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Assassination Methods Through the Decades: A Writer’s Handbook

When it comes to writing about assassination, historical accuracy and understanding the evolution of methods can significantly enhance the authenticity and impact of your narrative. This guide is designed to help writers explore the diverse and often brutal methods of assassination that have been used throughout the centuries. From the poisonings of ancient times to the covert killings of medieval assassins, here’s a comprehensive guide bound to give you the perfect inspiration for your assassination scenes.

Ancient and Medieval Assassination Methods

Poisoning

Poisoning is one of the oldest methods of assassination, dating back to ancient civilizations such as Greece, Rome, and Egypt. The allure of poison lies in its ability to kill without physical confrontation, often leaving little trace of the perpetrator.

Common Poisons:

Hemlock: Famously used in the execution of Socrates, hemlock was a slow-acting poison that caused paralysis, leading to death by respiratory failure.

Arsenic: Known as the "inheritance powder," arsenic was a favorite among those seeking to kill discreetly. Its symptoms could be mistaken for natural illness, making it a popular choice in political and familial power struggles.

Belladonna: Also known as deadly nightshade, belladonna was used in both small and large doses to incapacitate or kill. The poison caused hallucinations, dilated pupils, and eventually death.

Historical Examples:

Socrates (399 BC): The Greek philosopher was sentenced to death by drinking a concoction containing hemlock, a method chosen for its relative humanity compared to other executions.

Emperor Claudius (54 AD): It is widely believed that the Roman Emperor Claudius was poisoned by his wife, Agrippina, using a dish of poisoned mushrooms to secure her son Nero's place on the throne.

Administration Methods:

Poisons were often mixed into food or drink, applied to the skin via ointments, or even introduced into the body through small, concealed needles. Assassins needed to be knowledgeable in the art of dosage to ensure a successful kill without immediate detection.

Symptoms:

Victims of poisoning would often suffer a range of symptoms depending on the poison used. These could include severe abdominal pain, vomiting, diarrhea, convulsions, and eventually, death. The slow progression of symptoms allowed the assassin time to escape, and in many cases, the cause of death was not immediately apparent, lending an air of mystery to the assassination.

Bladed Weapons

Before the advent of firearms, blades were the primary tools of assassins. Daggers, swords, and other sharp instruments were favored for their portability and effectiveness in close combat situations.

Types of Blades:

Daggers: Small, easily concealed, and lethal at close range, daggers were the weapon of choice for many assassins. The Roman pugio and the medieval stiletto were particularly popular.

Swords: Larger and more visible, swords were often used in assassinations where the element of surprise was not necessary, such as in the heat of battle or a public execution.

Kris: A wavy-edged dagger used in Southeast Asia, the kris was known for its spiritual significance as well as its lethality.

Famous Assassinations:

Julius Caesar (44 BC): Perhaps the most famous assassination in history, Caesar was stabbed 23 times by a group of Roman senators led by Brutus and Cassius. The attack was swift and brutal, demonstrating the effectiveness of a well-coordinated knife attack.

King Duncan (11th century): The assassination of King Duncan by Macbeth (as famously dramatized by Shakespeare) is an example of a stealthy, intimate kill using a blade, where the act was both personal and symbolic.

Techniques:

Assassins using bladed weapons often relied on stealth, speed, and precision. A well-placed stab to the heart, throat, or kidneys could kill instantly or within moments, leaving the assassin time to escape. In some cultures, assassins were trained in martial arts that emphasized quick, lethal strikes.

Weapon Concealment:

Blades were often concealed in clothing, boots, or even within the folds of long hair or turbans. The art of hiding a weapon until the crucial moment was key to the success of many assassinations.

Strangulation and Garroting

Strangulation was another favored method of assassination in ancient and medieval times, especially for those who sought to avoid bloodshed or noise. The garrote, a weapon used to strangle a victim, was particularly effective in this regard.

Tools Used:

Garrote: A length of wire, cord, or fabric used to strangle a victim from behind. The garrote was silent, deadly, and could be easily concealed, making it a popular choice for assassins throughout history.

Hands: In cases where no weapon was available, assassins might rely on their own hands to strangle a victim. This method required physical strength and proximity but could be effective in the right circumstances.

Historical Examples:

Sicarii (1st century AD): A group of Jewish zealots who used short daggers to stab Roman collaborators in crowded places. The Sicarii were also known for strangling their enemies with garrotes.

Medieval Europe: Strangulation was sometimes used as a method of execution for nobles, where a public beheading or hanging might be considered dishonorable.

Execution:

The assassin would typically approach the victim from behind, loop the garrote around their neck, and tighten it quickly and forcefully, cutting off the victim's air supply. Death would occur within minutes due to asphyxiation or a broken neck.

Advantages and Risks:

The main advantage of strangulation was its silence. Unlike a stabbing or poisoning, strangulation could be done without alerting others nearby. However, it required physical strength and a certain level of risk, as the victim might struggle or fight back.

Renaissance and Early Modern Era

Firearms

The Renaissance and early modern era marked a significant turning point in the history of assassination methods with the introduction of firearms. Gunpowder, first developed in China, made its way to Europe and fundamentally changed the dynamics of warfare and personal combat, including assassination.

Introduction of Gunpowder and Early Firearms in Assassinations:

The development of gunpowder-based weapons provided assassins with a new tool that could kill from a distance, reducing the risk of capture. Early firearms such as matchlock and flintlock pistols were bulky and required significant skill to use effectively, but their lethality made them a preferred choice for assassins by the 16th century.

Firearms allowed for quick, deadly strikes that were difficult to defend against, making them ideal for assassinations where the element of surprise was crucial. The loud noise and smoke, however, meant that escape required careful planning.

How Accuracy and Concealability Impacted Methods:

Early firearms were not known for their accuracy, which necessitated close-range attacks. Assassins often had to be within a few feet of their target to ensure a successful hit. As a result, these weapons were usually concealed under cloaks or in specially designed holsters that allowed for a quick draw.

Over time, improvements in gun design, such as rifling and better gunpowder, increased accuracy and allowed for slightly longer-range assassinations. Despite these advancements, concealability remained a critical factor, as firearms were often large and unwieldy compared to daggers or poison.

Key Assassinations Involving Firearms:

Assassination of King Henry IV of France (1610): King Henry IV was assassinated by François Ravaillac, a Catholic fanatic who stabbed the king while his carriage was stopped in traffic. While this was a stabbing, the period saw a rise in the use of firearms for such purposes. Henry IV's era was marked by religious turmoil, where firearms began to play a role in political assassinations.

Assassination of William the Silent (1584): William I of Orange, also known as William the Silent, was assassinated by Balthasar Gérard using a handgun. This marked one of the first successful assassinations of a prominent figure using a firearm, demonstrating the growing popularity of this method during the Renaissance.

Poison Rings and Needles

The Renaissance period also saw the refinement of more discreet methods of assassination, particularly the use of poison rings and needles. These tools allowed for covert poisoning, often in social settings where other weapons might not be feasible.

Discreet Poisoning Techniques:

Poison Rings: These rings contained a small hidden compartment that could hold a lethal dose of poison. The wearer could discreetly slip poison into a drink or onto food with a simple flick of the ring’s lid. Poison rings were popular among nobility and were often used in court intrigues where open violence would have been impossible.

Poison Needles: These were small, sharp needles often coated with a fast-acting poison. They could be hidden in clothing or other objects and used to deliver a quick, often unnoticed prick that would introduce the poison into the victim’s bloodstream. Needles were ideal for use in crowded settings, such as royal courts or banquets, where the assassin could blend into the crowd after delivering the fatal dose.

Notable Instances of Usage:

Lucrezia Borgia (1480-1519): While the extent of her involvement in poisoning is debated, Lucrezia Borgia, a member of the infamous Borgia family, is often associated with the use of poison rings to eliminate her political enemies. The Borgia family’s reputation for cunning and ruthlessness made poison one of their favored tools for securing power.

Catherine de' Medici (1519-1589): The French queen consort and mother to several kings of France, Catherine de' Medici, was rumored to have employed poison rings and needles to remove rivals and control court politics during the Wars of Religion in France.

Explosives

The early use of explosives in assassination attempts represented a shift towards more destructive and indiscriminate methods of killing, often targeting not just the primary victim but also anyone nearby. Explosives became a favored tool in situations where a dramatic statement was intended, or where traditional methods of assassination were not feasible.

The Early Use of Explosives in Assassination Attempts:

Explosives were first used in assassination attempts during the Renaissance and early modern periods, although their use was limited by the difficulty of creating and handling reliable explosive devices. Gunpowder was the primary explosive material, and it required careful handling to avoid premature detonation.

The use of explosives was often tied to larger political or religious motivations, as the collateral damage caused by an explosion could have a significant psychological impact on the population or ruling class.

The Effectiveness and Risks Involved:

Explosives were highly effective in causing mass casualties and instilling fear, but they also carried significant risks for the assassin. Improper handling could result in accidental detonation, and the use of explosives often made it difficult for the assassin to escape unnoticed.

The unpredictability of early explosives also meant that they could fail to detonate or cause less damage than intended, leaving the assassin vulnerable to capture and execution.

Historical Example:

The Gunpowder Plot (1605): One of the most famous early uses of explosives in an assassination attempt was the Gunpowder Plot, in which a group of Catholic conspirators, including Guy Fawkes, attempted to blow up the House of Lords during the State Opening of Parliament, with the aim of killing King James I and much of the Protestant aristocracy. The plot was foiled, but it demonstrated the potential of explosives as a tool for political assassination.

