ten hours. Every time you wake up and think that you're finally well-rested, your body says otherwise and you're asleep again within minutes.

You wish you could say it’s a dreamless sleep, but that would be a lie. You see Logan’s face every time you close your eyes.

But it's different than the last dream you had of him. It isn’t images of his head between your thighs or his fingers slipping in and out of you.

It’s just.. him. His presence. The lingering feeling of his lips on yours, the light flavor of tobacco and menthol.

And the echo of the words he spoke as he teased you with the head of his cock and made you cum around his length.

“Don’t you worry, though. If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I’ll let you.”

“Fuckin’ ruinin’ me for anyone else, princess.”

When you wake, the ache between your thighs for him remains, despite the fact that the effects of the drugs had long since faded.

You know you shouldn’t read too far into words spoken while the two of you were locked in that room. But you can’t help but keep thinking that he wasn’t under the influence of chemical subjugation. Which leaves you questioning if he meant the things he said, or if he was just trying to lighten a scary, impossible situation for both of you.

You suppose there’s only one way to find out.

When you finally gather the courage the knock on his door, the sun has set and everyone has retired to their bedrooms for the evening.

You almost dash back into your own room during the few seconds that it takes him to open his door. He wears sweatpants, a plain black t-shirt, and a surprised expression.

“Hey, bub,” he greets you apprehensively. You don't normally make a habit of stopping by his room for late night chats. “Was starting to worry that you’d fallen into a coma.”

He opens his door wider, motioning with his head for you to come inside.

“Felt like it,” you give a small laugh. “Whatever was in that shit wore me out.” You take a seat on the edge of his bed, nervously wringing your hands together.

“You feeling better now?” he asks as he leans against his dresser, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes trail over the large muscles of his chest and shoulders. The memory of his body caging you to the twin sized mattress in the basement of the bunker flashes through your mind.

You nod, hoping that it’s convincing.

“All things considered,” you shrug. “I just wanted to check in with you. Has Charles… said anything?”

What you're actually trying to ask is if Charles interrogated him about where the two of you were during the mission, why no one was able to contact either of you, and why you have been so exhausted that you've done nothing but sleep for the last day, but you trust that he knows what you mean.

“He hasn’t said anything, but..” he trails off, eyes darting around the room to avoid your gaze. “It’s Charles. Safe to assume he knows and is just being decent by not saying anything.”

“Right,” you murmur.

If he doesn’t already know, it's only a matter of time before you slip up and imagine the feeling of his lips on yours or the sounds of his moans in the middle of a mission debriefing.

“And the humans..? They’re all okay?”

“They are,” he assures you with a soft smile. “They’re all receiving medical attention, and most have been reunited with their loved ones.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “No thanks to us, I guess.”

“No,” he laughs. “I suppose not.”

He pushes himself off the dresser, walking the few feet to where you perch at the edge of the mattress. He sits down beside you, his thigh brushing against yours. He smells of Old Spice deodorant and spearmint toothpaste, and it makes you the room spin around you.

“But everyone’s okay. They’re safe. And you’re safe. That’s what matters.”

You nod, not trusting your voice to speak. He’s close enough that you can practically feel the heat from his body. You risk looking at his face, your gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

“Yeah,” you finally agree. “You’re right. Well, I’ll let you get some rest. I just wanted to check in with—”

You start to stand up, when he cups your jaw in his hand and pulls your face to his. He’s hesitant in a way that he wasn’t yesterday – he gives you the opportunity to pull away before he sweeps his tongue across your bottom lip, as if asking for permission.

When you don’t give any kind of indication that you want him to stop, he pulls you flush against him and slips his tongue past your lips. You bring your hand to the back of his neck, twining your fingers through his hair.

He takes his time with you. Whereas yesterday’s kisses were filled with urgency and desperation, todays is tender and sensual. Now, you’re allowed the luxury of taking your time.

He lays down against the mattress, pulling you with him. You straddle his stomach, your lips never once breaking contact. His hands grip the globes of your ass, his fingers digging into the meat through your pajama pants.

You grind against the hard planes of his abdomen, earning a throaty growl from him.

He breaks away, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“I said something I didn’t entirely mean yesterday,” he whispers, out of breath.

“What?” you ask, sitting upright and looking down at him. “You aren’t going to let me suck your dick?”

“No,” he chuckles. “God, no. I meant that. If you still want to, that is—”

“What is it, then?” you interrupt with a playful nudge to his chest.

“I said you could go back to tolerating my existence. But I hope you wanna do a little bit more than just tolerate me.”

You laugh under your breath, leaning down to press your lips to his once more.

“I could see myself doing a little bit more than just tolerating you.”

oooops i accidentally wrote another fic where logan overhears something that he wasn't supposed to 😅🫠 did not originally plan for that to happen hahaha

check out some of my other logan fics -

by the end of the night

dog tags drabble

[meowzfordayz]

hashira accidentally touch your chest

Author’s Note: pls and ty enjoy this tidbit of crack-fluff. 😆💖

hashira accidentally touch your chest

Hashira x Reader

Word Count: ~1,600

CW: explicit language, Fem!Reader, mild sexual content

Suggestion Fulfilled: Can we get all hashira accidently touch y/n's breast

~faqs~

Fyi, “chest” means boob. I was just worried Tumblr would block this post from tags if I included “boob” in the title lmao. 😉

Shocked 😳😖

“I apologize, [y/n]-san, it won’t happen again!”

Gyomei’s nearly in tears, he feels so terribly 😞

“These things happen!” you promptly assure him, “Besides, you technically won the bout.”

No need to mention that he always wins when training together 🥲

“I cannot accept such a tainted victory.”

“Himejima-san, though I appreciate your concern and respect, there’s truly no issue.”

Meanwhile, Gyomei’s rethinking his entire Breathing Style to ensure he never accidentally touches anyone’s boob(s) again 💀 

In cold disbelief 😐😐😐

If you don’t say anything, then he won’t say anything

Alternatively, if you do say something, then Obanai will immediately curl up into a ball and die

Spends the rest of his day recalling the fleeting warmth of your breast

He swears his hand doesn’t even get cold, so affected by the heat of your bosom

Your boob must be ✨magical✨

“Iguro-san,” you call out gently, noting his dazed stare, his dinner untouched while he sits crossed legged, “Is something on your mind?”

“No.” 😐😐😐

Well okay then 🙃

“About what happened earlier…”

🫨🫨🫨 <— Obanai is FREAKING OUT

“… Iguro-san, I didn’t mind.”

And then you stand up, take your dishes, and leave

WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEEEAAAN?!?!?!

Good luck finding Obanai tomorrow �� (the poor man’s been pleasantly overwhelmed)

He’ll avoid you for eternity now 😌 (not really, but at least until he can breathe around you again)

She giggles 🤭

Lol

“Oh my! [y/n]-san, I didn’t mean to touch you so intimately!” 😅

“No worries, it happens.”

Your face may or may not be burning up a storm, but that’s okay!

Mitsuri’s blushing too

A lot 😳

“I hope I didn’t hurt you?!”

Because like, What if I gripped too hard?! 😭

She’s well aware of her own strength

“You barely brushed me, Kanroji-san. I promise!”

Phew!

She grins, relief evident as she bumps her elbow against yours

“Don’t tell anyone, okay? I would be so embarrassed!!!”

“Kanroji-san, our secret is safe with me.”

I wish it would happen again… <— lowkey both of you thinking the same thing 🤪

As a medical personnel (among other roles), Shinobu accidentally (or even on purpose, depending on where you’re wounded) touching your boob isn’t entirely unreasonable nor unrealistic

Obviously it would be nicer if she was caressing you out of love and affection 😔

And not methodically cleansing then bandaging claw marks that just so happened to cross over your chest 😒

“You should make a full recovery,” she’s all business, “The demon avoided your nipple and didn’t puncture deep enough to affect the functionality of your breast,” fortunately, you’re too exhausted to be embarrassed by her bluntness, “It has a nice shape. I’m glad you survived.”

EXCUSE ME WHAT?!?!?! 😃🫠

Now you’re kinda embarrassed

More so preening, really 🤭

It’s like when a doctor randomly compliments the rhythm of your heart or some other characteristic from a mainly professional POV, but you’re still caught off guard because who tf compliments someone’s kidneys or bowels movements or?????

In your pain hazed delusion, you briefly contemplate somehow getting your other boob injured too… gotta make sure you’re matching in (nice) shape, y’know? 😌

Kyojuro can be discreet, albeit more so for your sake than his

“I APOLOGIZE! I DID NOT MEAN TO TOUCH YOUR BREAST!” <— how he could react 💀

“Pardon my slip, are you okay?” <— how he actually reacts, because he isn’t entirely lacking in social awareness and decorum 😆

“Oh,” you don’t mean to squeak, but it can’t be helped when the most handsome man you’ve ever known just casually grazed your boob, “I’m fine! Totally fine! Haha!” 🫨😵‍💫🫠

You’ve gotta be more convincing than that, or Kyojuro will never forgive himself 😕

He’s a lil oblivious when it comes to physical attraction

Not like, infantly so, but given this particular circumstance?

He doesn’t realize you’re flustered; he assumes you’re mortified 😖

“You sound decidedly less than fine.”

He’s softer now, worried about startling you 🥺

“I was surprised! But don’t worry! I’m not worried!”

Okaaay, but he’s worried 🥲

“Is there any way I could make amends for my indiscretion?”

Not only is he handsome, but he is such a gentleman 😭😍

“Rengoku-san, there are no amends to be made, I promise. I’m not mad, nor do I feel unhappy or unsafe. I forgive you.”

Your regaining of the ability to speak in complete sentences greatly reassures him 😮‍💨😁

“Ah. Well. I am grateful for your kindness and understanding. It will not happen again.”

…

…

Hold up 🧐

Why does she seem… she seems… disappointed? Should I have said it will happen again??

You’ve suddenly given Kyojuro something quite pleasant to ponder 🤔

After all, he isn’t entirely oblivious 😉

“Are you going to apologize?” Sanemi demands

“For what?” you screech

“For touching my hand with your boob!”

Your eyes roll, “Oh fuck off!”

“I didn’t ask to touch you,” he grunts

“I wouldn’t have given you permission anyway,” you retort 😒

Arms crossing over his bare chest, Sanemi scoffs, “Well I didn’t give mine either!”

“You’re ridiculous. It was an accident.”

You seem genuinely pissed 😬

Sanemi rethinks his approach

“You know I’m joking, right?” 😅

“Nooo,” your sarcasm cuts deep, “I thought you were flirting.” 😐

Uh 😀

Well 😃

Shit 😄

“Fuck you!” 

When in doubt, curse ‘em out 💀

You scowl, confusion lingering as your blood boils, “Fuck you!”

“I said it first.” 🙄

You stalk away, fed up with his antics

#man child #sort of #romantically inept is more like it

As tends to happen with epiphanies, yours doesn’t hit until you’re almost asleep

“WAS THAT MOTHERFUCKER FLIRTING WITH ME???!” 😳🥴😭

Best believe Shinazugawa Sanemi is about to have a Lesson 101 in flirting asap 😤😎

(assuming you’re older, like, mentor age to Muichiro)

Neither of you make a fuss about it

It’s like accidentally calling your teacher mom 😬

Or grabbing a random person’s hand in the supermarket thinking they’re your parent 🫣

Embarrassing, but not a huge deal — unless you make it one

There’re those three seconds of slow motion Uhh and What just happened and Oops 🫠

And then time speeds up to normal again, you have a quick conversation with your eyes (gosh forbid you speak and bring the unspoken into reality 💀), and it’s over

^^ Alternatively, if Muichiro initiates a conversation to clear the air, then you’re able to have a mature and concise chat that is respectfully and patiently resolved

Embarrassing/accidental encounters are part of growing up

As long as they can be navigated ~safely, there shouldn’t be any lasting harm

⚠️I also want to emphasize that I am talking solely on inarguably accidental/one time incidences⚠️

Hehehe

Giyuu’s hand is stuck 🫣

Only for like, a fleeting second

But omg 😭

He was already embarrassed, and now he’s triply embarrassed 🫠🫠🫠

“... Tomioka-san?”

You won’t lie; you aren’t especially bothered 🤭

But it is a compromising position to be caught in; Giyuu lowkey crushing you, one of his palms clearly cupping your boob 😬

#wrestling #or something #so maybe this isn’t super realistic #forgive me

You’re about to repeat his name when he finally springs to life, immediately rolling off you, standing abruptly, about to literally sprint away

And then he remembers his manners 🙃

He offers you a hand

His other hand; his boob hand is currently tucked away in his haori

He’s never washing it again

#closet perv

“Thanks,” you smile faintly, accepting his assistance as you lift yourself from the ground

You hope he can’t hear your heartbeat 💓

He definitely can 😶

But can you hear his?

“I don’t think we should train together anymore.”

Giyuu is swift and harsh with his solutions

“Why?”

Your question comes out stiffer than intended

He hesitates, unable to interpret the fear in your tone — the longing

“I always beat you,” he explains lamely, “Don’t you get tired of losing?”

You scoff cheerfully, grinning now as you squeeze his hand

Fuck, we were still holding hands?! <— Giyuu is in shambles 😳

“I could never lose!” you declare, feelings brimming in your throat, spilling onto your tongue, “Not when I’m with you.”

Then we should absolutely stop training together would be the responsible reaction

Attachments are the most dangerous game for a Hashira to play 😕

Instead, Giyuu’s rendered speechless, unable to shake his hand from yours

“Well alright then,” he mutters, stomach churning as he narrowly avoids the warmth in your gaze

In fact, you swear he squeezes back 💓

“EXCUSE ME! I HAVE A WIFE!” 😤😤😤

“You have three wives.” 🙄

Sputtering, Tengen shrieks, “I already have plenty of breasts to touch!” 

“Tengen,” you glare, not one to back down as you jab a finger into his own chest, “You touched my boob.” 😒

“AND I’M SORRY!” 😭

Much better 😌

“I don’t know what they see in you,” you scoff (you’re also lying, you can see plenty🤭), “They’re gorgeous… and you freak out when you accidentally touch a boob.” 💀

Tengen is 100% pouting now

“I don’t freak out when I touch their boobs,” he huffs

“Well aren’t they lucky.” 😐

“You could be lucky too!”