The Industrial Revolution and Early 20th Century

Sniper Rifles

The Industrial Revolution brought about significant advancements in weaponry, including the development of sniper rifles. These long-range firearms allowed assassins to strike from a distance, often without being seen or heard.

The Rise of Long-Range Assassinations:

Sniper rifles were designed for accuracy over long distances, enabling assassins to kill targets from hundreds of meters away. This development allowed for greater safety and discretion, as the assassin could remain hidden while observing the target through a scope.

The advent of rifling, which gave bullets a stable, spinning motion, greatly improved accuracy and range. Coupled with telescopic sights, these rifles became the preferred tool for military and political assassinations during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Famous Cases:

Assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand (1914): Although Archduke Franz Ferdinand was ultimately killed by a handgun, the era in which he was assassinated saw the rise of snipers as a significant threat. The tensions and technologies of the time set the stage for future political assassinations using sniper rifles.

Assassination of President John F. Kennedy (1963): Although beyond the early 20th century, the assassination of JFK by a sniper is a prominent example of how sniper rifles became synonymous with political killings. This event marked a turning point in the history of assassination, highlighting the lethal effectiveness of long-range firearms.

Car Bombs

The introduction and evolution of vehicular explosives, particularly car bombs, added a new dimension to assassination tactics in the 20th century. Car bombs became a favored method due to their potential for mass destruction and the ability to target individuals in transit.

Introduction and Evolution of Vehicular Explosives:

The use of car bombs began in earnest during the early 20th century, particularly in conflicts where traditional methods of assassination were either too risky or ineffective. These bombs could be planted in vehicles and detonated remotely, offering a high degree of control over the timing and impact of the explosion.

Over time, car bombs became more sophisticated, with the addition of remote triggers, time delays, and increased explosive power. They were used not only in targeted assassinations but also in acts of terrorism aimed at destabilizing governments or instilling fear in the populace.

Techniques for Planting and Detonating:

Planting a car bomb required detailed planning, as the vehicle needed to be accessed and rigged with explosives without arousing suspicion. Detonation methods varied from simple timed fuses to complex remote-controlled devices, allowing the assassin to maintain distance from the blast.

The challenge for assassins was ensuring the target was inside or near the vehicle at the moment of detonation. This often involved careful observation of the target’s routines and the use of decoys or distractions to ensure the bomb’s effectiveness.

Chemical and Biological Agents

The 20th century saw the development and use of more advanced chemical and biological agents in assassinations. These methods, often invisible and insidious, allowed for killings that were difficult to trace and could be disguised as natural causes.

Use of More Advanced Poisons and Toxins:

With advancements in chemistry and biology, assassins gained access to a range of deadly substances that could kill quickly or slowly, depending on the agent used. Toxins like ricin, cyanide, and various nerve agents became tools of state-sponsored assassinations, particularly during the Cold War.

Chemical agents could be introduced through food, drink, or even via contact with the skin or inhalation, making them versatile and deadly. Biological agents, on the other hand, could cause diseases that mimicked natural illnesses, allowing assassins to kill without immediate suspicion.

Historical Examples:

Ricin: Ricin, a highly potent toxin derived from castor beans, was famously used in the assassination of Bulgarian dissident Georgi Markov in 1978. Markov was attacked with a modified umbrella that injected a tiny pellet containing ricin into his leg, leading to his death a few days later.

Cyanide: Cyanide has been used in various assassinations due to its rapid action and high lethality. One of the most notorious uses of cyanide was in the mass suicide-murder in Jonestown in 1978, where members of the Peoples Temple ingested cyanide-laced punch, although this was not an assassination in the traditional sense, it demonstrated the deadly effectiveness of the poison.

These innovations in assassination methods during the Industrial Revolution and early 20th century reflected the growing complexity of warfare and espionage, as well as the increasing role of technology in shaping the tactics of assassins.

Modern and Contemporary Assassination Methods

Silenced Firearms

In the modern era, the evolution of silenced firearms, or firearms equipped with suppressors, has played a significant role in covert assassinations. The suppressor, commonly known as a silencer, reduces the noise and muzzle flash of a firearm, allowing assassins to operate with a higher degree of stealth.

The Evolution of Suppressors and Their Use in Covert Assassinations:

Suppressors were first developed in the early 20th century and have since become a staple in the arsenal of assassins. Initially, suppressors were bulky and limited to specific firearms, but advancements in technology have made them more compact, effective, and adaptable to a wide range of weapons.

Silenced firearms are ideal for close-quarters assassinations where discretion is paramount. The reduced noise levels prevent immediate detection, giving the assassin time to escape or even carry out multiple hits without alerting nearby individuals.

High-Profile Cases:

Cold War Assassinations: During the Cold War, silenced firearms were frequently used by intelligence agencies on both sides of the Iron Curtain. The KGB, CIA, and MI6, among others, employed suppressors in various covert operations to eliminate targets without drawing attention.

Georgi Markov (1978): Although Markov’s assassination in London involved a poison-tipped umbrella, the use of suppressors was prevalent in the same period for similar covert operations. This era exemplified the silent, precise methods preferred by state-sponsored assassins.

Remote-Controlled Devices

The rise of remote-controlled devices, including drones and other modern technologies, has introduced a new dimension to assassination methods. These devices allow assassins to strike from a distance, often from thousands of miles away, with precision and minimal risk.

Drones and Other Modern Technologies in Assassination:

Drones, equipped with cameras and weapons, have revolutionized modern warfare and assassination. These unmanned aerial vehicles can be operated remotely, providing real-time surveillance and the ability to deliver lethal force with pinpoint accuracy. Drones are particularly effective in targeting individuals in difficult-to-reach or heavily guarded locations.

Other remote-controlled devices, such as bombs or cars rigged to detonate via remote, offer similar advantages. These methods allow the assassin to maintain a safe distance from the target, reducing the likelihood of capture or identification.

Notable Instances in Recent History:

Qasem Soleimani (2020): One of the most high-profile drone assassinations in recent history was the killing of Iranian General Qasem Soleimani by a U.S. drone strike in Baghdad. This event highlighted the capabilities of drone technology in executing precise, targeted killings with global political implications.

The Killing of Anwar al-Awlaki (2011): The American-born cleric and al-Qaeda leader was targeted and killed by a drone strike in Yemen, marking a significant moment in the use of remote-controlled devices in the War on Terror.

Cyber-Assassination

As technology continues to advance, the concept of cyber-assassination has emerged as a new frontier in covert operations. This method involves using cyber means to assassinate individuals, such as hacking into medical devices or other critical systems.

The Concept of Assassination Through Cyber Means:

Cyber-assassination leverages the vulnerabilities in modern technology, particularly medical devices like pacemakers or insulin pumps, which can be hacked to deliver a fatal outcome. This method represents a shift from physical to digital assassination, where the target can be killed without the assassin ever being in the same country, let alone the same room.

Cyber-attacks can also target critical infrastructure, leading to deaths through indirect means such as causing traffic accidents by hacking self-driving cars or disrupting life support systems in hospitals.

Ethical and Legal Implications:

The rise of cyber-assassination raises significant ethical and legal questions. Unlike traditional assassination methods, which can be physically traced, cyber-attacks are often difficult to attribute, making accountability a major issue. This anonymity can lead to increased use of such methods by state and non-state actors alike.

Legal frameworks have yet to fully catch up with the technological realities of cyber-assassination. As a result, there is a grey area regarding the legality of such actions, particularly in the context of international law and the rules of engagement in warfare.

Assassination Methods by Region

Europe

Throughout history, Europe has seen a variety of assassination methods, each influenced by the region’s diverse cultures, political climates, and technological advancements.

Specific Methods Popular in Different European Countries Across Various Eras:

In medieval Europe, poison was a favored method, particularly among the Italian nobility. The use of poisoned food, drink, and even clothing was common in the courts of Italy, where political intrigue and betrayal were rife.

During the French Revolution, the guillotine became the symbol of state-sanctioned assassination, used to eliminate political enemies swiftly and publicly. The Reign of Terror saw the use of this method to instill fear and maintain control.

In more recent history, Eastern Europe, under Soviet influence, saw the use of more covert methods, such as radioactive poisoning, exemplified by the assassination of Alexander Litvinenko in 2006 in London.

Asia

Asia's vast and diverse history has given rise to a wide range of assassination techniques, each influenced by the unique cultural, political, and historical contexts of its various regions.

South Asia (India, Pakistan, and Surrounding Areas):

In ancient and medieval India, assassination was often a tool used in dynastic struggles. One notable method was the use of Vishkanya—young women supposedly trained from childhood to tolerate and deliver poison. These women were allegedly used to assassinate powerful enemies by poisoning them through intimate contact.

During the Mughal Empire, political intrigue often involved the use of poisoning and covert killings to eliminate rivals. The struggle for succession in royal courts frequently led to the use of assassination as a means to secure power.

East Asia (China, Korea, Japan):

Ninja Tactics (Japan): In feudal Japan, ninjas were often employed as assassins due to their skills in stealth, espionage, and the use of a variety of weapons. Techniques such as silent killing with swords, blow darts, and the use of shuriken (throwing stars) were common. Ninjas were masters of disguise and could infiltrate enemy strongholds to eliminate targets without detection.