…

…

Tengen starts running 

You give chase

“DID YOU TALK TO THEM ABOUT THIS?” 

Tengen runs faster

“TENGEN!!!!!”

Tengen runs faster and faster

You give up

*insert gasping for air here*

“DO YOUR WIVES KNOW THEY’RE MARRIED TO A COWARD???!!!”

Oh well, you’ll have to visit their estate sometime this week 🙃

You’re sure to get an answer from Hina, Makio, and Suma ☺️

And you can’t wait to see more of Tengen 😏😋

Sorry, sometimes the horny just happens 🥴

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Close to You - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer is needy and Reader has a work deadline to meet, so they try something new as a compromise.

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: me writing another cockwarming fic? it’s more likely than you’d think ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (no mommy kink this time cuz this feels more mild as far as the sub/dom dynamic goes, maybe next time!)

TW: sub!spencer, softdom!reader, cockwarming, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, creampie, afab reader

Rating: R/18+ (oops all smut)

——

The blue light of your computer screen was starting to make your eyes hurt, the hours of completed paperwork in your rearview feeling like nothing compared to the digital mountain of remaining work for your proposal you still had to complete by the deadline your boss had given you. Working from home certainly had its perks, but right now the only thing you could think of was how much more focused you’d be if you were still in an office.

“How’s work going?” Spencer’s voice broke your train of thought as he turned the corner into your home office.

“It’s fine, I still have a lot to get done.” You sighed, continuing to type away on your keyboard.

“You know, I was reading an article the other day about studies being conducted that explore the long term effects the extended work hours work-from-home jobs require have on the average adult, it went pretty in-depth on how psychologists suspect the lack of separation between work and the home environment can negatively affect the way we prioritize professional work with personal tasks and quality time.” You could tell your boy-wonder was using his vast knowledge to pick an article with a topic that was a bit too on the nose to beat around the bush of his point, but you didn’t know why.

“That’s very interesting Spencer, but why bring that up when you know I can’t stop working?” You questioned, calling his bluff.

“We haven’t had sex in 2 weeks.” He mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear. You knew that, and it was driving you crazy just as much as it was him, but this project was major and if you wanted to get the promotion you had been working so hard to get, you had to set your personal needs aside for a bit.

“I’ll make it up to you once I finish this, I promise.” You weren’t lying, your accidental celibacy had stretched your imagination to some very interesting places, and you couldn’t wait to try those new things with him, but it had to wait, no matter how touch-starved you felt.

“I want you.” He almost whined, taking a couple steps further into your peripheral vision.

“Spencer, you know I need to get this project completed before my deadline tomorrow, I don’t have time for this.”

“But I need…help.” His words were drawn out, his hushed tone piquing your interest. You pushed your chair out, craning your neck to make eye contact with him before his gaze dipped lower and yours followed. The fabric of his pajama pants was pulled taut over his bulge, his fidgeting hands barely restricting your view despite his attempt to hide the evidence of his arousal behind them.

“Oh baby, that must hurt, huh?” You sighed, giving him a sympathetic look before turning back to your work.

“It does, I need you.” He pleaded, coming up behind you to rest his hands on your shoulders.

“You need to take care of it yourself.” Your statement came out more blunt than you intended and a hint of guilt started to pang in your chest, the stress of this deadline was starting to get to you and you didn’t mean to take it out on him.

“I’m sorry to bother you, I know you’re busy, but I already tried and I just made it worse, you feel so much better than my hand does.” He over-explained, continuing to plead his case as his fingers started kneading the sore muscles atop your shoulders.

You mulled over your options, the concept of his admittedly impressive cock filling your neglected cunt sounding all-too appealing in the moment. You knew you couldn’t take the time to fuck him right now, after no sex for two weeks your carnal urges would absolutely take over and you’d wind up ignoring your work for the rest of the night, to the detriment of your employment status. You were about to send him away when an idea popped into your head, something that could be a good compromise to both of your predicaments if done correctly.

“Drop your pants.” You bluntly stated, beginning to stand from your chair. He followed your instruction, a bit confused but too excited to question, always eager to please you. You also stripped from the waist down, ignoring the growing slick between your thighs.

“Sit down.” Came your next instruction, your eyes fixed on his erection, his head blushed pink and dripping with precum. When he was situated you climbed back onto the chair with him, positioning your knees on the suede fabric on either side of his thighs, hips hovering over his member. You reached down, fingers wrapping around his length as you positioned his head at your dripping entrance, reveling in the first sexual contact the two of you had experienced in far too long.

You slowly sank down, your warm walls engulfing his throbbing cock until you were seated fully on his lap, the fullness giving you a sense of satisfaction. Spencer’s breathy sighs and white-knuckled grip on the arms of the chair told you he was enjoying this just as much as you were, but you knew he would want more any second. You on the other hand were always better at controlling your desires, even just this level of intimacy enough to satiate you for the moment.

You relaxed into him, back pressed to his chest as you began your work once again, ignoring the dull ache in your core.

“A-are you going to move?” Spencer’s desperate voice broke the silence after a few minutes of you typing away at your computer.

“No. This is all I have time to give you right now. If you’re a good boy and stay still for me, I’ll let you do whatever you want tonight.” You were curious to see how well he’d do with this. Even though Spencer prided himself on being the smartest in the room at any given time, he wasn’t very good at controlling his urges and it amused you how his composure could disappear if he was desperate enough, particularly around you.

“Okay.” He breathed, seeing the muscles in his arms relax and the grip he held on the chair loosen out of the corner of your eye.

You continued your work, busting your ass to complete your project as quickly as possible. Every once and awhile you’d flex your kegel muscles, your walls contracting around his cock to keep him as hard as possible, teasing him to see how hard you could push his patience.

You grew closer to your last tasks, the end finally in sight when you felt him start to shift under you, hips attempting to thrust up into you. You anchored your hips, holding him down to not break your focus. He let out the most pathetic whine you’d ever heard, running his hand through his hair out of frustration.

“If you move again, you won’t cum tonight. I’m almost done, do not distract me again.” You told him sternly, rocking your hips back one time as an incentive.

“Understood.” He groaned, thighs relaxing beneath you.

You wrapped up the last paragraph of your proposal, satisfied with the work you had done. You could feel Spencer tense when you closed out of the last application and shut off the computer, screen darkening and leaving the two of you bathed in the golden glow of sunset in an otherwise dark room. Instead of finishing him there, you rose off of him, leaving him groaning in desperation.

His cock was covered in your slick, veins throbbing and head almost purple from how desperate he was to cum. You started walking out of the room, finger motioning for him to follow you and he almost tripped over the chair, trailing in your shadow. You found the bedroom, stripping out of your remaining clothing while contemplating what position you wanted him in. Your thighs were starting to burn from sitting in the position you had held for so long, so you opted for good old-fashioned missionary. You laid down on the bed, thighs spread as Spencer pulled off his shirt and waited for your instruction.

“Come here.” The words had barely left your lips and Spencer was already on the end of the bed, crawling up to you like an animal on the prowl.

“Do you want to fuck me, Spencer?” You asked, drawing out his torture just a little while longer.

“Yes please, need to feel your perfect cunt again.” He begged, looking down at you with his big brown eyes.

“Go ahead, but don’t cum until I say so.” You instructed, your hand finding the nape of his neck, tugging lightly on his hair. He moaned, positioning himself at your entrance before thrusting fully into you, his gaze locked on the way your breasts bounced with each desperate thrust into your warm cunt.

His pace remained steady, pounding into you, your pleasure slowly building but not quite hitting the spot you needed him to. You wrapped your legs around his hips, angling your hips up ever so slightly and you couldn’t help but cry out, his cock finally hitting the soft spot inside of you that you’d been craving. He dropped his head into your shoulder, bringing his hand to your pussy to rub firm swipes over your clit, clearly desperately trying to make you cum so he could.

“So close, I don’t know how much longer I can last.” He panted, hips faltering slightly.

“It’s okay baby, don’t stop.” You moaned, too close to care about being firm with him anymore after how good he’d been for you today.

His thrusts became increasingly desperate, driving into you at a pace that had you seeing stars, the combined pressure on your clit sending you over the edge in a blur of white hot ecstasy.

“Spencer!” You cried out, nails digging into his back as you rode out your orgasm, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

His moans grew louder, hips stuttering and you could tell he was almost there, but something was holding him back.

“Cum inside me.”

Your request was all he needed to hear, not having to worry about pulling out anymore allowing all of his focus to finally come undone, hot ropes of cum filling your aching cunt. He pulled out of you, collapsing beside you with his head on your chest, long legs almost dangling off the side of the bed. You laid there spent, gently running your fingers through his hair until you both caught your breath.

“Thank you.” He spoke, lifting his head to look you in the eye.

“There's no need to thank me Spence, I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. You were right about overworking, I’ll try to delegate a bit more.” You sighed.

“I just don’t want you to overwork yourself, you deserve to enjoy yourself more often.” He leaned up to pull you into a kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist as you finally got a moment to relax for the first time in weeks.

——

Tag List: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[mariasont]

One Clean Shot - A.H

summary: it’s a standard training session, until hotch steps behind you to adjust your stance and suddenly your biggest problem isn’t your aim pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warning tags: suggestive content, hotch accidentally touches your tits, r shooting a gun, hotch shooting a gun, r kinda objectifying hotch (i showed my friends then we high fived), dbf!hotch, age gap wc 1.6k

"Oh, for the love of—"

You bite down on the words, trapping them before they can tumble out as something truly impolite. You fire. Left. Again. Another shot. Too high. Again. Too wide.

The gun jerks in your hand, unforgiving and indifferent. Gunpowder starts to scratch at your throat, your lungs, your patience even. You were starting to believe that it was a possibility that you were just inherently biologically incapable of aiming correctly. Bad aim genes, perhaps.

You try to picture your father holding a gun, arms stiff, stance awkward, probably muttering something about how in his day, disputes were settled with a well-worded legal argument.

Yeah, okay, that might explain a lot.

Except no, you passed all your quals. You aced them.

It was just an off day.

A specific, very tall off day named Hotch, who was currently standing behind you, radiating silent judgement at a level so intense it should be considered a supernatural ability. He was probably analyzing every micro-movement, taking note of every error, mentally drafting a performance review that would start with you're doing fine and end with a perfectly professional but somehow soul-crushing but you can do better.

You try to steady your hands and you fail and you think maybe you should just hand him the gun and let him execute your dignity at point-blank range.

It's fine, you tell yourself. It's not like your entire self-worth is balancing on the edge of his nonexistent expression. There's a chance he's not even thinking about you. He could be mentally going over his grocery list or calculating how much paperwork he had left to do today.

Or there's the more terrifying chance that he is watching you and wondering why you aren't better, why you aren't like him—like your father, wondering why you aren't meeting expectations.

And it's humiliating, really. How much you want to impress him. How much you want to make him proud and maybe even—

"You're anticipating the recoil."

You turn too fast, the world tilting for just a second, your vision narrowing to the sharp angles of Hotch's face.

"Here."

The word is barely out of his mouth before his hands are everywhere—no, not everywhere, everywhere, just your vest. But they might as well be, because your nerve endings aren't capable of knowing the difference.

He grips your vest at the shoulders, jerks the straps tight, a firm pull that rocks you just slightly forward, just slightly into him. Then his fingers skate down, adjusting the collar, smoothing over the bare skin where fabric meets flesh, his knuckles barely grazing the dip between your collarbones.

And then lower. Over your chest. Between. The back of his hand ghosts along the swell of your breasts, then right where your ribs curve inward, where his palm would fit if he just—just—slid an inch lower.

It's fast. Nothing. Over in a second. But your stomach is tight, your breath is tight, you are tight. And you swear if he lingers a moment longer, you might melt into a indecipherable puddle on the floor.

Your pulse is all over the place, skipping, tripping, betraying. Heat rushes to your cheeks, slow at first, then all at once, like a delayed newsflash that your body apparently has opinions about this.

Because this is stupid. Stupid. It's not like he meant to touch you there. It's not like he noticed. Did he notice?

No, absolutely not because that would imply things, and there are not things.

This is just your problem. Your rogue nervous system. Your tragic inability to be normal about anything. You are making this a thing when it is very much not a thing.

But you felt the way your stomach knots around something you don't even have the vocabulary to name, the way your nipples pebbled like they had some vested interest in ruining your life.

It's—what? Hormones? Static electricity? Some kind of spontaneous full-body malfunction? Because you didn't want to think about it being him, a side effect to prolonged exposure to Aaron Hotchner. (Should you warn the others?)

And still, he keeps going, cinching straps, flattening fabric, all broad (very broad) hands and no-nonsense efficiency. Like you're just a piece of gear to fix. You, on the other hand, are actively considering the logistics of just dropping dead on the spot. It seemed feasible.

"Shoulders back."

The instruction comes at the same time as he moves in behind you, a hand landing between your shoulder blades, and pushes, forces your spine straighter, like you're something to be molded, adjusted, put into place.

Then his hands moves to your waist, shifting your stance just a hair, just enough to make you brutally of the size of his hands. How they fit against you.

Then—oh. His foot nudges between yours, then hooks your ankle, kicking your stance wider.

His palm finds the space between your shoulder blades again, pressing down just enough to remind you where you are, who you are, what you're supposed to be doing instead of, well, whatever this is.

"Breathe."

Oh. Right. Breathing. That's a thing.

You suck in a sharp breath, only now realizing you'd been holding it captive in your chest.

"A lot of people hold their breath when they shoot," he explains, his other hand pressing into your ribs as if to make sure you were following his instructions, as if you'd do anything else. "It feels instinctual, like bracing will make you more controlled. But if you hold your breath, you lock up. Tension works against you. Breathing through the shot keeps everything loose. It makes the release smoother."