While ninja tactics are widely known, East Asia’s history of assassination is much broader. In ancient China, assassins were sometimes employed by rival states or within the imperial court to eliminate threats. Famous historical accounts like the attempted assassination of Qin Shi Huang, the first Emperor of China, highlight the role of assassins in shaping the region’s history.

Korea’s history also includes instances of political assassinations, particularly during the Joseon Dynasty, where court intrigue and power struggles often resulted in the discreet elimination of rivals.

East Asia (China, Korea, Japan):

Poison Darts: In regions like Borneo and the Philippines, blowguns with poison-tipped darts were used by indigenous tribes to silently kill enemies. These weapons were effective for their stealth and the ability to deliver deadly toxins without the need for close combat.

Central Asia:

In Central Asia, particularly during the time of the Silk Road, assassins were sometimes employed by powerful khans and warlords to secure trade routes and eliminate threats. Assassination was a strategic tool in maintaining control over vast and often unruly territories.

Middle East

The Middle East has a rich and complex history where assassination has played a role in political and dynastic power struggles, often tied to the region’s diverse empires and cultural traditions.

Historical Assassinations Involving Political Power Struggles:

The Middle East, home to some of the world’s oldest civilizations, has seen assassinations employed as a tool of political maneuvering for millennia. In ancient Mesopotamia, assassinations were sometimes used to secure thrones and eliminate rivals within royal families.

During the time of the Ottoman Empire, the practice of fratricide—where newly crowned sultans would eliminate their brothers to prevent future challenges to their rule—was a brutal form of state-sanctioned assassination.

The Byzantine Empire, centered in what is now modern-day Turkey, also witnessed political assassinations as a common method for securing power, with emperors and high-ranking officials often falling victim to their rivals.

The Americas

The Americas, particularly the United States and Latin America, have experienced a range of political assassinations, often with far-reaching consequences.

Political Assassinations in the U.S. and Latin America:

In the United States, the assassinations of presidents like Abraham Lincoln, John F. Kennedy, and civil rights leaders such as Martin Luther King Jr. have left indelible marks on the nation’s history. These high-profile killings were often carried out by lone gunmen or small conspiracies and had profound impacts on the country’s political landscape.

Latin America has seen numerous political assassinations, often linked to dictatorial regimes, revolutionary movements, and drug cartels. Figures like Che Guevara and Salvador Allende were assassinated or killed under controversial circumstances, reflecting the volatile political environments in many Latin American countries during the 20th century.

This overview of assassination methods by region highlights the diverse and evolving tactics used across different parts of the world, shaped by the cultural, political, and technological contexts of each region.

Common Misconceptions About Assassination

The Myth of the Clean Kill

In fiction, assassinations are often depicted as clean and precise, with the target silently slumping over after a single blow or shot. However, in reality, even well-planned assassinations can go awry. Bodies don’t always react predictably to trauma, and factors like adrenaline, the environment, and unexpected movements can complicate even the most meticulously planned kill. A supposedly lethal blow may not immediately incapacitate the target, leading to prolonged struggles, noise, and potential witnesses.

Silencers and Stealth

In movies and TV shows, silencers (or suppressors) are often shown completely muffling the sound of a gunshot, reducing it to a mere whisper. In reality, while suppressors do reduce the noise, they don’t make it silent. The sound of a suppressed gunshot can still be quite loud, akin to a clap or the popping of a balloon, and depending on the environment, it may still attract attention. Additionally, the sound of the bullet impact and mechanical noise from the firearm are not silenced, further dispelling the myth of a completely stealthy kill.

Poison Timing

Popular media often portrays poisons as acting instantaneously, with victims collapsing mere seconds after ingestion or injection. In truth, the effects of poisons vary widely depending on the substance, dose, and the victim’s physiology. Some poisons, like cyanide, can act within minutes, but others might take hours or even days to fully incapacitate or kill. Symptoms might develop gradually, and in some cases, the victim might not even realize they’ve been poisoned until it’s too late. This misconception can lead to unrealistic portrayals of poisoning in fiction.

Resources

Books

Recommended Reading for Research on Assassination Techniques:

"Assassination Generation" by Lt. Col. Dave Grossman – This book explores the psychology of killing and its portrayal in the media, providing insight into both real-life and fictional assassinations.

"Hitmen: The True Stories of Assassins, Contract Killers, and Political Hired Guns" by Nigel Cawthorne – A collection of real-life accounts detailing the methods and motives of professional assassins throughout history.

"The Art of Political Murder: Who Killed the Bishop?" by Francisco Goldman – A detailed investigation into the assassination of Bishop Juan Gerardi in Guatemala, offering a deep dive into the intersection of politics and murder.

Documentaries

Visual Resources That Depict Historical Assassinations:

"Killing Oswald" – A documentary that explores the conspiracy theories surrounding the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, delving into the methods and motives behind one of the most famous assassinations in history.

"The Men Who Killed Kennedy" – A controversial documentary series that investigates various theories about the assassination of JFK, offering insights into different assassination methods and their implications.

"Assassins: The Story of Medieval Hitmen" – This documentary provides an in-depth look at the history of assassins in the medieval period, focusing on their training, methods, and the political impact of their actions.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks?

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Quillology with Haya Sameer; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! While you’re at it, don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey!

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collecting-dustbunnies · 6 months ago

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The longer I play Obey Me, the more I feel like Obey Me is a story about how the MC, in their quest to seek acceptance by the people they care about, ends up destroying themselves in the process and losing the very thing that made them so special and loved in the first place.

In the beginning of OG, they started off as just a normal human who got whisked away to a weird ass world where literally nobody respects them. Despite this, they recognised from the beginning that these demons and angels were not so different from humans. MC's ability to see the demons as actual people and not just beings controlled by their sins was what allowed them to form close bonds with them. They had good intentions to reunite the demon brothers who had undergone centuries of misunderstanding, resentment, and pent up grief. Even though they were excessively nosy, MC's unique position as a complete outsider allowed them to see just how much love the demon brothers had for each other, and how they can become closer if everybody would just better communicate with each other. Serving as the bridge to better improve the brothers' relationships was what convinced the demon brothers to also see MC as a member of their family.

But as the MC became more involved in the Devildom's problems, they started to adopt the same toxic traits that had created wedges between the brothers in the first place. From relying heavily on their pacts to subdue the brothers, to allowing a curse to control Barbatos (even though they had the ability to break it), to going along with the brothers' manipulative scheme to trick Satan into reconciling with Lucifer when Satan ran away to the human world -- it's almost like MC has unconsciously picked up on some of their loved ones' behaviour. Gone are the days where MC brings in a new perspective to problems. Now, they just embrace the chaos and their more darker traits, for that is what is expected of them to survive in the Devildom. And since everyone within their circle puts them on a pedestal, this further affirms to the MC that this is how they should be.

Dealing with the affairs of the Devildom had also caused the MC to grow more apathetic. In the beginning, they had been actively taking steps to form pacts with the brothers and were generally very invested in freeing Belphie from the attic. They remained true to themselves and insisted that they form a pact with Satan based on mutual trust and understanding, and not just as a means to smite Lucifer. Despite being in a helpless situation, MC never refused to give up their agency. But the longer MC gets involved with these shenanigans, the more they grew... numb to everything.

Solomon bringing me back to the Devildom unannounced? Oh, sure. Diavolo and Solomon hiding the reasons for my sudden return? Not my problem.

Simeon facing a problem to the point of having a quarter of the cast acting as his bodyguards? Eh, I'll just ignore it until I can't anymore.

Watching and waiting. That's what they have resorted to doing.

And that mindset of kicking problems down the line until it lands on MC's doorstep and they have no choice but to act -- that's exactly how they have been acting when they were stuck in NB, hasn't it? MC didn't bother forming pacts with the past version of the brothers until they were given an ultimatum, and even then, they simply relied on the convenient timing of each brother struggling with an inner crisis to swoop in, resolve the situation and tick them off their checklist.

MC in NB seems like an unfortunate culmination of everything they faced so far. They're too apathetic to care about getting sent to an unfamiliar place once again, too desensitised to life in the Devildom to reclaim their agency, and too desperate to earn the love of their former family to even think about anything else. They became so co-dependent to the demon brothers that they seem to think they cannot live without them or their affection, even if the ones they are living with in the past are different people from the ones they grew to love in the present.

The phrase "You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain" fits way too perfectly for the Obey Me MC. After all, MC keeps getting rewarded every time they try to get themselves killed (or even when they actually got killed). Maybe that's the only way they know how to resolve problems.

So if they can't die as the hero, they'll just learn to live as the villain.

#man ppl are writing analyses for the main LIs of the game and here I am waxing poetics about a blank-slate sheep #i am not the target audience for this game lmao #absolutely normal behaviour #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me spoilers #obey me mc #obey me analysis #LONG #db rambles #db vault

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princessbrunette · 11 months ago

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imagine rafe not being able to spend the night and your house bc he has like early business to do and you’re just so whiny begging him not to leave like clinging to his leg and he’s like “jesus christ i’ll be back tmr 😒” but at the same time he’s like 😊 bc it’s nice to feel needed

─── ⋆⋅🛼⋅⋆ ──

you were clingy and you knew it. instead of pretending like you weren’t, you learnt to fully embrace it. no matter how much rafe tried to act like he didn’t, you knew he loved it deep down. it made him feel wanted, something not many other people in his life offered him.

he pats his keys in his back pocket as he slowly makes his way to your front door, lips parted as he thinks over everything he had on his person when he arrived, making sure to leave none of it behind. it was bad today, you really needed him. after the day you had, you wanted nothing more than to fall asleep on his chest, feeling safe and just… better. you cry, pathetic and hiccupy as you keep a clasp on his hand and he lets you hold it all the way to the door before pulling himself out of your grasp.

“okay, hey— can’t keep cryin’ like this baby you knew i wasn’t stayin’ over tonight because i told you. gave you time to… emotionally prepare n’shit. i got business to do early tomorrow, remember?” he raises his eyebrows, trying to reason with you. his voice is stern but he’s mopping up your tears with his thumb anyway.

“i know but i had a bad day, i just want you to sleep here!” you sob, clutching over his wrists as his hands clean you up and he shakes his head, gently removing them.

“look i’m — i’m sorry, alright? you know i wanna stay here, more than anything. but i’m a man now, yeah? i’m in charge of handlin’ business n’i got people relying on me. sometimes you— you have to make the hard choice, and this is one of those times.” he lectures you, so you do what any reasonable human being would do, and lower yourself to the ground, wrapping yourself around his leg.

“you’re not going.” you swipe your tear on his pants and he sighs in exasperation, trying to wiggle you off to no avail.

“jesus fuckin’ christ, are you kidding? get up, hey—” he tries to walk, but you cling him tighter, coming with him and he stops again. “let go and listen to me. m’gonna count to three, don’t let me get there.” he lifts up a finger and you unlatch yourself, staying on the ground in a ball. rate lowers himself into a squat, expression stern and yet yielding. “alright. you’re gonna calm down, yeah? i will sit with you until you fall asleep, and it better be within the hour or i’m just gonna leave. get up, c’mon. go brush your teeth.” he stands, giving you a little nudge with his foot and you hop up, happy enough with the outcome of him staying a little longer and run upstairs, not waiting for him to follow.

he huffs out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. “little shit.” he whispers, following you. once you’re all in bed, ready — he comes and sits beside you, mopping up the last remaining tears that stain your face with the backs of his knuckles. “okay. i’m here. now go to sleep.”

“kiss, rafe.” you pucker your lips and he indulges you, bringing you a nice long one to satisfy you before pulling back.

“close your eyes.” he sighs tiredly and you do so, but not before switching off your lamp. he places a hand on your back over your pyjama shirt, rubbing slow circles as if tries to silently coax you to sleep faster so he can get going, smiling secretly to himself at your shenanigans.

he won’t admit it, but he did feel really sad to go, and even considered staying— but he knew he had to make the responsible choice, so with one final look, he left you in your bedroom fast asleep.

─── ⋆⋅🛼⋅⋆ ──

#anon #rafe cameron prompt

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ambrosiagourmet · 10 months ago

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Did Laios have a plan

... when he made his deal with the Lion? How much of it was intentional and how much of it was out of his control?

Well. If I'm being honest I don't really want to try and provide a definitive answer to that question, because I think the ambiguity is, itself, part of the story. I've gone back and forth a few times myself, and I don't think either category - "fully intentional" or "fully coincidence" - is entirely true.

That being said, I would like to point out a few things that I've seen taken for granted as true. Things that, imo, are much more about the character's perspective, or about what the character WANTS people to think (well, that's really just the Winged Lion).

Consider this not exactly an argument for "Laios masterminded everything from the start and saved the world with his cunning," but more... "Laios considered what he was doing more than people give him credit for." Make sense?

Alright then, let's go:

So to start with, I want to show every time (that I could find, at least) that the question of 'does Laios have a plan' gets brought up. This is specifically after his Ultimate Monster Form is revealed, to be clear - the question isn't about if he has a plan in general, it is if he has/had a plan when he made this specific deal with the Lion.

Here they are:

You'll notice, in all of these instances, there never really is an answer given to the question. Either because there is no way to get one, or, with Kabru at the end there, because he explicitly doesn't let Laios answer. There's even a bit of an arc here: we start with a sort of desperate 'I've mostly given up but maybe this isn't as bad as it looks,' then get a more optimistic 'maybe we really are saved,' and finally end on 'it all worked out in the end, so we maybe don't need to know.'

But, as much as there is some genuine growth in Kabru's 'accept the outcome, rather than dissecting the truth,' I also think it says a lot more about him than about Laios. Kabru is the one trying to handle his questions and his uncertainty - as he said, he wants to confirm his judgement of character. He wants to feel like he had control over things.

And he lets that go! But he also doesn't actually get the truth, either, and his implied assumption here (that Laios, the wide-eyed monster-lover, probably just followed his desires), still relies on his judgements and assumptions about Laios.

But okay, these bits are all focused on the characters theorizing about Laios. How about we look at the character who actually tells us the facts ("facts"): the Winged Lion.

The Winged Lion has quite a bit to say about Laios and his monster form.

He says that Laios hates humanity, and would rather be a monster

I've talked about this a bit already, but the Lion makes a lot of claims and assumptions about Laios that aren't necessarily true.

First of all, let's just make sure we clearly establish that the Lion is being manipulative here. That may seem obvious, but it's important to understand that there is a difference between 'the truth' and 'a version of the truth specifically framed to prey upon your deepest shame and insecurities about what you really want.'

To point out a few quick-and-dirty contradictions here:

If Laios really hated all other humans, then the Lion wouldn't hinge so many of his other arguments on Laios' love for Falin and his friends.

the Lion claims that Laios "[doesn't] even care enough about the future of [the] world to express an opinion about it," even though Laios has literally expressed opinions on what he wants for the world, to the Lion's face.

In general, the Lion does not make a distinction between urges and choices (see, for instance: him using Marcille's subconscious fear of the canaries as a way to keep her from stopping the monsters from attacking in chapter 86).

I'm not saying there is not a piece of truth here, but also... we are not our darkest thoughts, and we especially are not those thoughts as defined by someone who wants to hurt and control us.

But let’s move on to the stuff the Lion claims about Laios once he has been turned into his monster form.

2. He says that (or rather, acts like) Laios is under his control

The Lion really enjoys grandstanding about how Monster Laios is an ultimate tool he has control over. He gloats about making Laios fight the others, and has him smash through the magical barrier.

But smashing the barrier is kinda the only thing that Monster Laios actually does for the Lion. He doesn't attack anyone. He doesn't hurt his friends, despite Chilchuck thinking that Laios has "turned completely into a monster." And he certainly doesn't simply let the Lion go through with his plan to eat everyone.

This barrier smashing is actually an interesting and odd thing for Laios to have done specifically, so remember that one. I'll come back to it later.

But, yeah, to the original point... despite the Lion's dramatics, all that Monster Laios does is pose, smash up a magic barrier, and then eat him. Not exactly under his control.

AND SPEAKING OF EATING THE DEMON...

3. He frames Laios attacking and eating him as thoughtlessly violent

This one is pretty funny to me, and the Lion keeps it up for the whole scene. I'm not sure how much of this is his genuine understanding of the situation, and how much is him intentionally framing things in the most insulting manner, but like... truly. The ego involved in this. To see someone who has, multiple times, tried to stand against you - someone who has literally wished for your non-existence, to your face - to see this person attack you, specifically, and have your first reaction be 'huh, I guess he's a reckless weirdo to the core???'

Incredible stuff.

And this part, too:

He claims that Laios can't recognize anyone, that he's out of control. And yet, the Lion is the only person that gets eaten here. He is Laios' singular target.

Hell, Laios even specifically attacks one of the bodies that is actively hurting Chilchuck. I don't know if that was entirely intentional on Laios' part, but I do think it's notable.

The Lion torments Laios' friend, and when Laios does something that interrupts that action, the Lion reframes it as unhinged violence. I don't know, there's something here about the way that cruel people only talk about the things people do to resist them as violent, and ignore the violence that causes such resistance in the first place.

In any case, the main point is that the Lion insists on treating Laios like an unthinking animal during this fight, despite the fact that Laios is clearly trying to accomplish something here.

And what exactly is Laios trying to accomplish? Well, the Lion isn't entirely wrong. Laios is trying to eat something. He tells us as much.

And truly, everything Laios does as a monster points to this. He had a goal. And he accomplished it.

Let me back up a moment. I need to explain smashing the barrier.

So, Laios first starts considering how to kill the Lion when he is confronted with the fact that his only other choice would be to kill Marcille. Immediately and entirely discarding that solution, because of course he does, he tries to wrap his head around what defeating the Lion would even look like.

He clearly continues thinking about this, as a nearly identical conversation happens a few chapters later, when Laios is once again told that killing Marcille is the only way forward.

Only, this time, he's started to come up with an idea for how to do this impossible thing.

Harkening all the way back to the Living Armor chapter, Laios draws on the same lesson - if the Lion has made itself part of the world, if it has made itself into something alive, that means he can kill it. And eat it.

But there's an important extra detail to this. If he's going to try and kill (and eat) the Lion, he needs to strike when it’s vulnerable. He needs to strike when it's eating.

This is why he smashes through the barrier. Again, nothing else he does as a monster really benefits the Lion. He doesn't attack anyone else. The only command he obeys is to smash the barrier. Because the Lion has to think he has won for Laios to be able to eat him.

Beat him. For Laios to be able to beat him.

The question of why Monster Laios wanted to eat the Lion is, I think, the most ambiguous part. Was he curious? Hungry? Did he fight for his own life, for his friends, or for all of humanity? Did he know how to win because he had planned everything from the start, or because he was driven by an unquenchable instinct to do whatever it took to survive?