You weren't sure when everything became so hot, pressing in from all sides. But you felt like you might be sweating because no one should be allowed to say things like that, in a voice like his, with hands like his, and with zero self-awareness of what words like release can do to a person in your position.

You try to focus, to take another breath, but even that feels like a trap, because you are suddenly mortifying aware of the way your chest rises, of the heat dissipating between you, of how close he is.

His arms come to frame yours, surrounding in a way that makes everything else feel smaller. His hands go over yours, his chest is against your shoulder, his forearm skimming yours, and his breath is now tickling your ear.

"Your thumbs need to be higher," he says, adjusting them with his own, the rough pad of his finger dragging along the side of your hand. "You're gripping too far down, which throws off your alignment. Keep them forward, parallel with the slide. It'll help keep the recoil controlled, make your follow up shot faster."

His fingers tighten over yours, making sure you feel it. "And support your hand, it's doing too much. The pressure should be between both hands. If you squeeze harder with one than the other, you'll pull your shot without realizing it."

You nod, because you always nod when he speaks. Because you listen. Because learning from him is something you like, something that makes you feel good, something that makes you feel seen. And maybe that's why your hands are shaking.

He steps back and it's immediate, the rush of air, the space, the clarity that surely wasn't there before. Your chest expands, lungs finally taking what they were denied.

"Try again."

You exhale, reposition, adjust your stance the way he taught you. His instructions replay in your head, and you obey, thumbs high, pressure even, breathing.

You fire. And it's improved, smoother, more controlled, exactly like he said.

"That's it. Better."

You smoother the feeling those two words give you, shove in into the pit of your stomach where it can't cause problems. Where it can't mean anything. You're pathetic.

"Watch."

He steps in, you step back, and—oh.

You try to focus on the technical aspects, really, you do. On how he grips the gun, on how his fingers rest perfectly in place, on how his stance is exactly what he just told you to correct. But your brain is completely uncooperative.

Your brain apparently has priorities, and right now, those priorities are his arms, the way his muscles shift beneath tight sleeves, the flex of his shoulders as he raises said gun.

And then lower, corruptfully lower, to the curve of his waist, where the fabric of his shirt strains, the way his belt rests just above the curve of his—

Absolutely not.

You blink hard, inhaling sharp, mentally shoving that thought into a vault labeled inappropriate. Do not open. The worst part, however, is that you can't tell if you're more mortified by the fact that your brain went there, or by the fact that, now that is has, you're not sure how to get it to stop.

"Focus."

Your mouth opens, then closes. "I—I am."

He doesn't look at you. Not once. But the way he reloads, it's like he's giving you time to wallow in the moment. And there's something, something, in the slight pull of his mouth, in the tiniest shift of his expression that's almost, but not quite, a smirk.

"Not on the right things."

His fires. One clean shot. Straight to the heart.

The paper doesn't resist, it just takes it, the force ripping clean through the center, leaning nothing but a perfect, gaping wound. It was precise in a way that shouldn't be surprising but still is.

It's a clean shot through something inside of you, too.

And you have no idea how to patch it up.

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[ckret2]

I might tweak some details later (jewelry? take the ribbon off the bow?) but I've about got a Scalene design I like. The lipstick is really the centerpiece of the design. Now let's infodump! With more art!

🔺 Notice her lines are a a little curvy. It's not for artistic effect. She's got a Fictional Polygon Physical Disorder that makes her bendier than she should be—meaning, among other things, sides that curve and flex.

🔺 It's also the kind of condition with symptoms that are romanticized by people who don't grok that it's a debilitating medical condition. Sides that curve and flex? How exotic! This went to her head in the wrong ways.

🔺 Bill was born with the same condition. You know how squishy and blobby he was as a baby? Thaaat's genetic! He was a lot squishier than most babies! And, consequently, more adorable.

🔺Scalene dreamed of being a famous super model. Was actually a teen beauty queen at mid-tier beauty pageants. She thinks it's always somebody else's fault she wasn't more successful.

🔺 She took Bill to his first baby beauty pageant the day he was born. He did, in fact, have a Best Baby Ever award presented to him by the mayor, but to be fair he was only competing against like 6 other babies and who's going to withhold a trophy from a newborn on his birthday? Anyway the 6-12 month group and 12-24 month groups also each had a Best Baby Ever award.

🔺 This was an absolutely bonkers thing for Scalene to do.

🔺 What's that small scrunkly thing doing at a pageant, he can't even see color yet.

🔺 Their fictional squishy medical condition doesn't just accidentally make shapes cute. It's the kind of condition that affects just about all parts of the body: sides won't stay straight, poor muscle tone resulting in instability & weakness, poor motor coordination & clumsiness, back aches & pains (well, triangles don't have "backs." side aches?), easily dislocated joints, and increasingly skewed sides with age. Just about everyone in Scalene's family is born equilateral and ends up extremely scalene after young adulthood. The rest of her family have normal relationships with their condition, she's the only one who's weird about it

🔺 She was very rough on her body in pursuit of pageantry success, but her physical symptoms & associated chronic pain got a lot worse due to having a kid; she had to retire from pageantry for good. She doesn't blame Bill for this at all. Out loud, to his face. (If she hadn't been so rough on herself in pageants, having a kid probably wouldn't have impacted her health this much. She doesn't consider this.)

🔺 She's weirdly intent on seeing Bill become the success she wasn't. He's her little golden child, he deserves to be seen as the greatest! He'll show them how great he is for mommy, won't he? He won't let mommy down, will he? When he's very young, she takes him to child pageants—he'll appreciate the lessons they taught him when he's older—and this lasts until he finds out he can get out of it by pyrokinetically setting the stage on fire.

🔺 She jokes ("jokes") that she didn't realize that when she was having a kid, she was firing herself from the pageant circuit so she could hire & train her own replacement. These jokes had no long-term impact on Bill at all!!!

(Compare/contrast: how we're told Stan's "You watch the movie, you scare the girl, the girl snuggles up next to you, next thing you know you gotta raise a kid, your life falls apart" is repeating something he heard his dad say.)

🔺 Did you know that squeaky baby shoes are sometimes medical devices? Squeakers help children with poor muscle tone and delayed motor skills learn how to walk correctly: it makes them want to walk on their heels instead of their toes so they can hear the squeak. Did you know sometimes oversized squeaky baby shoes are worn by young kids who need ankle braces? Did you know that kids with poor motor coordination can take a longer time to learn complicated motor skills like tying shoelaces rather than using shoes with velcro straps? It sure is interesting that baby Bill's most defining visual feature is oversized squeaky sneakers with velcro straps and that he kept wearing velcro shoes until he was 16!

🔺 As a baby, Bill's angles were technically supposed to be equilateral,* but thanks to his inherited condition, his angles were so loose his top corner practically formed a right angle. Not good: the closer a triangle creeps to being obtuse, the more likely he'll have muscle strain and medical issues from his organs being squished out of place by his own exoskeleton.

(*supposed to be equilateral: but after receiving treatment, they discovered his angles were still 60º, 60º, and 60.1º, which is mathematically impossible for a triangle... on a euclidean plane. But on a non-euclidean 3D plane, such as in spherical geometry, a triangle's angles can add up to more than 180º... and it's this slight 3D flex to Bill's body that lets him see up into the third dimension.)

🔺 For his first few years of life he actually had a hypotenuse, until physical therapy and side braces helped him improve his muscle tone. Sometimes he still reflexively refers to his base as his hypotenuse. It's fine, sweetie, it's nothing to be embarrassed about, mommy had a hypotenuse too. Don't tell anyone.

🔺 Scalene took baby Billy to a lot of doctors as a kid, just like how she was taken to a lot of doctors! Doctor for his side braces, doctor for his physical therapy, doctor for his shoes... doctor for his eye when he started talking about seeing white glitter at the edge of his vision. Scalene didn't have that symptom, but the eye doc said their condition does occasionally come with visual problems—blurred vision, lazy eye, visual field defects... It sounds like Bill's main field of vision is unobstructed, but if the visual snow he's getting in his peripheral vision is distracting him and confusing his little toddler mind into thinking it's something real, they can give him a medication that'll narrow his field of view. From the sound of it, he's not seeing anything important at the edge of his vision, anyway.

And she only wants what's best for her golden child.

🔺 Scalene's "bow" is actually a medical device: sort of like a medical corset, it helps tug and press her anatomy into place to reduce pain. Bill started wearing one preventatively—if he can keep everything in place when he's young, it'll take longer for his angles to skew when he's older. Like wearing a retainer when you get your braces out.

🔺 He has a cane for the same reason—he doesn't need it NOW when he's young, but he might as well keep it on hand, by age 35 he'll probably want to stand more often than float and when he's standing he'll probably want the extra support! Even if he doesn't need it by 35, he will eventually!!

🔺 Bill doesn't medically need a bow tie in the third dimension either; but he adapted it to help tie his 3D exoskeleton on.

🔺 A trillion years later, Bill suspects that his mutation to see the third dimension came, at least in part, from his mom's medical condition. Except, she didn't have that vision. Nobody else with the condition on her side of the family had that vision. It's not a known symptom of the condition. His dad had stuff going on with his eye too, did he get it from his dad's side? A mix of both? Just a standalone random mutation? He doesn't know; and with the rest of his species dead, there's no way for him to find out.

But back to Scalene!

🔺 She's not quite red, she's rose gold. However she doesn't like it. She thinks it's a sort of pinkish brown and very dull. She uses makeup to make herself look redder. Note how bright red her sides are: in a species where only your edges are visible, body paint is the most common form of makeup+fashion. She's pleased her baby came out gold-gold, it's much cuter. Bill knows she's rose gold, but he only saw her with her makeup off when she was tired or sick; he remembers her painted red.

🔺 She adores her Billy; but she somewhat sees him as an extension of her will. She thinks he's just perfect and will tell anyone who asks; but she also demands he be perfect and is furious when he isn't. She'll protect him from ANY perceived external threat; but she'll tough love him into being the kind of success she thinks he should be. He learns early that when he screws up, he can often redirect his mother's anger by pointing his finger and saying it's someone else's fault, and she'll bring the wrath of heaven down on them. Woe to the teacher who gives Bill an F on a test.

🔺 I'm on a quest to write Bill as a foil to the entire cast of Gravity Falls, and that extends to writing his family as a foil to the entire cast's families. Scalene's a blend of Pacifica's mom and Caryn: beautiful, proud of her beauty, afraid of losing her youth, self-aggrandizing, quick to lie about her & her family's (false/exaggerated) accomplishments—and very aware of the fact that you can say anything about woo-woo mystical matters and nobody can prove you wrong.

🔺 So she takes it great when they figure out Bill is, like, legit psychic. And by "takes it great" I mean "starts a cult."

There's what I've got on Scalene. Fortunately, I got to keep all my pre-TBOB headcanons about Bill's mom, I only had to change her shape & color. I already had medical trauma baked right into the family!

(Preemptive disclaimer before I get any "but she doesn't look 2D" comments: we all understand that the baby Bill picture we see in the book is a psychically-generated 3D approximation of Bill's 2D Euclidean form, right? And that drawing a 3D baby Bill design alongside rigidly 2D parent designs would make it look like even in the second dimension Bill already had a 3D body, right? So, if we're drawing a 3D baby Bill and want to convey that they looked similar to him, we have to draw his parents in a similar art style, right? Okay, great.)

[calypsocolada]

MISO SOUP AND SWEET POTATOES | g. tomioka

(click here for part two!)

synopsis: you're tasked with convinicing Giyu to join the Hashira Training author's note: hello. this was a days worth of writing. from 11 am to 3 am. i even wrote parts in my notepad at work. i really like how this turned out. i finished the hashira training arc last night and think that final episode might've been the best episode of anime i have actually ever seen. this is a whole ass story cw: slightly suggestive, major spoilers for rengoku and the hashira training arc, character death, gore, ANGST, fluff, happy ending, not proofread, fem reader, use of y/n a lil, lover!giyu, hardheaded!reader wc: 6.3k

click here for my masterlist

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“Would you mind talking to Giyu for me? So that Giyu, who tends to put himself into a negative frame of mind can start looking ahead again. Will you be persistent in your efforts to speak with him?” 

You stared at the letter. You reread it again and again and again. Your body still aches from the previous fight in the swordsmith village and you sort of hoped this was a hallucination. That you were still unconscious. But as your crow beside you squawked and you jumped you knew it was real. The paper crinkled beneath your hands. Kagaya’s handwriting is flawless and script. You followed the trail of his pen again. 

Would you mind speaking to Giyu for me?

You wondered if maybe this letter was accidentally sent to you. Even as your eyes wandered back up to the top of the paper that clearly said ‘Dear Y/n’. Even if it didn’t say your name there were no accidents with Kagaya. 

But… but there had to be. Out of everyone, all the Hashira that were certainly closer to Giyu. But you, the newest Hashira, had been chosen to speak with him? In what world did that make any sense? You barely knew the guy. Granted he had been the reason you joined the corp originally but he’d dodged your very presence the best he could ever since. 

Your village had been attacked about four years ago. Same old story for a lot of people victimized by demons. There was never a happy ending with those monsters involved. Always blood. Always loss. It was no different for you. Half of your family was slaughtered before you could even rouse yourself from sleep. But when you did all you saw was the inkblots of blood on your white walls, the color shining from being hit by the moonlight. You remembered sitting up and feeling numb as you heard someone screaming. The scream that never left you. Something you’d never be able to ingest for as long as you lived. 

When you got to your feet your mother had busted into your room. She looked pale, blood gushing from beneath her white nightgown. She scooped you up and kissed your head as she stuffed you into the closet. She shushed your cry’s and told you not to come out until the sun shone beneath the crack in the door. She gave you one last kiss. You didn’t know then it was the last. You reached for her but she pushed your hands back, silently shook her head then pressed the door closed. 

You’d always been a good kid. You stayed put exactly as you’d been told. Even as you heard more screams. Even as it went quiet. 

Only until that sun shone beneath your door did you move. You busted out of that closet. Your mother’s name is the first thing on your lips but she wasn’t the first person you saw. The scene in your house was horrific to say the least. The sights of the people you loved in multiple torn pieces is something that comes back to you in flashes when you fight demons. 