I don't know that it is possible to say for sure. But I do know that the Lion underestimates Laios, through it all. He underestimates Laios as a human, and he underestimates Laios as a monster.

And in the end, after he is bested, even then I don't think the Lion ever gets Laios. I don't think he understands how much Laios means his words about the Lion being burdened by hunger...

or what Laios cares about most...

or what meaning there is in life, for him.

So I don't buy what the Lion is selling about Laios, generally speaking. I don't buy that Laios didn't ever know what he was doing, and I don't buy that he was nothing more than a hungry beast.

Well. I mean. He was a hungry beast. But he was a more than that too. He was the Devourer of All Things Horrible. And he didn't just happen into that title by chance.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #laios touden #winged lion #dissecting how the Lion's negging works is a great exercise in understanding manipulation honestly #dungeon meshi spoilers #dunmeshi analysis

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itneverendshere · 7 months ago

Text

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - three

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader; smut!; rafe is a red flag; guns; mentions of human trafficking; 80% of it is smut you've been warned;

word count: 7.9k...

part i; part ii; part iv

Growing up, you had to develop a thick skin.

With two deadbeat parents, it wasn't a choice—it was a necessity. Unlike JJ, you never blamed your mother for leaving. She was a victim too, and despite your nightly wishes and prayers that she had taken you with her, you found solace in knowing that at least one of you had escaped the torment of the Maybank household.

You learned early on to rely only on yourself.

While you had your younger brother, you never placed that burden on his shoulders. As the older sister, it was your responsibility to take the blame for everything and to shield him from Luke's drunken or drug-fueled rages.

You never resented JJ for it, you couldn’t—neither of you asked to be born into that situation.

You tried to take each day slowly, avoiding the house and staying at John B's as much as possible.

It was easier said than done; it was hard not to feel like a burden to your friends, especially since you were the one who had to be the adult in the group.

Kie, Pope, John B…weren’t supposed to take care of you. And yet, they did. They took you in, shared their homes, and gave you the semblance of family you craved but never had. It was a weird balance, living with a foot in both worlds: the chaotic storm of the Maybank household and the calm haven of your friends' places.

At John B's, despite its share of brokenness, it provided a refuge where you could breathe without the constant fear of violence.

You often found yourself on the porch, watching the sunset over the marsh, your mind wandering to dreams of freedom. Those moments were precious, tiny pockets of peace in your life. But no matter how much you tried to distance yourself from the fucking chaos, it was always there, lurking in the background.

Luke Maybank’s shadow was long and dark, and it followed you everywhere. Each time your phone buzzed with a message from JJ, your heart would race, fearing the worst.

It was a burden you bore proudly, protecting your brother from a world that seemed determined to break you both.

You eased into being the provider, to think, to act, to protect. It became second nature, an ingrained part of your identity forged from necessity.

While others your age worried about stupid matters, you were strategizing the best ways to keep your brother safe, figuring out how to stretch what little money you had, and ensuring that there was always something for JJ to eat, even if it meant you went without.

You learned how to calm Luke down when he was on the brink of a violent outburst, and how to read the signs of an impending beating in his eyes.

You figured out which neighbors might turn a blind eye to your requests for help, and which ones might call social services if they saw too much. There were moments, rare and fleeting when you allowed yourself to dream.

You imagined a future where you and JJ were free from the chains of your upbringing. But dreams were a luxury you could rarely afford.

So, when Rafe told you—no, demanded—that you stayed in the deadbeat motel room while he met up with his contacts, you lost it.

He'd gotten the text earlier in the morning and decided he was smart enough to lure you out of this. Except he wasn't.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not going.”

You didn’t take it lightly to people making choices for you. Your eyebrows shot up, mouth opening in indignant shock, "You think you can just order me around like I'm some puppet? I'm not staying here while you go off and do God knows what.”

Rafe's eyes narrowed. He wasn’t used to people standing up to him, you knew that. His expression hardened, the arrogance, and entitlement you’d grown to familiarize yourself with flaring up again.

"It's for your own good," his tone was condescending, like you were a child, “You don't understand the kind of people I'm dealing with. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous?" you laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "You think I don’t know what danger is? Look around, Cameron.”

Rafe opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into his chest. You’d done a lot of that recently.

"It’s my life on the line too. And I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to come back like some obedient little bitch.”

His face practically matched the color of the deep red curtains in your room, “You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be, Maybank.”

"No, you are," you fired back. "I’m going with you.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He took a step away from you, fingers pointed at his temples, “What part of fucking dangerous do you not get?”

“If it’s dangerous for me, it’s dangerous for you.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing visibly. His gaze bore into yours, and you’d be damned if you were the first one to look away.

“This isn’t a game,” he said, clearly growing frustrated with your stubbornness, “You have no idea what these people are capable of.”

“Maybe not,” you conceded, “But I’m not staying behind and you’re not going alone.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand along his grown-out hair.

“They chew up people like you.”

“I’ve been chewed up by worse.”

He knew that.

And then, he saw the determination in you, that unyielding resolve that drove him up the fucking walls and he understood that he wasn’t going to win the fight. Unless he played dirty.

“You’re too stubborn, y’know that, right?”

You chose to ignore him, grabbing the simple sweater he’d gotten for you the day before at a local market, “So, when do we leave?”

He almost sprinted to the door, “Now.”

You moved to follow him as he stepped outside into the hallway, but before you could follow, he grabbed your arm.

"Wait."

You almost pulled away, frustration boiling over.

"What now?"

His grip tightened, "This might hurt.”

"What?" You tried to twist free, glaring at him.

"Change of plans."

Before you could react, he pushed you back inside the room, slamming the door shut. He didn’t push you hard enough to fall, but the treason came so suddenly that you nearly lost your balance as you heard the lock click, the sound echoing in the small space.

"Rafe! You piece of shit!” You pounded on the door, “Let me out! You can't do this!"

His voice was muffled but firm from the other side. "Stay here.”

"You motherfucker!" You screamed, kicking the door. But there's no clipped answer from the other side. The only sound was the echo of your own frantic breathing.

He was gone, the stupid bastard.

You collapsed against the door, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Rafe just left you there, locked like some helpless child. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

You were a Maybank, damn it, and Maybanks didn’t back down from a fight, even when their choices were taken from them.

In any other situation, you would’ve jumped out the window. You’d done it enough times back home, but this was different.

Your room’s floor was too high and even though you could get away with just a few scrapes or a broken finger, you couldn’t risk putting yourself in such a vulnerable state. You needed your body intact in case danger was nearby. If you had to run for your life, you needed both legs functioning.

You glanced around the room, eyes landing on the bed, the frame sturdy.

That’s it!

You thought to yourself as you rushed over and began to strip the sheets from the mattress, working quickly as you tied them together, creating a makeshift rope.

And they said pogues weren’t fucking smart.

It wasn’t your best work, but it was the best you could have under the circumstances.

Once you had fashioned the rope, you secured one end to the bed frame, testing it to ensure it could hold your weight. Satisfied that it was strong enough, you tossed the other end out the window, watching as it unfurled down the side of the building.

You gripped the makeshift rope tightly and began to lower yourself out the window. It wasn’t your first rodeo; you knew better than to rush. Your heart pounded in your chest as you slowly inched your way down the side of the building.

Finally, your feet touched solid ground, and you released a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You tried to remember bits and pieces of information Rafe had laid out the night before, about the meeting, something about a dingy marine bar, a bartender named Miguel.

You rushed back inside the motel, ignoring the puzzled look from the front desk guy as you practically demanded information about the bar. He hesitated clearly taken aback by your urgency, the way you blurted out the words, but you didn’t have time for explanations or politeness.

"Just tell me where it is," you pleaded, “It’s important.”

He scribbled down an address on a piece of paper and thrusted it into your hand.

"It's not far from here," his tone was wary, "But be careful. That place is no good for a lady on her own.”

So, nothing new, you wanted to tell him.

Any place infested with men or drunk men was a trap of its own. But instead, you only offered him a curt nod of thanks before running out the door again. You needed to find Rafe, you couldn’t afford to waste any time.

You nearly raced through the streets, the address clutched tightly in your hand. And then, before you could process what the hell was going on, a hand enveloped your upper arm, fingers digging dip in your flesh before you could make a turn, dragging you to the dark alley you’d avoided.

The situation felt all too familiar. Your heart leaped into your throat, adrenaline pumping in and out of your veins. Instinctively, you struggled against the unknown grip, kicking and clawing in a desperate attempt to break free. Were you getting mugged?

"Let go of me!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the narrow walls of the alley, “I got nothing on me, let me go you stupid fuck!”

With a surge of adrenaline, you mustered all your strength and delivered a sharp elbow to your captor's stomach, causing them to grunt in pain and loosen their hold for a moment.

You wrenched yourself free, stumbling backward as you scrambled to put some distance between you and your attacker. You were about to land the best punch of your life as you spun around to face them, but as you finally got a good look at him, fear turned into anger.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“Me?” Rafe barked, all up in your personal space, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You jumped out a fucking window?!”

He knew you wouldn’t back down so easily. So he waited around the corner, hoping you were smart enough to keep still even though he knew you would never.

You blinked, the shock of seeing him in front of you momentarily overriding your anger. "You... You locked me in there!"

"Yeah, because you wouldn't listen!" he shot back, his frustration evident in his tone, “Fuck—Jesus fucking Christ.” He was shaking his head wildly, his hands balled into fists as he cursed away like a mantra.

"I told you; I'm not staying behind while you go off risking your life!" You nearly spit but managed to tone down just enough.