It spurs you on to do exactly what they did to your family back to them. To tear them to shreds. 

In the middle of it all was a boy. He was sitting so still that you didn’t even notice him amongst the slaughter. Your living room was still dark, dark enough that it kept this monster safe as it rose to its full height. No longer a boy but a creature from your deepest darkest nightmares. It had your family’s blood on its mouth as it smiled a wickedly devilish smile. 

���Hmm. Missed one.” It spoke in a gravelly tone as it swallowed whatever it was chewing on. You could guess what. You stepped back into your mother’s blood… or maybe your father’s? The blood, thick beneath your foot slid out from underneath you and you crashed into their bodies, something sharp sticking into your side as you gasped in sudden pain. Your mother’s hand still gripped a knife that had now lodged itself in your thigh. The demon only laughed. “Clumsy one aren’t you. Mother wasted her time hiding something so useless.” He growled, approaching with a predatory gleam in his dark eyes. 

When he pounced towards you something momentary took hold over you. You, a measly twelve years old, ripped that knife from your own leg and thrusted it into the demon's eye. The creature roared like nothing you’d heard before as it stumbled back away from you. You just blinked as you watched it, numbness contending with your fear. The creature yanked the knife out and tossed it angrily to the side. It growled, fuming as it charged back at you. You raised your hands to defend yourself, screwing your eyes shut. You heard the whoosh of something cutting through the air itself and when you opened your eyes the creature had halted its assault. It locked eyes with you moments before its head toppled right off its shoulder. You stared in abject horror as the creature's body started to burn a blood red color and you saw a figure behind it. You were as still as a statue as the figure behind  it took shape. 

The shape of a boy, he couldn’t have been much older than you. Eyes an indigo blue, dark and almost unfeeling as they met yours. You watched as he gave a quick swipe of his sword to rid it of the demons burning blood as he sheathed it back at his side. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked, his voice young like yours. You weren’t hurt. Somehow. And you couldn’t open your mouth to answer him, not with your body still on top of your parents. You just stared at him, even as your eyesight got cloudy and stinging tears slid down your cheeks. 

The boy walked towards you and remained still, unable to move as he bent down in front of you. He reached and clumsily brushed the tears from your face. It was as if he knew you wouldn’t part your lips to speak because wordlessly he, with immaculate ease, picked you up off the corpses and carried you out of the house. You moved for the first time in minutes as your head tilted to look back towards your family. 

“Eyes on me.” He said and sure enough your eyes snapped to him. To take in his face. Eyes endlessly dark blue as they stared forwards. He had to have been your age, maybe a year older. He had the shape of a young face, with full cheeks and raven black hair to the nape of his neck. You couldn’t look away, it had nothing to do with his looks but everything to do with his command. 

You were a good kid. When someone told you to do something you did it. Years later you would come to thank Giyu for that, for commanding you to look at him instead of glancing back at what remained of your family.

Everything after that was just sort of a blur. You stayed some place warm, a faint fire flickering and that boy with the sword stayed with you until some men in black uniforms found you. You remember not being able to walk, the shock and grief of the night not letting you. You’d held onto your saviors shirt, your fist balled. He let you, in fact he even came along with you and the men in black and when they asked you to let go you blinked at them. You hadn’t even noticed you were still holding on. You let go in an instant. Your hand is sore from how tightly you’d been clenching. The men in black’s hands were on your shoulders guiding you away and when you looked back your voice came to you. 

“What’s your name?” You asked, everything paused for you so you could hear his answer. 

“Giyu.” He answered. You put a name to his face. You parted your lips to thank him but nothing came out again. You couldn’t say thanks. Not when you were the only breathing because you cowardly hid in the closet. You felt you didn’t deserve to be thankful. You met his eyes again and something, somehow, told you he understood. He gave you the softest nod of his head and when he turned to leave you felt your heart drop. Like something had bonded you to this boy. But you turned and let yourself be whisked away. 

A year later you worked for the very same people as Giyu had. You were given a sword and trained thoroughly by a man with red and orange hair. You weren’t ever good with names but the fire in him fueled the fire in you. Which is why you eagerly learned that breathing style and trudged up that mountain to crush the selection test. 

A few years after that you ran into Giyu. You were sent on a mission to help the Water Hashira. You’d never met any other Hashira besides Rengoku so you were sort of apprehensive. You never liked meeting new people. All those years spent with Rengoku and his fiery personality you wished at least some of it had rubbed off on you but… you were still demure and quiet, quick to anger and prone to disappearing. You liked your alone time. You had all but begged Rengoku to let you go with him in his mission, apparently some demon had infested a train, that sounded far more exhilarating than helping some water Hashira you didn’t know. Rengoku did what he always did when you were disappointed. He gave you a sort of unwanted hug, though secretly you wanted and needed it, and ruffled your hair. 

“We’ll see each other in two weeks. Next mission is yours and mine.” He said and then he was gone and you were boarding a train going the opposite way. 

When you arrived, stepping off the train your eyes met the same indigo blue eyes from so many years ago. When you were both kids. Now both adults. You stopped where you stood, unable to walk any closer as everything fled back. Stuff you had managed to keep down deep for so many years. Memories you wanted to erase. All that time wasted and drudged back up in mere seconds. Giyu may have had those same eyes but he was grown now. His hair longer and tied back, his face had lost that boyish roundness. He looked tall and lean. Well at least taller than you. For a moment he looked just as surprised as you but he smoothed over that emotion into something practiced. 

“It’s you.” He said, his voice deep and soft. You swallowed, your hand resting on your sword. 

“You’re the water Hashira?” You asked and he nodded his head as the train behind you dinged and slowly pulled out of the stop, the wind brushing your hair over your shoulders. 

“You’re Rengoku’s tsuguko?” At that you nodded your head back at him. His eyes trailed to your sword, to your haori, and old one Rengoku had lent you. His eyes lingered on that fiery pattern.  

“I never learned your name.” He said and then his eyes flicked to yours. You swallowed dryly, you weren’t sure why he made you so nervous, why your heart was beating so fast. You wondered if he was a part of a life you wanted to die off. The scared girl in the closet was far from who you were now. Rengoku never got to meet that scared girl. No one had. Except Giyu. You told him your name and he repeated it, as if feeling how it felt on his own lips. Your heart skipped a traitorous beat at the way he spoke your name. It felt different coming from him. You grabbed ahold of yourself.

“Shall we?”

But your mission with Giyu was cut off with the sudden death of Rengoku. You and Giyu hadn’t made it back to the village before both of your crows had delivered the news. You still remembered everything about that moment. Giyu walking beside you, your haori catching a gust of wind, cold wind, as if winter was coming. You could replay your footsteps on the dirt road. The distant flapping of wings growing closer and closer and then stopping as they landed. Your initial glance over at the water Hashira before the delivering of the news. The ripple before the crack in your soul. Giyu had been present for the worst two days of your life. Something about losing someone again that felt like family irrevocably broke something in you all over again. This pain you felt before today you wondered for years if it would last. Rengoku had healed some of it. And begrudgingly and foolishly you let him in. But now you have your answer. This pain would last forever. You couldn’t even cry, you just stared blankly ahead, just as you had in your dark house wrecked with the stench of blood. 

You felt a hand on your shoulder, you didn’t want to look at him.

“Go, I’ll finish the mission.” He said, his voice different, there was a coldness before but now only warmth. You still didn’t look at him as you turned to leave.

“Be careful.” You choked out before taking off in a run back towards the train station. 

You’d seen Giyu a few times after that but only in passing, never long enough to start up a proper conversation though both of you hated talking. You never let anyone else in after that. You took up the position of Fire Hashira and the only thing fiery about you was your utter hatred for demons. The other Hashira were sort of weary of you and that kept them at a distance. You only talked when absolutely needed and was the first to leave after Hashira meetings. You liked that distance. You’d do anything to keep it. There was only so much heartbreak and loss you could take. You were at your limit. You didn’t have room for anyone in your scabbard dying heart. 

That’s why receiving that letter from Kagaya had caught you so off guard. He of all people knew who you were and still he asked you for a favor. Probably a dying wish. He had shown you kindness and since it was the only thing he’d ever asked you for, reluctantly, you found yourself at the front of Giyu’s home. It was cold out as your knuckles rapped against the wooden door. You waited, stepped back and looked off to the side, expecting to see Kagaya’s crow lingering around somewhere to report back to him. A minute had passed as you gave one more series of knocks. Nothing. Maybe he wasn’t home. You sighed and turned to leave just as the wooden door clicked and was pulled open. When you turned back those striking blue eyes met yours. There was skepticism on his face as you swallowed. That feeling that met you every time you saw Giyu never seemed to fade. That persistent speeding of your heart. That faltering of words. All highly inconvenient.

“Y/n?” Giyu spoke first, pulling the door open just a tad more. He was in casual clothing, he looked as though he may have just woken up.

“Giyu. I never knew you lived in this part of town.” You lied. You knew. 

“It’s quiet.”

“I can see.” The lack of noise was slightly unsettling, only the rustling of leaves in the wind could be heard. You swallowed. “May I come in?” Your voice was slightly strained and didn’t at all sound like you wanted to do that but to your detriment Giyu moved to the side. Giyu’s home was a reflection of himself. It was clean, almost sterile, with dark walnut furnishings and dark curtains. He really must’ve been sleeping because he reaches over and flicks on a few lanterns, casting an orange glow to his living room. 

“I wasn’t expecting company,” He says over his shoulder and you almost agree.

“Unwanted?” You ask and when he shakes his head ‘no’ you relax sort of. 

“I’ll make us some food. Did you travel long?” He asks as he leads you towards the kitchen. You take a seat at the kitchen island and watch him get to work. 

“Yeah. Long train ride.” You answer as Giyu nods his head. You know he’s probably dying to know why you’re here but you're sure if you told him things would turn sour. You watched Giyu gather ingredients and supplies, he was very orderly about things, kept things nice and clean as he prepared dinner for you both. You had a lot of experience cooking growing up with Rengoku, that man could eat and eat. Just at the thought you felt a pang and forced your face not to show it.

“Do you need help?” 

“That’s alright, you rest.” Giyu intones, setting a cup in front of you as he fills it with hot black tea. You thank him, wrapping your hands around the warm mug. You stare down into the tea for a moment and realize you had no idea how to go about this little favor Kagaya had asked of you. You barely spoke with anyone, you were well out of practice. How genuine would this ask even be coming from you? 

“How’re you?” You asked, not letting yourself be embarrassed by your lack of social skills. Giyu flicks on the stove.

“Do you really want to know?” He asked over his shoulder and stupidly, because he wasn’t even looking at you, you nodded your head before clearing your throat and speaking.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” You hoped that didn’t come out as sharp as it sounded.

“I’m… well. Thank you for asking.” Giyu answered, his monotone answer at war with the words he spoke. He sounded anything but well. You remembered the last Hashira meeting. You remembered Giyu’s back turned as he said, “I’m not like the rest of you.” Unlike Sanemi you didn’t feel angry at that. In fact you knew how that felt. To feel unwelcomed and wanting it to stay that way. 

“If you’re well then I’m well.” You said and when Giyu turned, his eyes meeting yours, you felt a flash of how you saw him that first time. You blinked it away as he turned back.

“I didn’t think… you of all the Hashira’s would be the first to visit.” Giyu said, turning back to the stove. You stared at the back of his head. 

“Me neither.” You said with a soft sigh. “But here I am.”

“Here you are.” He says, his voice soft again. It did funny things to you. Funny things that only he could elicit. It was frustrating.

“Giyu…” You trailed off, unsure how to broach the subject. “Did something happen? To make you not want to help out with the Hashira training?” Giyu was quiet for a long moment. You watched him stir some stuff into the pan and for a moment you thought he hadn’t heard you. 

“Can we not… talk about that?” He asks almost kindly. But that’s all you needed to talk about. If you didn’t stay on topic you’d be doing Kagaya a disservice, though could you count that as a hardy first try?

“Of course.” You answered, fiddling with your hands. You’d left your sword back at the inn you were staying at and wished you’d had it just so you could fiddle with something else. “Though, I apologize but, I almost wish I could sit it out too.”

“Why’s that?”

“Training a bunch of snot nosed kids sounds like hell to me.” You spoke truthfully and watched Giyu;s shoulders rise and fall quickly, almost like he was maybe laughing, but he still wasn't facing you so you wouldn’t know.

“Not a fan?”

“I had my fill with the three from the swordsmith village.” Tanjiro, his little demon sister, Nezuko and Sanemi’s little brother Genya. All a handful. But very capable in a fight. 

“How’re your wounds? I… never got to ask.” Giyu says as he reaches for some seasoning, finally turning to the side to face you.

“Scarring up.” You said and Giyu nodded his head, his eyes drifting to the scar on your cheek.

“Two upper ranks. If anyone could handle them I knew it’d be you.” He says with a sort of gleam in his eye. 

“Can’t take the credit. That red head kid killed one of ‘em while MItsuri and I held off its body. Muichiro took one by himself.” You recounted, the fight honestly felt like it would never end.

“You and Kanroji worked together?”

“Surprising, right?”

“Not at all.” Giyu answers. “You two are very alike.”

“In what way?” You almost laughed at that statement. 

“Strong, fierce, never quit.”

“I think we all have that in common.” You say and Giyu gets this look in his eyes as he turns back away. You feel as though you lost some ground. You chew the inside of your lip. Clearly Giyu doesn’t feel as though he had that in common with you. Something ignited in you. A need to say something on your mind. “Giyu… I-- I never thanked you.”

“Thanked me?”

“I’ve… wrestled with it for a long time. How to… go about it. Kyojuro used to tell me to practice with all the people we met. To thank them for stupid things, like holding the door open or bringing me food. Just so the words didn’t feel so foreign. But I never really felt thankful for you saving me. I lived because my whole family died. Because I hid.” You take in a shaky breath. You’d never talked about this stuff out loud, not even with Rengoku. You felt embarrassed suddenly, shaking your head, you forced out a choked laugh. “Nevermind. I don’t know what I’m saying.” You felt his eyes on you but you forced yourself to keep looking down at your warm tea. As long as you stayed like this maybe he’d move the conversation along to something else. You cursed yourself for ruining the mood, if there even was one to begin with.