"And I told you, it's too dangerous for you!" Rafe's voice rose with each word, his hands balling into fists at his sides. His pacing intensified, “What the hell were you thinking? What were you gonna do? Walk in and what, huh? You don't even have a gun on you!"

“So? Give me yours!”

Rafe’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Give you, my gun?! Did you hit your fucking head against the concrete?

“I’ll hit your head against the concrete if I have to.”

His left eye twitched in irritation, the look he gave you filled with enough ire to leave a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, “Maybank, I have half a mind to spank you right now, don’t fucking push it.”

You ignored him, “You’d rather I go in there unarmed?” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “I can do it.”

“Clearly. Look at you,” Rafe’s voice was sharp,“You think I wanted to leave you behind? You think I liked putting you in that room?”

“You didn't give me a choice! You think I was just gonna sit around waiting for you?”

Rafe sighed, palms pressing into his eyes “I’m trying to protect you, God fucking damn it. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Save it,” You hissed out, pressing a hand to your chest as though to keep everything in. “How am I supposed to trust you when you pull this—this shit!”

Rafe reached into the waistband of his trousers, his movements slow and deliberate. Your breath caught in your throat as he pulled out his gun, lifting his shirt in the process. He took your hand and dropped it into your palm.

“Show me.”

“Uh?”

He nodded towards the gun in your hand. “Show me you know how to handle it.”

The sudden changes in his attitude always left you speechless. You hesitated, staring at the weapon in your hand. You had never held a gun before, let alone fired one. But the authority in Rafe’s eyes spurred you to action. With trembling fingers, you checked the safety and made sure the gun was loaded, trying to mimic what you had seen in movies.

“Alright,” Rafe said, his voice low. “Now, point it at me.”

“What?!”

“I said point it at me,” he repeated, “C’mon.”

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the gun. This was crazy. With shaky hands, you raised the gun, aiming it at his chest. Your heart pounded in your ears, the weight of the weapon feeling heavier with each passing second.

“Good,” Rafe nodded in approval. “Now, pull the trigger.”

“What the hell?! Rafe?!”

“Trust me, Maybank, just once.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Pull the trigger? He wasn’t fucking serious, was he? You couldn’t actually shoot him, could you?

But Rafe’s expression remained unwavering. He was being dead serious.

Maybe months ago you would’ve done it without a second guess, but now?

“I’m not pulling the trigger.”

“Just do it. You’re not going to hurt me, okay?”

With a deep breath, you squeezed the trigger, half expecting the gun to recoil in your hand. But nothing happened.

Oh. You had forgotten to chamber a round. He knew that already.

Rafe’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, as if the entire situation was normal, “You forgot to chamber a round.”

You watched him carefully, his bottom lip stuck out and, embarrassingly, you found you wanted to kiss him.

You lowered the gun, your hands shaking with adrenaline. You had just fired a weapon for the first time in your life. He reached out and gently took the gun from your hand, expertly chambering a round before handing it back to you.

“Try again.”

This time, when you aimed the gun at the wall and pulled the trigger, you felt the recoil jolt along your body as the bullet fired. The sound echoed off the walls of the alley, causing your heart to race even faster.

“Atta girl.”

“I’m still pissed, Cameron.”

“I know,” Rafe conceded as he reached up to brush your hair from your eye, fingers grazing the side of your neck. “I panicked, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, taking in the tired lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. He’d done so much for you over the past weeks, it shook you to the core. The countless times he had gone above and beyond, selflessly putting your needs before his own. So maybe, just maybe…you could let it go.

“Okay.”

"Let's go.”

“Wait, right now?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said, his tone brisk as he holstered the gun. "We’re late.”

Hours later, you collapsed onto the bed, wondering what the hell you’d gotten yourself into, again. The events of the meeting replaying in your mind like a broken record. You’d never met such a group of people before. And you didn’t want to, ever again.

"Human traffickers," you muttered, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. "I can't believe we just met with human traffickers."

Rafe nodded solemnly, "Yeah.”

"I don't trust them. What if... What if they decide to snatch us up and... Oh my god, what if this is all just a ploy..."

“We’re in this together, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You wanted to believe him.

Your brow furrowed, your mind racing with questions. “How do you even know these people?”

He hesitated, “Barry. It’s... a long story. But right now, what’s important is that we got a way out, yeah?”

You nodded slowly, realizing that asking him for more information wouldn’t get you anywhere.

There were more important things to worry about.

You didn’t know what was worse, running from Ward Cameron, finding yourself at the mercy of human traffickers, or potentially developing feelings for someone who’d ruined so many lives.

God, if your brother saw you now…you’d be the greatest disappointment of his life. The mere idea consumed you entirely. The things you’d done.

The way you’d let Rafe into your bloodstream.

You hated yourself for it. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of your grasp, and you hated it.

What would you even tell him? You didn’t even know if had made it, but something told you that he did. He always did. And that meant that sooner or later you’d see him, and you’d have to watch him gradually despise you.

And then there was Rafe.

The very thought of him made you want to stop breathing altogether. How could you even begin to reconcile the feelings you harbored for someone who had brought so much pain and destruction into your life? It felt like a betrayal to even consider it.

“You good, Maybank?”

You dragged your gaze away from the swirling fan on the ceiling to meet Rafe's concerned stare. He was studying you intently. You shifted on the bed, turning to face him fully.

"I don’t know,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, “You?”

He reached out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch always surprised you, how surprisingly light it felt.

“I don’t know.”

He had every reason to abandon you, to wash his hands clean of the entire situation, but he hadn’t.

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat.

It was hard to believe that someone like him could be capable of such tenderness, such vulnerability. But there he was, lying beside you, his attention fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race.

“They’re about you.”

"Me?" you repeated confused, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment between you.

Rafe nodded, scanning your face for any sign of understanding. "Yeah. You."

Your brows pulled together, “What is?”

He visibly gulped, pressing his lips together, blinking several times before releasing a held breath “The nightmares.”

You almost stopped breathing, "What about them?"

He shifted uncomfortably, “They used to be just about my mom. Then dad. Now, it’s—uh, it’s just you. Ever since that night, it’s just you. Dying, because of—yeah.”

Oh.

You hadn’t realized the extent of the impact that night had on him, on both of you

It was a lot to process, and you handy had the time to figure everything out yet.

His fingers brushed over the scar on your arm, and memories flooded your mind. The gunshots, the crippling fear you felt when they got to you, how Rafe reacted, how he touched you.

“You should’ve told me before.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

You flinched instinctively at his touch, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through your body. For a moment, you let yourself lean into his touch, allowing the warmth of his hand to chase away the ghosts that haunted you.

"Does it still hurt?" He asked, leaning in so his nose brushed against yours; it was warm against your skin.

You shook your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Not anymore."

His fingers continued their path up, eventually reaching your cheek as he cupped it tenderly, carefully, as if he’d break you if he rushed it.

You closed your eyes, savoring the closeness between you. And then, almost hesitantly, you felt him lean in, his mouth brushing against yours in a delicate caress. You hardly had to move to kiss him, only tilting your chin up.

It was tender, different from the ones you had before, just so quiet that it made you want to burst into tears.

You kissed him back, tentatively at first, then with a growing hunger that mirrored the longing you had been feeling deep within your soul. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as if afraid to let you slip away. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the dangers lurking in the shadows, not the weight of your past sins, not the uncertain future that lay ahead.

All that existed was the intoxicating feeling between you and Rafe. But as the kiss deepened, a voice of reason scolded you in the back of your mind, reminding you of the consequences of your actions. You pulled away, breathless and dizzy, your heart pounding in your chest.

“We shouldn’t…”

Rafe only stared, before he nodded, understanding dawning in him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I know,” he sighed, “Just get some rest.”

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the distraction. With a heavy grunt, you lifted yourself off the bed, making your way to the bathroom to change into some booty shorts and a simple tee.

When you emerged from the bathroom, Rafe was already settled on the bed, only in his boxers, his attention fixed on some point in the distance. You hesitated for a moment before joining him, the distance and closeness between you feeling suffocating.

You wanted to say something, anything to break the tension, but the words stuck in your throat like a lump of lead.

Instead, you settled for a nod, and a quiet “Goodnight.”

You slipped under the covers, the warmth of the blankets cocooning you in a false sense of security.

“Night, pretty Maybank.”

You shut your eyelids, willing your racing mind to quiet down. But no matter how hard you tried, sleep eluded you, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant sound of passing cars sent a shiver down your spine, your senses heightened to the point of paranoia. You shifted restlessly in bed, the new sheets tangling around your legs like shackles, trapping you in a prison of your own making.

You heard Rafe's voice beside you, breaking the silence of the room, “Can’t sleep if you keep moving.”

“Sorry.”

Rafe reached out, his hand finding yours in the darkness, “What is it?”

“I can’t sleep.”

His hold tightened around yours, "I know, Maybank," he spoke in a ushed tone, "But you're safe here. Try to relax, okay?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, already feeling the upcoming headache, “I don’t know how to.”

It was quiet again for a minute and you feared you’d bored the man to sleep with your insecurities, but then he spoke again.

“Turn around.”

You opened your eyes, even though you could barely see him. Was he telling you to spoon him?

“What?”

Rafe's thumb gently brushed against the back of your hand in a soothing rhythm, “Turn round f’me, kay?”

With a soft sigh, you did as he asked, turning onto your side to face away from him.