“You don’t have to stop. I… I would like to know more about you. I… always have.” Your eyes shot to his like a gun hitting its mark. Those dark eyes, you could swim in them. Get lost in them. Those eyes… could make you feel something. That made you shoot to your feet, your tea spilling over. Giyu didn’t startle, he just turned to grab a rag but when he turned back you were halfway to the front door. He dropped the towel on the table. “W-wait, Y/N,” He called to you but when he rounded into the living room the front door slammed closed. 

You fumbled outside, steps clumsy as you started to run and run. You didn’t want to think about it. You had to get away, as far as those legs of yours could take you. You could run to the next town over, retrieve your sword in the morning and never speak to the water hashira again. Never again. Favor be damned. What you felt was dangerous. That kind of thing left you the hollow husk you were today. You preferred this safe loneliness. You couldn’t ever be hurt again. You stopped for a moment, the cold air tough to run in as you huffed and puffed out condensation clouds.

“You’re fast.” You hadn’t even heard his approach. You didn’t turn, just swallowed.

“I- realized I have something to do in the morning. Can’t stay out late.”

“Come back, Y/n. Please.” His voice was doing that soft thing you body liked so much. You clenched your jaw, if you could stab your heart you would.

“Can’t.”

“Why? And… tell me the truth.” You heard him walk a bit closer. Please, you thought, just go back home.

“Maybe you’re right. What you said at the last meeting, that you’re not like us other Hashira. Maybe I just realized it.” You wanted to hurt him, it was a common defense you used quite often. 

“And?”

“And I’m wasting my time speaking with someone who’d rather sit on the sidelines.” You spat over your shoulder. That’ll do it, you thought, that’ll get him to leave. It was quiet, heartbreakingly quiet and you were too much of a coward to see the hurt you caused so you started to walk away towards your inn.

“I… don’t care if you hate me.” You stopped walking instantly and turned, Giyu looked stricken, as if you slapped him. You regretted turning around. “You can hate me all you want. Yell at me, hit me, whatever you want to do. But I need you to know… you might regret me saving you but I have never regretted saving you…”

“Giyu,”

“Please… let me.” He straightened slightly. “I… am amazed by you.” His words hit you like the sharpest sting. Like a knife in the gut that slowly twists. “You’re incredible, nothing ever could rival you. You… lost so many yet you fight with purpose. I could never be like you.” You tense your jaw, eyes sharp. 

“That’s where you’re wrong.” You take a step towards him. “I am hateful. I don’t have a purpose to fight anymore I just do it because it needs to be done. You don’t know me at all.”

“Maybe I don’t. But… I want to.”

“Why?”

“I’m not succinct.” Giyu sighs, as if tired. “I just do.” Want to know you. You stared at him and that traitorous heart of yours, that naive heart did another flip. You shook your head. 

“You don’t. No one does.”

“Rengoku did.” Your eyes lit like fire, some heat filling your soul. You wanted to yell at him for saying his name. For bringing him into this. But you’d done it first. 

“He’s dead. They all are. My whole family. I don’t want to know you. I don’t want you to know me. I want you to go back home and let me be.” 

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Maybe for the same reason your eyes find mine every time we're in the same room.” Giyu took a step closer, you watched him move as though he was going to strike you down. LIke he was going for a killing blow.

“I… I don’t do that.” The lie was so obvious to your ears it almost made you cringe outwardly. 

“I’m not trying to embarrass you because… I look for you in every room. I… I lied to you the second time we saw each other so many years ago I… I knew you were Rengoku’s tsuguko because he’d written to me. He… sensed something and told me he was sending you to me for that mission. I was so… so damn nervous to see you again after so many years. So curious about how you were faring and I couldn’t even get more than fifteen words out. And when Rengoku passed I would write Kagaya, ask him how you were because I was too much of a coward to ask you myself.” That’s why Kagaya wrote to you. Your heart still beat, skipped a beat then beat again. Everything was falling into place. Why Rengoku had sent you away when you had always gone on his missions with him. The scheming man was playing matchmaker. And even Kagaya was playing the same damn game. 

“Don’t say anything else, Giyu. Please.”

“I won’t speak the rest of the night if you come back. You can even leave at first light. Just please… let me feed you and give you a place to sleep.”

“My inn isn’t too far.”

“Please.” The emotion in his voice was staggering. It was a plea. It had sounded like something he needed even more than breathing. You stared at him. If you went with him now that would be the very first crack in your walls. You never gave an inch away since Rengoku died and if you started now everything would crumble.

“No. I’m going back to my inn.”

“I’ll join the hashira training.” He said and your lips parted in silent surprise. “That’s why you came tonight wasn’t it? You’d never do it alone so Kagaya must’ve written to you? Am I right?” Your face must’ve given away the answer because Giyu continued and you realized right here and now this is the most you two have ever talked. An hour together had more dialogue than almost eight years. And this was why you kept your distance all these years. Because if anyone knew you it was Giyu, he’d seen you at your lowest yet here he was… begging you to stay for just a few hours. “Come back and I’ll join. You can consider your favor a success.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I’d do it for you.”

“Be serious.” You growled and Giyu took another step forward. You hadn’t noticed him getting so close but suddenly he was close enough to touch. You stepped back. 

“Come back. Please.”

“You’re annoyingly persistent.”

“I just want you safe. That’s all.”

“You already saved me once. That’s enough.” You condemned with a shake of your head. Giyu looked doubtful for a moment, unsure of how to convince you to come back. But if you made good on Kaguya's favor this could be the end of it. “I’ll come back.” His eyes shot up to yours. “But I’m gone first light.” He nodded his head at that. 

Giyu finished up dinner as you set the table. It was quiet between you two after everything. Giyu had all but confessed the real depth of his feelings but you had an idea and it wasn’t something you’d let yourself dwell on. That idea was something close to hope. Something close to the degree of happiness. That’s not something you wanted. Not something you’d let yourself have. If there was one thing you were truly good at, it was self destruction. 

You took your seat as Giyu placed down the food. Miso soup with sweet potatoes. You stared at it, stricken. Rengoku’s favorite meal. 

“Y/n? Are you alright?” 

“Seriously? That was at least your sixth bowl.” You huffed as Rengoku smirked as he pulled the bowl to his lips, slurping down the rest of its contents. He placed it down and reached for the ladle again. You watched him in amused surprise as he dulled out a seventh bowl. “You’re overgorging yourself.”

“It’s too good. Who taught you to cook, kid?” 

“You did.” You sighed with an eyeroll as Rengoku laughed heartily.

“Ah! That’s right I did.”

You blinked a few times and suddenly your face felt wet. You pressed a hand to your cheek. You hadn’t cried since losing your parents. You thought you were incapable, that you had exhausted your tear ducts at night. You hadn’t cried when you lost Rengoku and you always felt inhuman because of it. You looked across the table and met Giyu’s wide eyed stare, he looked startled at your tears.

“What’s wrong?” He asked and you couldn’t stop the tears now. They fell so fluidly, so overwhelmingly. You tried to apologize but your words just came out in stuttered croaks in your throat. Giyu stood so fast he knocked his chair over as he crossed to the other side of the table. He dropped to his knees beside you and pulled you to him. Rengoku hugged you a lot. You’d say it was unwanted but it was something you needed. Giyu’s arms around you felt different. He hugged you close to his chest, his hand tangled in your hair as you fell prey to your emotions. But startlingly so… it felt nice. Bottling things up for so long had very nearly ended you and you might’ve been able to really shut off your humanity if it hadn't been for that damned letter. If it hadn't been for Rengoku’s unending kindness. If it hadn't been for Giyu’s persistence. You could’ve nearly ended up as black hearted as the demon that flipped your life upside down. That was the most startling revelation of them all.

Giyu hugged you tight as you fell to pieces. He didn’t let go, never even loosened his arms a little bit around you. He just held you and let you cry and cry. It should’ve been embarrassing but as he pulled your hair back out of your face and wiped your wet cheeks there wasn’t an ounce of that annoying sympathy in his eyes. Just utter understanding. And this was the most inopportune time, seeing as your eyes were probably bloodshot, nose probably running like crazy, but without thinking you sucked in a ragged breath and then pressed your mouth to his.

Giyu made a sound low in his throat, you felt his arms around you tighten, drawing you in, deepening the kiss. This wasn’t something you knew of. Your parent’s pecked each other’s lips and cheeks but this… no this was something for behind closed doors. For just you two. That fire that pooled in your stomach upon seeing Giyu had heightened at least tenfold when he pulled you into his lap. Your bodies pressed against one anothers, no room, not even a milimeter’s length of space. He kissed you softly, but you kissed him back hard. That chasm of loneliness in you had reached its peak and you wanted it gone. He gently ran his hand through your hair and you balled your fist in his shirt. He gently lowered you back and kissed you against the hardwood flooring of his kitchen. 

You shoved your chair away from you both and hooked your legs around his hips. He made another sound and you found that you liked it so you tightened your hold and slid your hand in his hair. That awarded you another sound, like a whimper. When he pulled back for air you yanked him by the hair back to your lips. Fuck air. You didn’t need that. You’d rather breathe him in. He whimpered again, his hips mindlessly moving, sending a wave of heat through you and this time it was your turn to groan. He hooked an arm around your back and with strength and swiftness, he hoisted you up off the floor without even breaking the kiss. You gasped in surprise and he walked you through the hallway. Kissing you against the wall and the door and the dresser before he finally made it to his bed. 

You two fell into the softness of his covers, his body trapping you beneath him. He trailed his lips away from yours and whimpered at the loss of contact. But he kissed both your cheeks, your forehead, the tip of your nose and to your jaw. He paid extra attention to your neck before kissing your collar bones. He kissed his way back down your body. Kissing your scars that had once been an eyesore to you. Ever so gently tracing some absentmindedly with his other hand. Whatever growing between you two was something to be earned. Sure you loved Giyu but you needed more time with him. You spent eight years barely speaking. You could tell Giyu felt that too because when his lips met yours again and pulled back you both blinked tiredly at one another. 

Astonishingly you watched the softest of smiles spread across Giyu’s face. You wanted to catalog this moment forever. To remember it till the day you died. Giyu pressed one last kiss to your forehead and then dropped beside you on the bed. He pulled you to him, your back pressed to his front. Your legs tangled as his hand reached across you and intertwined with yours. You blushed but settled against him. The dregs of sleep calling for you. You two didn’t need to speak another word.  

You watched the first light roll in through Giyu’s curtains. It shone like blades across his room. Giyu softly snored beside you, arms still around your body. You’d never kissed a single soul before but you knew what a kiss meant. You knew whenever your dad kissed your mom or the other way around that it was an unspoken way to say I love you. But it was a different kind of love your parents shared. You loved your family. You loved Rengoku. 

But you loved Giyu. 

You loved him as you clamped your fist in his shirt the night he saved you. You loved him when you stepped off that train. You loved him at every hashira meeting and every stolen glance. You loved him as you read Kagaya’s letter and loved him when he opened the door. As he chased you down in the street and begged you to come back to his home. So many problems never go away, some pain felt as though it would last forever and you never thought you could break through. You never thought you could just grow around it, because nothing was more persistent than a plant in the presence of the sun. You never told Rengoku you loved him, never told him how much he meant to you and that his kindness never fell to deaf ears. You had spent eight years loving Giyu and not letting yourself know it.

And all it took was some miso soup and sweet potatoes.

[lifeasadorkwithnolife]

Concussed (Azriel x Reader)

Cassian accidentally gives you a concussion, his only request is that you give him time to get away before Az gets home.

------

“Your heads not in the game,” Cassian teased, nudging your feet apart as he examined your form. “Come on, what’s on your mind?”

               “Nothing is on my mind.” You mumbled, dropping your fist and turning to him with a pout. “We’ve been out here for hours, can we please be done?”

               It was an unusually hot day, and you and Cassian had stripped down to the bare minimum, and it still wasn’t cool enough. His torso was coated in sweat, and you could see the defined lines of muscle lining his abdomen and arms. You, on the other hand, had only joined the inner circle recently, and you couldn’t see any muscle in your abdomen, hence the vigorous training sessions with Cassian.

               “Do you think Hybern is going to wait until it’s nice and cool outside to attack us?” Cassian asked, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms.

               “I don’t know… maybe?” You shrugged, he shook his head, laughing. “Spar with me one more time.”

               “I always lose!” the grumble left you before you could stop yourself. Cassian laughed again, and you got into position on the mat, and he stood across from you. Past Cassian, you could see the landscape of Velaris, the mountains in the background with the sun high above. Clouds littered the sky but provided almost no shadow.

               Speaking of shadows, you wonder what Azriel had been up to. You hadn’t seen him today, where usually you two spoke before breakfast. Seeing him was one of your favorite parts of the day, whilst he was quiet and refined with everyone else, you made him smile and laugh. Your friendship was full of inside jokes, occasional hugs and a lot of pining for him. You wish you were able to move on, and in an effort to, you told Cassian- but that was a huge mistake.

               Cassian teased both of you, constantly, and you could tell Azriel was embarrassed. You two would be eating breakfast together in the morning, and Cassian would come in and call you two lovebirds, or a nice couple, or even ask if he was interrupting something with a wink. Azriel would always snap some retort back at Cassian, something along the lines of ‘Not us’,  “Not gonna happen”, or, the one that hurt your heart the most, “Not in a million years.”

               Sure, Cassian’s teasing was embarrassing, but you never understood why Azriel felt like he had to shut it down so harshly, Cassian was only joking after all.

               “You’re not focused!” Cassian snapped his fingers in front of you, and your eyes moved quickly from the mountains to him. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

               “Of course I did!” You snap back.

               “Lets see about that.” Cassian replied, his fist came at you in the combination you guys had been working on. You ducked to the right and you heard the whoosh of his hand past your ear. You blocked his right knee with your forearm, turning quickly to throw a punch into his unshielded face.