He moved closer, his body pulling against yours as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you snugly against his chest. His warmth enveloped you like some kind of shield as he pressed a light kiss to the back of your neck, his lips lingering against your skin.

“There,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. “Better?”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

These were dangerous waters.

If you couldn’t sleep before, you sure as hell weren’t about to do it now. All you could think about was that night, how he felt, how he touched you, how he fit right.

An almost overwhelming feeling of arousal took over you, and with whatever courage you had left from the day, you moved again, pressing yourself impossibly closer to him. His warmth seeped into your skin, melting away the tension that had coiled tight in your muscles during the day, you could feel every ridge and turn of his body.

Your touch drew a low, guttural groan from Rafe, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed closer, his arousal unmistakable against your back. His teeth grazed your shoulder, followed by the flick of his tongue, and you released a breathy sigh as he lowered his head to bite the area.

His arm tightened around you as you traced the contours of his fingers, mapping out the familiar territory with ease and want. His heartbeat echoed against your back, a steady rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your own heart.

His lips brushed against your neck, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core, “Relax,” he murmured, his hoarse, “’M right here.”

With a boldness that surprised even yourself, you shifted your hips, grinding back against him, seeking the friction that would ease the ache between your legs and your head.

Rafe's reaction was immediate, his hands roaming over your body with a fervor that left you dizzy. His fingers found their way to the hem of your shorts, teasing the sensitive skin with feather-light touches. You twisted your fingers into his long hair, tugging lightly, delighting in the gasp it pulled from him.

“Tell me to stop, please,” His mouth brushed against your ear again, words coming out a slurred mess.

You ran you finger over his leg, where his boxers had risen, the warm skin driving you insane. If you lifted your fingers just a little higher, you’d be able to feel all of him.

You had to bite back a squeal when his thumb brushed over your covered nipple, “I can’t.”

You felt the tension in his muscles as he paused for a moment, his grip on you tightening. An unrestrained, almost desperate plea escaping his mouth, "Are you sure?"

You swallowed hard. This was so fucking wrong. But underneath it all, you knew what you wanted.

You turned your head slightly, your lips grazing his jawline as you muttered a "Yes."

You gasped when Rafe raised his thigh, placing it between your own, as he used his hands on your hips to guide you back and forth, grinding you down against his skin. You couldn’t remember a time you’d ever felt so out of control, so desperate for someone’s touch. The thin barrier of your shorts and panties felt like an unbearable hindrance, a small but significant obstruction to the shattering desire you needed to reach.

One of his hands slipped under the waistband of your panties, the other splaying across your stomach, holding you firmly in place. His fingers found you slick and ready, a whimper vibrating across his chest at the discovery.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, his fingers starting a slow, torturous rhythm against your clit.

You bucked against his hand, seeking more, needing more. Your head fell back against his shoulder, and you turned slightly to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

You felt his tongue press against yours and you nearly came on the spot. He slowly circled your clit, sending your hips jerking into him, “I can’t stop touching you.”

You struggled to form words as breathy moans escaped your mouth, “Please don’t,” you rasped, your thoughts turning to mush as he dipped the tips of his fingers inside you, gathering your wetness. When you finally found your voice, it was a mere screech, “Rafe...”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured back, finally pushing two fingers inside you, at an agonizing pace, “I’ve got you.”

Your jaw went slack as he curled his thick fingers, a gasp escaping when he found that spot that made you see stars. Your nails involuntarily dug into his skin. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit, pulling another moan from you. With his other hand still on your hip, he pushed you back, guiding you to grind against his fingers.

The rhythm he set was maddening.

His breath was hot against your neck, his voice a growl as he removed his fingers, making you whine in protest.

He glided one between your folds, the wetness easing up the process, “You’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his words sending a thrill down your spine. “Can’t get enough of you.”

“Ra—You’re gonna make me come,” you gasped as his arm left your waist, sliding underneath your ribcage and resting on your chest, kneading your breast through the fabric of your shirt, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, baby, that’s the point,” he purred into your ear, two fingers sliding inside you again, so suddenly you threw your head back again, thighs clenching together tightly as he pumped his fingers in and out.

At this point, you were lightheaded, fucking yourself back onto him, grinding down as you chased your orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Rafe...”

His fingers quickened their pace, each thrust sending oceans of pleasure down your body. “Not stopping,” he promised,“Want to feel you dripping around my fingers.”

His words sent you spiraling, the buzz inside you building to an unbearable peak. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with the intensity of your approaching climax. Rafe's touch was relentless, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over.

“Rafe—” you cried out, your voice breaking as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of intense pleasure radiating from your pussy.

Your body convulsed, and you clung to him, nails digging into his arm as you rode out the ecstasy.

Rafe held you without a break, his fingers never slowing, drawing out every last tremor of your release. When you finally came down, breathless and spent, he withdrew his fingers, not giving you a break to breathe as he shuffled behind you, pulling his boxers down, just enough to release his aching cock, doing the same to you as he slid his length between your folds.

The sensation was…everything, his heaviness pressing against your sensitive, slick entrance, the heat of him making you shiver. You bit your lip, suppressing a scream as Rafe's hand gripped your hip, holding you steady.

“Shit shit”, you breathed out, barely able to form coherent thoughts. The anticipation coiled inside you again, your body already aching for him, “’M sensitive.”

“Shhhh,” he purred, his voice husky against your ear. “Just relax, pretty.”

He rocked his hips slowly, the head of his fat cock teasing your entrance, not pushing in but sliding between your folds, spreading your wetness over his length.

Holy fuck, you’d gone to heaven.

Rafe's breath hitched, his grip on your hip tightening as he tried to control himself.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, “So perfect.”

“Oh my god,” you sighed, biting your lip when his tip bumped against your clit, “I need you to—Shit, just fuck me.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he angled his hips and began to push inside you, inch by tantalizing inch. The stretch was exquisite, slowly filling you in a way that left you gasping, your body accommodating him with a shuddering breath.

“Jesus,” Rafe hissed, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as his cock twitched inside you. “So tight.”

Your fingers dug into the sheets, the thrill and the sensation of being filled to the hilt almost too much. You could feel every part of him, the way he throbbed inside you, the way his body fit perfectly against yours. You felt his breathing against your skin, coming out in uneven and ragged breaths.

He started a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust measured and deep, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in.

His other hand found your breasts, kneading the sensitive flesh through your shirt, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

You couldn’t hold back the mewls that escaped your lips, each movement driving you higher, the tension building again. Rafe’s breath was ragged against your ear, his lips brushing your skin in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

He gently bit your earlobe, withdrawing his hips until only the tip of him remained inside you, before slowly pushing back in with deliberate, languid movements. You reached back, tangling your fingers in his hair once again.

“Rafe... harder, please,” you begged, shame thrown out the window, “I need it harder.”

He moaned, the sound vibrating through his chest as he complied, his hips snapping against you with more force, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His hand slid down from your chest to your clit, circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts.

You felt the familiar coil of pleasure tightening, your body tensing as you teetered on the brink.

“Can’t belie—fuck. Can’t believe I get to have you again.”

You curved your back again, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor, your body craving the release that was so so close.

“I c-can’t hold on much longer,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a breathless whimper.

“Then let go,” Rafe growled, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

You groaned, “I want to see you when I do.”

Before he could answer, you pulled away from him, making him groan, but you shut him up as you turned to face him, dragging your shorts and panties out of the way, not looking where you threw them as you quickly lifted your body and settled over his, hands pressed to his naked chest as you rubbed yourself against him.

Rafe's hands gripped your hips firmly as you positioned yourself above him, “You tryn’ to kill me, pretty Maybank?”

You smirked, leaning down to press a quick peck against his lips, “Yeah.”

Without any warning, you lowered yourself onto him, both gasping at the sensation of being joined once again. He filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way, his tip touching your cervix.

Your movements were slow at first, savoring all of him, every sensation that rippled from end to end of your body. But soon, the slow burn grew into a raging inferno, and you found yourself moving faster, chasing that peak of pleasure one more time.

“Get this fucking thing off,” He growled, pulling at your shirt. You would’ve found it funny if you weren’t so desperate to feel him.

You sat up, quickly tugging the shirt over your head and tossing it aside. Rafe's eyes darkened with lust as he took in your bare chest, his hands immediately finding your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that made you gasp and arch into his touch.

You started to move again, lifting yourself up before sinking back down onto him, each movement sending waves of desire through both of you.

A filthy kiss followed, all spit and tongues tangling messily as if trying to devour each other whole.

The taste of him filled your mouth, cigarettes and toothpaste, his moans mingling with yours.

The kiss was a brutal assault, his teeth nipping at your lips, drawing blood, which only seemed to fuel the frenzied rhythm of your body. Rafe's grip on your hips tightened, guiding your movements, and encouraging you to take him deeper, pounding into you, abs flexing.

You leaned forward, your hands bracing against his sturdy chest, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper inside you. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, your cries, and the rhythmic, filthy, slap of skin against skin.

“Fuck, this pussy can’t be real,” Rafe groaned, his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. “Ride me harder, baby. Wanna watch you.”

You increased your pace, the friction and fullness driving you closer to the edge with each thrust. His hands moved from your hips to your waist, holding you steady as you moved, his touch grounding you even as you felt like you were about to come apart at the seams. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in tight, precise circles that had you crying out his name.

“Oh god, Rafe, I’m s-so close,” you panted, your body trembling with the effort to hold back your release, wanting to savor every second of this moment.