               Instead of watching your fist land a satisfying blow to his chin, you instead watched as his fist came right towards you and land an unforgiving blow to your right temple. You flew back on the mat, landing in a heap and losing the air in your lungs.

               “Y/N!” Cassian shouted, quickly getting on his knees and standing above you. You saw his shadowed blurried face above yours. After a few moments, you were able to gasp, your lungs finally allowing air in. Cassian’s one face turned into two, then four. “Y/N, are you okay?”

               “I don’t know.” You whispered, you reached up for his face to see if there was really four of him. You cupped his cheek. “Cassian, I am literally seeing like- eight of you right now.”

               “Fuck Y/N!” Cassian groaned, turning his head away and looking around. “I thought you said you heard what I said, I told you that after the first combination, we were skipping the second and doing the third.”

               “I think I lied.” You groaned, your arm falling back down to your side. You reached up to feel your head and could feel that your eye area was swelling already. “The sun is so bright.”

               “I’m going to take you to madja Y/N, but please, do not tell Azriel.”

------

               Hours passed, and Madja diagnosed you with a slight concussion. She was able to give you something for the pain, but the bruising and eventual black eye was unavoidable. Cassian had tucked you into your chair in the library, making sure you had a snack, a couple of books and a tall glass of water within reach. “Cassian- I’m not helpless you know.”  

               “Y/N- trust me, this is the least I can do.” Cassian handed you your book, then moved the table even closer to you. “Is this close enough?”

               “Yes! I’m fine, you guys get punched around all the time, I can handle it.” You tried to raise your eyebrows in a teasing manner but felt a surge of pain through the right side of your face. Cassian’s face fell, “I’m serious, don’t feel bad. It was my fault for not paying attention.”

               “He’s not going to see it that way.” Cassian retorted, and you shook his head.

               “Why are so worried about what Azriel will think?”

               “I just do not want to be anywhere near here when he comes home, speaking of which, I best be on my way.” He leaned down, giving you a light hug before backing up. “Again, I’m sorry, but I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?”

               “Yeah.” You nodded, smiling as he walked from the door. You looked around the now empty room, the fire was roaring in the fireplace, the light leaving shadows against the dark shelves filled with books in varying condition. You nestled into your chair, opening the book and continuing where you left off.

------

               The door opened to the library with a groan, and you smiled to yourself,  noticing the new shadows flowing around you that were  not caused by the fire. “Hey Az.” You hummed, not turning towards him.

               “Hey, how was your day?” His low voice reverberated through the small space, making you smile. He sat in the chair next to you. You were sure he looked handsome, like he does every night, but you didn’t turn your head, instead leaving your hair to frame the ugly bruise.

               “It was uneventful.” You flipped the page, “What about yours?”

               “Just uneventful?” Azriel reached his hand over, grabbing your arm. “What was uneventful?”     

               “Just did a little sparing with…. Cassian.” You hesitated, “It was hot, very hot, and very uneventful.”

               “I feel like you’re not telling me something.” Azriel said, and your felt him get up and go to kneel in front of you. You looked down even further, you probably looked ridiculous. “Why aren’t you looking at me?”

               “No reason Az, my eyes are…tried of looking at stuff.” You cringed at your bad excuse. “I mean- I think its time to get to bed. You walk out first- I’ll be right behind you.”

               Azriel slowly placed his hand on your chin, and gently forced your head up, causing your eyes to meet his. His teasing smile immediately dissolved into concern, then anger. “Y/N!” Azriel’s voice was sharp, but his hands were still gentle as he cradled his face. “What happened?”

               “It wasn’t Cassian’s fault!” You pushed your hair behind your ear, “I was distracted and then his fist just came out of nowhere-“

               Azriel stood up, walking out of the room. You got up to follow, trotting behind him as he went to Cassian’s door. He swung it open, not knocking, and stormed into his empty room. “Where is he?” Azriel growled, turning back to you.

               “Azriel calm down!’ You replied, coming over and grabbing his arm. His shadows dispersed, probably looking for Cassian somewhere in the house. “He left- I don’t know where.”

               “I’m going to kill him.” Azriel looked down at your face, but instead of meeting your eyes he stared at the huge bruise.  

               You understood why Cassian left in this moment, but couldn’t exactly figure out why Azriel was losing his cool. “Azriel please-“

               “Where did he go?”

               “I don’t know! I just said that!” You replied, you turned your head back towards the door and winced, the quick motion causing your head to throb. Azriel’s hand immediately fell to your cheek again. “I’m sorry, it just hurts.”

               “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “lets go back.”

               His hand hovered over your lower back as you walked. “Do you have a concussion?”

               “A slight one, yeah.” You replied, deciding that instead of the library, your room was definitely a better destination.

               “I’m sorry to cut tonight short Az, but I’m really tired.” You looked up at him, opening your door. He nodded, following you in and sitting in the chair next to the bed as you laid down, getting under the covers. As you settled into your pillow, you expected him to move, or leave, but he stayed put. “What are you doing Az?”

               “I’m going to make sure you’re okay.” Azriel stated, leaning back in the chair, his wings awkwardly crunched between him and the wall.

               “Not that I don’t enjoy your company, you know I do, but what?”

               “Concussions are serious Y/N, even if Madja says you’re okay I’m not taking the chance that you’re not, so I’m staying here.”

               “all night?” You retorted, and he nodded.

               “Yep.”

               “Az please, go to bed. You look uncomfortable.”

               “Nope.”

               You glared at him, and he sighed, leaning forward and clasping his scarred hands on his knees. “You want the truth?” You nodded, “I would sit here, all night, and watch you sleep just to make sure you woke up. The fact that Cassian hurt you…. Makes me want to tear him limb from limb, even if he is my brother.”

               “Az-“ You started, leaning up on one arm and taking a good look at him. His eyes bore in to yours, no trace of humor left in them. “You’re serious.”

               “Yes, I’m serious.” He replied, “so don’t ask me to leave again, because I won’t, I physically- I physically can’t leave.”

               “Then at least climb in with me.” You whispered, patting the spot next to you. He froze. “Please, you look uncomfortable.”

               “That’s the concussion talking.” Az mused, and you shook your head.

               “I swear it’s not.” You whispered, earnestly looking at him. “If you were ever hurt, I don’t know what I would do. Do you want the truth?” he nodded, and you sighed. “I didn’t see the punch coming because I was thinking about you, and about…how you would never feel the same way as I do.”

               “And how is that?” Azriel dropped to his knees, coming to the edge of the bed.

               “I…care about you, deeply. I want to spend every day with you, and…” You felt tears prick your eyes and you turned away, your face flushing in embarrassment. “Honestly it really hurts my feelings when you say you could never see us happening, because I’ve always seen us happening.”

               He stared at you, hands falling to his side. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m concussed.” You quickly wiped the tears from your eyes, turning away and plopping on the bed. “Forget I said anything, goodnight, Az.”

               After a few moments, the bed creaked and you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, slightly pulling you. You turned, and Az was above you on his side, staring at the non-bruised side of your face.

               “I have always thought that you would not be able to love me, for the things that I have done.” He whispered, cupping your face. “I never wanted to offend you with the… insinuation that we could ever be a match.”

               “My chest physically hurts when I’m away from you, and my shadows would rather be with you than with me at this point, you are so kind, so beautiful, the thought of us together, the thought of you caring about me, and possibly loving me, just seemed too much like a dream rather than reality.” Tears burned your eyes again as he spoke, “I love you, I’m sorry I ever made you think differently.”

               “I love you too.” You whispered, and he wiped the tear from your cheek. “All those comments Cassian made- it was because I told him how I felt about you, he was just teasing me.”

               Azriel barked a laugh, turning away from you on his back. You looked at him in concern, and he just shook his head. “I had told him about my feelings for you, I thought he was…I thought those comments were aimed at me.”

               You shook your head, laughing as well. “ Az, I won’t stop you if you still want to kill him.”

[yandere-sins]

Hey! I loved your yandere!konig and ghost when their darling runs away. But how would they react if they're darling broke out. But couldn't bring themselves to go farther than 10 - 20 feet away. Cause if their anxiety of leaving the cabin?

Ah, the sweet, sweet betrayal of the own mind, I like that :D Thanks for requesting!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"Come on... Come on! Yes!"

With a sharp click, the front door unlocked. The wooden cabin creaked as if warning you to stay, but you were up and outside before you could even think to listen. For weeks, you had worked towards this moment, and as the taste of freedom—earthy like the forest that surrounded the lonesome cabin—caressed your senses, a big smile curled the corners of your mouth upwards.

Day after day, you had swallowed your pride, nodded, and agreed. Laid still next to your captor in bed at night and listened to his footsteps whenever he returned, hoping they'd pass by your bedroom. The first few weeks had been the worst, with you still shackled and panicked, the masked man telling you to behave at every outburst of yours. But how could you?

It took a lot of time until he trusted you enough to let you freely walk around the secluded cabin. It wasn't without punishments as you tried to escape so many times before, until your feet were bloody from his knife and your wrists sore from the restraints he put you back in, but you learned your lessons. Listened to him. Obeyed him. Waited like a good little spouse a few steps away from the entrance whenever he returned. Enough so that he started trusting you.

Enough so that he grew careless.

Ghost, he called himself. It wasn't the most accurate description as he was tall and burly, not exactly haggard. His skeleton mask could be frightening; that much was true. As was his strength and the ruthless use of force to cause you pain and torture you. It was hard to get to this point of him letting his guard down, and you figured pretty quickly that he wasn't just some random man; all his senses were sharp, and his actions were skilled as if he was trained for this. Ghost was lines of muscles and scars all over his body. He was a human predator as far as you could see, but it made his weakness glaringly obvious;

You.

Because the moment you cuddled up to him, his tense posture grew slack, his arms gentle around you, his hands massaging you as if you were a fragile being. When you asked for something, he'd simply say, "We'll see," but would return with it after his next grocery run without needing a reminder. Meals were always cooked the way you wanted, and the heater was always set to the temperature you decided on. Even if he insisted on sleeping next to you, he let you have his blanket if you stole it at night. You'd constantly wake up to him gently rubbing your back whenever you accidentally laid on top of him at night.

It was a gamble to try and make him careless. You couldn't be sure it would work. However, you still worked towards your goal every day, pretending to get along with him, slowly falling into a routine he could get used to without letting him find out you were merely playing him. And now, finally, it had paid off.

Mud and grass had never felt better beneath the soles of your shoes as you stepped down the porch and onto the forest ground. Freeing and inviting—alive. Compared to the outside, the air inside the cabin had been terribly stale, and the building made of wood weighed down on your mood. Here, you finally felt in control of your life and closer than ever to escaping the nightmare!

There was barely anything around besides the dense treeline in front of you. A stump with an axe rested on the right corner of the cabin, but there was no path, no signs of a car or any way out, meaning what Ghost had told you about the cabin being far away from any other living soul must have been true.

Your heart sunk a little at the realization. You had seen the forest through the windows, but the ones showing the front had always been boarded shut. It gave you hope that there was something you weren't supposed to see or know, but you realized now that it was to keep uninvited eyes out should anyone stumble across the cabin instead.

So where were you supposed to go? There were trees on the left and trees on the right. Undoubtedly, more forest awaited you behind the cabin, so your only chance was to go forward. Looking at the ground, you tried to find Ghost's footsteps, any indication that this was the right way, but despite his hefty stature, you found none that could lead you.

You were on your own.

"Nothing wrong with that," you muttered to yourself, curling your hands into fists before saying a quick pep-talk. Surely, you'd find back to civilization once you fought your way through the forest. You were well-fed and clothed, had slept a full ten hours last night, and were young enough to take one or two days trekking through the thicket easily. The thought made you nervous regardless, but everything would be fine. You just had to get going so as to not get caught by the man who was trying to ruin your life with his fantasies.

Frankly, any fate awaiting you outside was better than staying at the cabin with him.

Taking your first steps, you felt your pulse quicken, your nostrils expanding to let more air into your lungs. You knew you couldn't afford to overthink things. There simply wasn't enough time. Ghost stayed away for two hours whenever he went out, and you had struggled to open the high-security lock on the front door that stood out like a sore spot against the wood. It took you months to find out what you needed to do and prepare everything for this moment—you couldn't afford to waste your efforts now.

Months, huh? It had been so long since you'd been under people. This forest wasn't familiar to you in the slightest, but you've been to forests before. This was just another one that would surely end in a town or at least a street. Hopefully, someone would believe you when you were found and help you. You didn't even have anything to verify yourself with.

But it didn't matter, surely your family had reported you as missing! It had been too long since you last spoke, even if you weren't in contact regularly. They would have noticed you being gone!

Right?

You felt your throat constrict as you swallowed down the doubt. "It's all his fault," you cursed through shallow breaths, wrapping your arm around yourself in an effort to calm down. Ghost had been putting all these thoughts inside your head, and you were merely reaping the fruits of his manipulation now. It was unfair, but you were stronger than this! You'd not allow him to continue to hold you hostage, his ill-willed comments meaningless since he clearly wasn't sane.

"There are dangerous animals out there. Big ones."

You remembered thinking, 'Where the fuck did he take me?' when you first heard him tell you about the outside of the cabin. You obviously weren't in your hometown anymore, where the biggest animal was a freaking squirrel.

"He's just messing with you," you bit out, banishing your own thoughts. Even now, that psycho held way too much power over you, his words and warnings repeating over and over as your doubts and anxiety grew. If only you made it to the tree line, you'd probably be able to convince yourself that there was nothing more dangerous than Ghost out there. Moving forward, your knees wobbled when you were barely two steps away from the edge of the clearing.

But what if it was him coming for you again?

"I'll always find you," you remembered him continuing as he told you about the animals while he softly played with your hair, the distant sound of rain thrumming on the roof enveloping the otherwise reigning silence in the cabin. "Won't let any of these wankers 'urt you. I'll make them piss right off, you're mine."

He'd be gone for a while. If he could track out of the forest, go shopping, and come back in about two hours, you could do the same and find help on the way. He'd first had to come back and notice you were gone before even starting to look for you. By then, you'd be long gone.

It wasn't like you were going to run straight into his arms by going this way, right? Shivering, you remembered the pain of when he cut your soles with his knife for daring to make a run for the door the first time Ghost let you "off the leash". The way it hurt every time he forced you to walk to the bathroom on your own, and how you barely made it while he stood above you, clicking his tongue at the bloody footsteps you left on the floor. You remembered the harsh cold and huddling in the corner of the basement, naked in the darkness, until Ghost showed you mercy, allowing you back into his arms after leaving you there for who-knows-how-long, just because you refused to sleep in the same bed with him.

If these natural reactions—the "petty crimes"—landed you a punishment this bad, then what would happen if he found you outside, trying to run from him? What more could he do to you before you'd break beyond repair?

Looking back over your shoulder, you stared at the open door. Maybe you should go back to close it? Buy yourself some time by pretending to hide from him? You could take some food and water with you. Honestly, your preparation was still pretty bad. Perhaps it would be better to try this another time when you had better chances of running from him, the time was so short, and after all—

Your cheek immediately started to burn as you suddenly struck yourself with the palm of your hand. "Focus!" you chided yourself. Why would you let this moment go to waste?! Taking a few more steps, you managed to break through the invisible line that Ghost had kept you behind, the forest enveloping you—swallowing you, like a hungry animal.

You were going to get out of here! You were going to make it!

The branches and leaves snatching at your clothes and skin felt like Ghost's hands reaching for you, trying to pull you back. But with an iron will, you moved on, determined to get through this. All his tricks became meaningless as you powered through the thicket. The hold on you melted away as you used all your strength to escape it. It felt like hours as you rushed through the green, never looking left and right, your determination the goal.

It needed your body to give out beneath you to finally make you stop. You could barely breathe at this point, your vision blurry with tears you didn't know had collected. Your head was spinning like you hit it on something hard, and hundreds of small areas on your body hurt for no reason, but you must have cut or poked yourself on the thicket without realizing it. Your legs felt weak, but your mind was still determined to get through this! You had come so far, just a little more, and you could rest for the night that had surely already fallen, considering how dark it was all around you.

Despite your loud breathing, the silence around you was deafening. It felt exactly like the dark basement you'd been locked in a few times. Air didn't seem to be able to fill your lungs quickly enough, and the sound of your own blood rushing through your body was an uncanny reminder of the fact that you were alive and well. And you'd make it; you had already come so far!

The sound of branches cracking near you made you still instantly.

The animals, you thought. But it could just be a deer.

More shuffling, leaves against fur, hoves breaking through branches and thicket. You'd simply spring up and yell at it to go away! It would be that easy to send it off in another direction. There was nothing to fear; it was all one of Ghost's tactics to scare you of leaving, and it would not work for you anymore!

You knew what you had to do, knew how to behave, and yet, for some reason, your body didn't obey you. Not even as a white face came into few, looking over a bush and staring straight at you. You opened your mouth, ready to yell and scream so the creature would quickly take off, but only a pitiful croak escaped from your throat, everything so tight and clamped up. Your helplessness barely registered, your brain ordering your arms to lift up menacingly, but your fingers merely trembled, hands slack in your lap.

Nothing was working, and your vision grew even darker as you rapidly tried to blink the tears away that filled your eyes. "What's going on?" you asked, but you heard your own voice, incomprehensible, a mix of strangled grunts and breathless squeaks.

"[Name]?"

For some reason, the sound of another voice appeared much clearer than your own. You heard it even through your desperate groans. It sounded firm. Concerned. Safe. It wasn't the sound of an animal, no roar or yap or growl or hiss. You knew that voice, it was... it was...

Something dropped to the ground, and you squeaked in surprise, jerking so hard you felt the branches of the bush poke into your body again. Your senses slowly returned as you were enveloped in warmth, the familiar scent you had breathed day in and day out wrapping around you. Strong barriers held you tightly, lifting you from the ground and adjusting their grip on you, and you managed to worm your own arms around a firm neck, your legs slipping into position in the familiar feeling of being held.

"Calm down, darlin', I'm 'ere. You're okay. It's okay."

Sobs overwhelmed you as you buried your face into the firm shoulder, the flesh molding around your features, giving you a place to hide. Immense warmth attacked you but hugged you just as tightly as the two arms wrapped around your body. "You're safe. Calm down, love."

The darkness clouding your mind dispersed as you felt the soft rocking of footsteps swaying your whole body. Finally, clear thoughts returned to you as you realized you were being carried. You felt the synthetic feel of a rain jacket beneath your fingers, which you had clawed into the fabric, while your breathing grew steadier, your lungs finally satisfied with the amount of air you were getting.

"What happened?" you slurred, still holding on to the person who had found you. Were you finally saved? Did someone rescue you, and did you make it out alive?

"Found you on the edge of the forest, all panicked and shit. For fuck's sake you doin' out here anyway, darlin'?"

The arms squeezed you a little tighter, almost uncomfortably so. But you squeezed back, holding on to your savior with all the strength you had left. "Running... outside... need to find..."

"Were you lookin' for me? Fuckin' hell... can't even punish you for that, sweet'eart."

"I... What?" you mumbled, clarity slowly climbing back into your brain. You heard the sounds of the steps changing from grass to wood, making you finally look up again. Blinking away the rest of your tears, your eyes adjusted, and you clearly watched the line of trees you had become oddly familiar with move away from you. The sight was enough to make you realize you were moving backward instead of through and out of the forest.

You weren't escaping anymore.

Straightening your back, you looked down at the black mask to your right, Ghost being preoccupied with something at your back, releasing one arm from you while he fumbled around with it. "Gave that lock a good kick, eh?" he commented as dread began running down your spine. He sighed, apparently bothered by having to replace the lock before he returned your gaze. He appeared to be relaxed, his eyes a bit lidded and his arms sturdy, giving no indication of his emotions.

But you noticed the blown-apart pupils, the way his gaze fixated on you like a crosshair. He had you all figured out—or at least, you managed to give him a fright.

"How did you find me?" you croaked warily, but the exhaustion made your voice sound sweet and gentle, not wavering and allowing him to hear the rush of nervosity in it. "I ran so far..."

"Told you, I'll always find you. Besides, you were collapsed in a ditch, lookin' absolutely horrified just in front of the cabin. First time 'avin' a panic attack, love?"

"Oh," you muttered, sacking back into his arms and forcing yourself to take deep breaths. You were fucked. Absolutely screwed. Messed up big time. Being carried inside the cabin, the dream of freedom vanished as Ghost squatted down in front of the couch. He slowly tipped you backward, making sure you'd not hurt yourself by falling off him, but instead of getting up, he stayed in the same position, finding your gaze no matter how hard you tried to avoid it.

"You were tryin' to find me, right?" he asked all of a sudden, questioning your motive after all.

"Y-Yeah..." you falsely admitted, your voice finally faltering. He was going to hurt you. Maybe you'd not survive this... would anyone notice if you were dead? Would anyone find you and bring justice to this unfairness you were experiencing? Why did you have to have a panic attack just from running away when all of this was a nightmare you wished to wake up from?!

When his hands landed on your thighs, you flinched, clenching your teeth together and bracing for the pain he was going to inflict on you any second now. You failed bitterly. So much so that you were already crying, tears dripping on his hands while you resigned yourself to your miserable faith.

Ghost rose from before you, pushing some weight onto your legs as he leaned forward, masked lips brushing against your forehead. "Don't do that again," he warned quietly, and you were sure he meant escaping rather than looking for him. "Don't want to have to break your legs just to keep you here, darlin'."

And with that, a firm but merciful warning, he let go, trudging off back outside, leaving the door wide open. Before the stairs leading off the porch, Ghost stopped, looking back over his shoulder, and you flinched—hard—noticing the cold glare he was giving you. "I'll go fetch the groceries. You stay."

With that, he left back towards the forest, making you watch as he brushed through the thicket and disappeared into darkness. Freedom seemed even closer with the unlocked door and Ghost's back turned. Just a few steps, and you'd be outside again. You could hide from him and then make a break for it.

Your body sacked, sliding deeper into the soft cushions of the couch.

"Next time," you mumbled. "I'll escape for sure."

Exhaustion took over as your eyes closed slowly. The last thing you saw was Ghost's silhouette marching back towards the cabin before your body collapsed onto the couch, the soulless eyes behind the skeleton mask drilling into your soul. Like a dog, trained to obey, you stayed.

And Ghost watched over you for a while, trying to push the thoughts of breaking your ankles out of his mind as he went to make you dinner instead. You've been through enough that day. This experience would teach you that you couldn't escape him. Even if your brain still fought, your body knew better than to disobey him. It even knew to cling to him for safety, so it was just a matter of time. He had chipped away at your psyche long enough for you to not even recognize what he had done. Slicing a carrot into two parts, Ghost knew he'd soon get to reap the fruits of his labor.

And once you were as broken as he was, you two would finally be happy together.

[docjayfeather]

All of the Ren Lore i’ve compiled from his single player series and old streams

Favorite meal is roast lamb and roast potatoes

Has an ex-girlfriend

Hates One Direction

Was on a boating team in high school

His mother’s first cat’s name was Ebony

His single player world started in 1.2

Ren’s favorite language is Spanish

Ren has been to Spain several times

His brother had a dog named Rorschach

Ren’s favorite armor set in the original Diablo was the Moon set

Ren and his brother used to have to shower/bath together, then dry off infront of an electric fireplace. Through a series of events, young Ren got his butt stuck to the glass pane of the electric fireplace, and has had a scar on his butt since.

Ren has said “I always think about [Ren’s brother’s username] when I think about my butt”

Ren knows how to do a cats cradle

Ren used to have frosted tips

Ren’s favorite commander deck is Kraum/Tymna

Ren got kicked in the literal butthole by a horse

Ren likes burning things

Ren created a rigged marble slot machine in high school

Went on an introspection journey, visiting all the places he lived and all his jobs pre-YouTube

Did the insane thing of asking the lady who was now living in his first house if he could go inside and check out his old room

Ren had a patreon tier where he’d sent his patrons a “Ren Crate”, a lootcrate full of stuff

Ren doesn’t drink (anymore)

Officially has OCD

Ren loves apple juice

Ren loves driving games

Event manager for The Deftones once

Plays MtG on Sundays

Ren wants to retire with Doc

Ren’s wants his spirit animal to be a shark

Ren’s favorite book series is LotR

Ren is “below-average hairy”

Ren’s favorite season is Autumn

Ren’s birthday is October 11th

Ren is a slut for tiramisu and ice cream

Ren wants to open an LGS/tabletop cafe

Ren is not a religious person

Ren worked in a seedy pool bar

Ren almost got an upper back tattoo

Ren loves green tea

Ren is Left Handed

Ren was at one point a vegetarian for several years

Ren has lost his wallet multiple times, once leaving it on a train

Ren eats a whole lemon every day, and drinks lemon juice straight from the lemon

Ren got in trouble at boarding school for “trying to summon demons”. He was just playing MtG.

Ren has had a pair of lucky underwear since he was 18

Ren’s favorite ice cream is strawberry

Ren loved getting aggressively physical in rugby

Ren loves cinnamon buns

Ren used to have super long butt-length hair

Ren really liked playing with fireworks when he was younger. They’d bury huge ones in the sand near their house to make craters.

Ren loves Love Island

Ren can only sleep on his arm

Wears exclusively Star Wars socks and has matching pajamas

Beat Gabriel Nasif in a Magic Grand Prix

Ren hates Oysters

Ren’s favorite dog breed is a chihuahua??

Ren’s favorite dnd class is bard

Ren enjoys cleaning the bathroom the most out of any room

Ren’s favorite musical is Les Miserables

Ren has a favorite kitchen knife, and used to cook a lot.

Ren’s favorite tool is the hoe (of course)

Ren and Iskall used to play League

Never farts irl

born in the same city as J R R Tolkien

Ren named his first car Maximus

Ren is a bath person

Natural Mace Race runner

Ren really likes pet rats

Ren has a very consistent shopping day of tuesday

Ren has an extremely strict sleep schedule

Ren has 7 pairs of the same pajamas to wear 24/7

Ren has a BA in English

Ren does 100 push-ups a day

Ren does a 15k bike ride every day

Ren had a max weight of 110 kilos, is now down to 80

Ren uses youtube in light mode

Ren has seen Metallica live

Ren wore fake glasses in college

Ren has 20/20 vision

Ren has been in plays during school, and blinded the lead with glitter accidentally during one of them, trying to spice up his one line.

Ren has a “black book” of atleast 9 board game ideas

Ren gets pretty motion sick

Ren enjoys mosh pits

Ren really likes competitive monopoly and risk

Ren burned his eyebrows off with a bunson burner once

Ren still cries at The Lion King

Ren plays Ornn, Urgot, and Tristana in League

Ren was allegedly born in 1982

Ren drunk-puked into his shirt in a german taxi the night he met Doc infront of the people sponsoring them

Ren drives stick shift and loves it

Ren thinks he might have a gluten allergy

Ren puts butter in his coffee

Ren tried to write a YA fantasy novel, got 80k words in before scrapping it

Ren would like to live with Keralis hypothetically out of any of the hermits

Ren’s favorite superhero is wolverine

Ren has tinnitus 

Ren convinced Cleo to start streaming, partially leading to her going full time 

Ren once barbecued on radio in the studio 

Ren stayed on his ex-girlfriend’s floor for the first six months of him moving to england

Ren got kicked in the balls trying to sell tickets to musicals in Leicester Square 

Ren loves playing golf and tennis 

Ren hates soccer

Ren loves queues, maybe ironically maybe unironically

Ren drinks four cups of tea a day 

Ren’s favorite season is 3rd life

[euphoria-looney]

I Got You On My Radar, Soon You're Gonna Be With Me, "Strategy" By TWICE

Creds to @dollywons for the dividers

This will have a lot of POV switches so get ready 😀

(This has a mother!darling and a daughter!darling, and they are separate from the reader- unless you decide they aren’t 😍😍)

gn!reader (if I accidentally make them seem too feminine, I’m sorry 😞)

Next chapter I'm going to make [name] crash out but not for the reason you think (hopefully not the reason you think)

So Much More.

Pt. 1 Pt.2

Alfred's POV

I couldn't say if I have a favorite among the Wayne family. I've served them for years even now in my old age. Left my own child, Julia, to train to be at my side, servicing the Waynes.

If you had to ask me to narrow down who was my favorite though, it would have to be young master, [name].

They aren't trained to be assassins, vigilantes, or even able to tame feral animals, instead, they excel in normal activities. I remember the first time they approached Master Burce, eyes that had stars glow in them. They wanted to invite Master Bruce to a ballet recital. They danced with such grace and perfection that many had asked them to continue the said sport. Professionally.

However, they had no time to spare as they raced down to see me, looking around frantically, and excitedly, it hurt my heart to see their eyes dim down so quickly after finding out that unfortunately none of their family had come.

Undeterred, they kept trying figure skating, football (soccer), and volleyball. They'd try the music pathway once they noticed sports didn't work. They excused the absences starting with opera since "opera was boring and easy anyway; maybe instruments are more interesting." They tried the violin, cello, organ, and harp. Still nothing.

Of course, it wasn't just these events that the family missed out on, it was also their birthdays, trophy events, everything. I could only try to support them on the side.

They were a gifted child, one, that had a fire burn so brightly. Till it wasn't.

They never stopped doing the activities, but you could tell they no longer cared if the family attended. I'd go and make excuses for them, and they would brush it off.

Then it seemed they had that fire extinguished when Lady [M/D] and Misstress [D/D] came into the picture.

I could only do so much as I wasn't their personal butler.

Then a day ago was their graduation. I believed I could make it, but the circumstances were too busy and important to go to the graduation. So, today, I hope I can make it up with cupcakes. Today is their birthday.

Imagine, my surprise when they started crying, how I felt such guilt, was it the missed events, or even bigger, the graduation?

None of that. They only said how thankful they were for me. I tried to spend the rest of the evening with them, but it just ended up with me being called to see [D/D] with a new animal. I didn't want to leave them.

I had to though, that is my duty as a butler. To serve my masters.

Another perk about [name] though was how understanding they were.

I should've seen the signs.

A smile and nod gave me all I needed to know that they were going to be okay if I left.

After a long day, I went back to my quarters, to see an envelope.

Sealed in wax with a Lotus flower imprinted on it.

Opening it up and reading the contents made numerous thoughts run rapidly in my mind.

Dear, Alfred

I can only hope this news doesn't affect you in any way. I simply couldn't find it in my heart to tell you in person. I'll be leaving the manor. I've left many things in my room that I hope you mind leaving in there. I don't want years of my work to go down the drain, as you see they hold memorial and sentimental value to me.

That's beside the point, Alfie, you mean the world to me. I don't think I could've made it this far without you. There were days I thought of quitting. Seeing your approval was enough for me to keep pushing myself. Alfie, you are the most capable person I've ever seen in anything. This is why I know my disappearance will help you more by taking the unneeded burden off your shoulders.

Alfie, I hope that when I make a name for myself, you will still look at me with such fondness that makes me feel like a child again, clinging onto you like my last hope, as you always have been. Take of yourself, as that is the most important thing about this message. You matter too much for me to ever forget or let go of you, whether it be through memory or anything else.

With love and appreciation,

[name] [last name]

I re-read that letter, over and over again.

True to their words I never saw them again, but they were wrong about one thing.

They were never a burden on my shoulders. Far from it. They felt like- my child, I raised them up and felt proud of the achievements they managed to get on their own.

I knew I had to understand. It was their choice. One that I didn't want to respect. I wanted to drag them back, but with no leads, how does one even do such a thing?

My only choice was to read their entries and watch recordings they did for themselves to look back on.

But that doesn't do the trick, does it?

I'll find a strategy to bring you back young master, I promise.

Journal 7th

(Entry #1)

I'm going into the 7th grade this year. Honestly, everything sucks. I wish to give up. Alfie has been busy since those two new people came into the house. They seem that they don't want to be here. Honestly, relatable.

Alfie tries but he can never understand me. (GUYS THIS WAS THEIR EMO PHASE, it's so unrealistic 😭)

I have to go, I have an ice skating competition to go to.

(Entry #45)

How is this fair!!! This is so sickening.

I've tried everything and what do I get?! NOTHING.

NoW I'm writing all sloppy! Forget it who says I even need their dumb attention!

Here comes waltzing in this mother-daughter duo!

"Oh~, I don't want you guys"

"But we're obsessed with you!"

WELL SCREW ALL OF YOU GUYS.

SIGNING OFF,

[name] [last name]

Journal 9th

(Entry #1)

It's been two years since [M/D] and [D/D] have entered the manor.

Despite what I wrote somewhere in my old journal, I don't hate them. If anything I feel pity for them. They do something that the family doesn't like and it is like their babies that did something wrong.

Not to mention Damian is always monitoring [D/D] at school and it doesn't help that not even the soundproof wall can block off the sound of Mr. Wayne and [M/D].

It's worse at home than before the family would be busy off doing whatever vigilantes do.

Also, it didn't take a while to find that out. As a kid, I thought they were playing dress-up without me. We'll ignore that though.

Anyway, now as soon as their done doing whatever they're to save the city they rush home to smother those two.

I'm starting high school soon. Slowly I'm changing my style so my hair, and clothing. The hoodie phase was... something.

Anyway

Yours truly,

[name] [last name].

Closing the entries, my thoughts are once again interrupted.

"Where's big sibling [name]?" a child/teenager approached me.

This would be [D/D] with a python on her shoulder.

"They're gone, young mistress." I kneeled down to her height.

"Gone?" The tone was menacingly, annoyed. You could hear the python hissing in agreement with his owner.

[D/D]'s POV

I hated how this family held me in such a possessive and obsessive way, but now I think I understand them.

How could I not when staring at [name]?

My precious sibling. If anything I do have something I appreciate this family for, but if I told them they'd probably annoy me even more, they ignored [name] allowing me to be their one true sibling.

They were special compared to everyone else in this whole world.

It sucked every second, moment, that I didn't spend with them. They give the best cuddles anyone could ask for, and they smelled so good.

I also liked their room, it was so ethereal sometimes. Mostly because they were in there but also because they had customized it perfectly, the decorations. I loved the figurines, the Hironos and Smiskis, the most.

However, the most important thing was the scent.

Did I mention that?

When I had first met them it had been a week since I got kidnapped to this god-awful place, I kept getting smothered and needed to just- get away from it all.

I felt so overwhelmed.

Then they walked in front of me, in this, from what I had assumed, abandoned hallway. It freaked me out and I asked what they were doing in this hallway as I was guessing that his hallway would be closed off or something.

"What are you doing here?! Did one of the freaks send you!?" I directed my anger at them since it would only make sense why I'd encounter them.

"What are you talking about? This is my 'wing' of the house, my room is right over there." They had made a confused face at me.

I felt embarrassed but I shook my head not believing them.

"Are you making this up? Listen as much as I don't want to admit this the only people who are living here are my family and Alfred, the only butler. You certainly can't be a part of this family with that attire, and not once has anyone mentioned you." I looked at them up and down.

"I get that a lot, well not really, I don't talk to anyone other than Alfie." Alfie?

"I'm [name] [la- Wayne. I think I'm older than Duke, so I'd be older than you. We don't really interact..."

"Oh, so you're my sibling." Weird her reaction was normal meeting me... "Well don't bother me like the rest of them." I stuck my head up, glancing at them, which wasn't as they were taller than me by a lot."

"The rest of them?"

"Yeah, they're so annoying, you're cool, for now. But they constantly bother me, going on and on about how I'm their precious little sister, boasting their love to me, notice all the jewelry? That's from them." I rolled my eyes.

"Oh." Their tone had changed seemed distance and the way their eyes sharpened, I didn't even notice.

"You know, I like you, you're perfect, want to hang out?" I batted my eyes at them. Something I wouldn't do in front of the others, they just gush over it.

"I'm busy." They answered shortly, already making their way out.

That made me frown.

"Busy? Doing what? I could join you."

"I'd rather you not, I have a performance to do and have no time to waste."

After that moment I would notice them more and more, that even a second not seeing them felt like my world was dying just to be fixed seeing them at the library. They Looked So Cool!

Flipping through a book, typing faster than my eyes could track, and their note-taking, gosh, that handwriting.

Just to be dragged away by that annoying pest, Damian, he'd be like "Good, you're in the library, I have a bunch of books that we can read together.

No, Damian, I don't want to.

I think I also grew on them, a wee bit.

Not to mention, my pets loved them, even more than they loved me sometimes, ungrateful 🙄.

Then one time, I wanted to skip school, and I knew none of the family would let me, even my mom! She would let me do anything to spite the family but not this, as she deemed education important.

So I maybe, sorta, kind of took [name]'s phone number at one point and called them up.

Damian wasn't near me at the moment. Thank Christ, since we attended the same school, same grade, and everything.

They showed up, sighing, they looked so cool with their windbreaker jacket, those s0ny headphones, the pants, the shoes, and that cool instrument case on their back!

They told the principal that they were my babysitter. Like c'mon, we're siblings. Signed their name really fancy and took me in the car.

One of the best memories as they allowed me to watch them practice at their school as long as I didn't bother them.

So I'm a bit peeved at the news I received today from Alfred.

"Gone?" Seems Copperhead agreed.

My head was reeling as a few days passed and my mom seemed to notice (so did everyone else but who cares about them)

I'll have you on my radar soon, my sweet-hearted [name].

"Honey, is something wrong?" She showed concern.

"Of course not, darling-" Father got cut off

"Not you, [D/D]."

"[name] up and left me" I could feel myself deteriorating even more at that sentiment I just said.

"They what?!" Mom seemed to explode at that moment. Her aura suffocating.

[M/D]'s POV

I had no choice; it was by some coincidence that I bumped into Bruce again. In some way, he tricked me, more like manipulated me into marrying him.

It was hard to adapt, of course, it was, somehow my daughter got used to it quicker than me, every time I did something simple one of the kids, those poor traumatized kids would ask to help me. At first, I didn't mind but they did become overbearing just like Bruce.

Don't get me wrong, they've somehow wormed their way into my heart even that dang handsome Bruce, which makes me show signs of Stockholm syndrome, but therapy is not something I need right now.

Though, they could never top [name].

They reminded me of the woman I met through Bruce, and how she was perfect.

So when I found out that she had a child, I couldn't be even more excited to meet her child, [name].

Even though they had no supporters, even one speck of some kind of light kept them going.

I love my daughter [D/D], but she gave up on doing anything used to being spoiled. That just makes me want to spoil her more though.

[name] did many things. I got an invitation to an ice skating competition. Alfred had handed me two tickets.

"Master [name] would appreciate it if you came to her competition, Lady Wayne." Alfred bowed before leaving."

"Woah!~ [name] ice skates?" [D/D] had stars in her eyes.

"Would you like to attend, sweetheart?" I patted her head.

"Anything to get away from home! Though one of my siblings will bother me again." [D/D] pouted.

True to her words we were delayed to the competition.

The sight that we witnessed though, well, I couldn't even describe it.

"Woah~! They did it! They did the triple axel!"

"Okay, but we all know they could've done a quad axel."

"Shut it, Coral, you got disqualified in figure skating when you were 5 years ago, you don't even know how to figure- much less ice skate anymore."

Apparently, the Axel move was one of the hardest moves to pull.

As they made their way off the podium and to Alfred, they smiled understandably as he made excuses for the Wayne household.

"Congratulations [name]!" [D/D] cheered, it made their smile drop for a moment, I didn't notice though, too enamored by their frame.

"Yes, congrats, I didn't know you had such a talent for ice skating." I gave them a bouquet of roses, which I have to thank that dang Bruce for, or else I would've had nothing to give them.

"Figure skating, but thank you." She accepted the flowers before motioning to Alfred that they were going away.

I was going to stop them, but my phone was getting flooded with messages, and when I looked over [D/D] phone was no different.

"Ah! So annoying! I didn't even get to say bye to [name]!" [D/D] had ruffled her hair out of agitation.

Year after year, my schedule got busy and I could never see them that much.

So tell me why, why in the world did my world have to crash and burn during this dinner that seemed to be perfect.

It even had scallop butre.

"Honey, is something wrong?" I was concerned. [D/D] had been in a bad mood all week.

"Of course not, darling-" Bruce got cut off by me.

"Not you, [D/D]."

"[name] up and left me"

"They what?!" I slammed my hand on the table.

"G-gone? What in the world are you talking about, angel?!" I tried to reason.

"They moved! Left! No one knows where though!" [D/D] cried shoving a piece of food into her mouth. Damian scolded her and tried to pat her back before getting his hand slapped away.

"Calm down." Dick went over to calm [D/D] down and Cassandra went over to rub my arm to console me.

"[name]? Darling, who is that." He chuckled, in that stupid possessive way, which would've made me drop this but this was his child!

"Your child! Yours! Remember! The one that has all the trophies!?"

"Trophies?" Tim chimed in.

"don't worry mom, They aren't that many trophies I've earned," Jason added in.

For god sake you pricks! Are any of your names, [name]?!

"I think they are referring to [name] [lastname], masters." Alfred brought out the dessert, his thoughts seemed to also be clouded.

Realization seemed to hit, starting off with Bruce and then spreading.

Who cares about them though.

Don't worry [name], soon you're gonna be with me.

Guys were already making our schedules for next year and being an academic weapon I am I signed up for all Ap.

Junior year is going to kick my ass.

Also

“I can write descriptions”

“Well I can write dialouge”

Man, I can't do either, unless… 😏 y'all beg to differ/j

Jk I feel confident on my writing, I just need validation 👁️🫦👁️

@cozmie @nxdxsworld @overcaffeinatedfreak @strwberryglass @leiiasurez

(Guys why is my taglist not working 😞)