“Come for me, pretty. Wanna to feel you drippin’ all over my cock.”

That was all it took.

With a loud moan, you came, your body convulsing around him, your nails digging into his chest as the phases of your pleasure crashed over you. Rafe watched you, his expression one of pure awe, jaw slack open as his hands never left your body.

As your climax subsided, your breathing ragged and your limbs trembling, he gently kissed your temple, his lips tender. He murmured soothing words and you swore you were on cloud nine.

You felt his heartbeat, steady and strong against your own. His fingers traced lazy circles on your back, calming you, bringing you back to earth.

But as the pleasure subsided, you became acutely aware of Rafe's cock still hard and throbbing inside you. His breath was ragged, his eyes void of any color, and you knew he was on the brink. You lifted yourself slightly, feeling him slip almost out of you before you sank back down, taking him deep again, despite the way your thighs burned, the way your hole ached.

"Rafe," you called, “Need to feel you come inside me."

His grip on you tightened, his eyes briefly closing as a guttural moan escaped his lips. He released you for a moment, only to bring his hand down sharply, delivering a stinging smack to your ass,

"Watch your fucking mouth.”

The sudden impact made you gasp, the pain amplifying your desire.

Rafe's eyes snapped open,"You like that, don't you?" he growled, "Look at you."

You could only nod, breathless and aching for more. His hands returned to your hips, guiding your movements with a renewed urgency. The sting from the slap lingered, a delicious reminder of his dominance, the only place you'd let him take the lead.

You started to move again, your pace slow and deliberate, your movements designed to drive him wild. Each time you sank onto him, you could feel him throbbing, his control slipping with every passing second. His fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he tried to hold on.

"Please, baby," you whined, "I need to feel your cum."

The pet name did it.

With a growl, he shifted, flipping you onto your back and pinning you beneath him.

The sudden change made you gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his ass as he drove into you in a mean mating press. His pace was relentless, like he’d die if he stopped.

The sounds of your “oh’s” mixed with his grunts, only amplified the passion. You could feel the tension coiling inside him, the way his body strained against yours, every muscle taut with anticipation.

"Gonna fill you up,” he grounded out, his voice strained, "So fucking close."

You tightened your legs around him, pulling him deeper, your nails raking down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. "Come for me, baby," you urged, your desire reigniting at the thought of him finding his release, “Need you so bad.”

His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with a feral intensity. "You want my cum?" he growled, thrusting harder, making you cry out in pleasure. "Beg for it."

"Please, Rafe," you gasped, feeling the pressure building inside you, "Fill me up. I need it. I need you."

With a final, powerful thrust, Rafe's body stiffened, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as he let out a hoarse cry. You felt the hot rush of his release, the pulsing of his cock as he emptied himself inside you. His entire body trembled, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. You could feel him pulsing, the warmth flooding you as he let out a primal growl, his grip on you almost bruising.

And right there, another orgasm ripped through you, your body tightening around him as you cried out his name.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting and trembling. His weight was comforting, his breath hot against your neck as he pressed soft kisses to your skin, his earlier roughness giving way to a tender aftermath.

You held him close, your hands running soothingly over his back, feeling the ridges of the muscles you had just marked with your nails. Your own body still buzzed with the aftermath of your pleasure.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes met yours, a look of pure adoration in his gaze that left you speechless. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss.

He cradled your face in his hands. "We’re gonna be okay," his breath felt warm against your lips.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten with emotion.

Tears welled up in your eyes as his lips touched yours again, the faint tender kiss so different to the man you used to know. You tried to hold back, to keep the overwhelming tide at bay, but you broke, and a sob escaped your lips.

He pulled back slightly, concern etched across his pretty features. "Hey," he murmured, his thumb brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. "What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, "No, it’s not that," your voice trembled, “I’m scared.”

Rafe's expression softened, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "Shh, it's okay," he soothed, "Let it out, baby. I’m right here."

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his skin. The warmth of his embrace, the rhythm of his heartbeat, and his hold were the only thing keeping you together at this point and if you weren’t feeling so much, you’d feel pathetic for relying so much on someone else.

He held you tightly, his hand stroking your hair as you cried, releasing the pent-up anxiety.

"We—I, I don’t know what I’m doing," you admitted through your tears, your voice muffled against his chest. "I’m really, really scared.”

Rafe kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering, "I know, Maybank," he whispered,"I’m scared too.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes. "You are?"

He nodded, his attention never wavering from features.

"Yeah, I am. This...And—don’t know what I’m doing either. But I want it. I want you."

“But it’s wrong.”

“I know, pretty.”

He pulled out slowly, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. Rolling onto his side, he gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nestled against his chest.

“I’m sorry for jumping out the window,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin, “You just...make me so angry.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers running through your hair in soothing strokes. "I shouldn’t have locked you in.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the last of your tears dry against his skin. You knew things wouldn’t be easy, but his reassurance gave you a little strength.

After a while, Rafe shifted slightly, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.

"We’ll figure this out, Maybank.”

“Promise?”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly.

Promises weren’t something he was used to making, you knew that. But then he nodded.

“Promise.”

944 notes · View notes

skyahri · 9 months ago

Text

Soul |Ryomen Sukuna X Reader| HC

Summary: Sukuna meets the reincarnation of the only person he's ever loved.

Warnings: Implications of sex? Female pronouns. Reincarnation. Fear and anxiety.

- - - - -

"Rin..."

It came out like word vomit before Yuuji could even process what he was saying.

You looked at him, confused. Your name wasn't Rin and you'd never met this man before. Who did he think you were?

He slapped a hand over his mouth. Sukuna had forced his way to the surface just to ramble out a name? In all these years as his vessel, he'd never done something so trivial.

Sensing the flicker of cursed energy, Gojo, Megumi, and Nobara prepared themselves. It'd been a while since Sukuna had tried anything. Some sort of pact he'd formed with Yuuji kept him mostly content, although they weren't sure what it entailed.

It happened in the blink of an eye; Sukuna had taken over and stood directly in front of you, one hand flat on your chest and the other on your face.

"Rin... I could never forget the feel of your soul."

Your heartbeat fastened. An overwhelming feeling of fear fell onto you, rendering you unable to move.

What would you be able to do anyway? He's a God, and you had no abilities outside of actually seeing the damn things.

You had no idea what he was talking about. Your name isn't Rin and you'd never had any kind of encounter with either men until just now.

Megumi tried to move forward, but Gojo stuck an arm out in front of him. Something was off about the way Sukuna was acting, and he didn't think it was threatening.

It would be best to see how this played out instead of possibly starting a war that was never meant to begin in the first place.

"What are you doing? We can't let her-"

"Hold on."

They watched as Sukuna looked you up and down, inspecting your robes, hair, and face with a certain softness. His face was still hard and his movements still confident, but there was just that feeling.

"You look so different, but thats to be expected. Are you fairing well?"

You swallowed hard. His delicate touch did nothing to soothe your nerves. If anything, it only confused you more. He was tucking your hair behind your ear, giving you some sort of smile, and yet you feared he was going to rip your heart right out of your body.

"Um..."

Really, how were you supposed to respond? What sort of answer was he expecting? What were the consequences if you were to answer incorrectly?

Were you meant to comment on how you supposedly looked different? Was it your features? Your clothes? Your haircut?

"I'm scared."

Sukuna paused. You were horrified to have answered wrong, and now you could only hope he wouldn't kill you.

But he did something unexpected; he laughed. A thick, hardy chuckle that made your blood run cold.

Was this the end? How pitiful. Slain on a random Tuesday afternoon all because you wanted to meet up with an old friend. That's not a proper death.

"A thousand years and countless reincarnations, yet you still know how to make me laugh."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your forehead. You only had a moment to panic before a lifetime of memories filled your mind.

You remember the time before modern civilization when you relied on hunting in the woods and crops from the neighbor's farm.

You remembered your parents, siblings, friends, and other villagers. You remember your home on the outskirts of town just against the forest line.

But most importantly, you remember Sukuna.

You remember meeting him as a human, and then several years later as a curse. You faced off against him, and although you couldn't beat him in the end, you'd come close enough to earn his respect.

He stood above you, two arms crossed, one on his hip, and the other outstretched to offer you a hand up.

Who were you to refuse such a gesture from the king of curses?

He allowed you to join his temple alongside other followers of his with the condition you devoted yourself to him entirely. The offer was presented as a choice, but the alternative was death, so any reservations you had were null.

You wanted to go with him anyway, but that's beside the point.

From the very beginning of your journey with him, it was made clear to everyone that you were 'special' and not to be bothered.

This fact didn't hold up too well with some of the others, but what were they to do about it? Argue with Sukuna? Tell him they were more deserving of his attention? How pathetic.

He allowed you privileges that would only ever be known to you, like dining with him or joining him on trips. These small pleasantries became grand ones, like sharing his bed and allowing him to claim you.

Your relationship was equal from then on. You were not just a follower of his anymore. He was just as devoted to you as you are to him, and he ensured you knew it.

He'd always make sure to tell you how special you were, that he was taking his time with you and granting you pleasure. How you were his favorite, and no one else could even compare. How others had not been so lucky in the past.

He'd escort you to and from the hot springs, have humans bring you flowers and jewelry, and allow you to see the most vulnerable aspects of him.

He promised his love for you would never die, and here he is a millennia later proving true to his words.

Once the unrelenting onslaught of memories subsided, your hands met his- one still on your chest feeling your heartbeat, and the other slid partway into your hair- and all you could do was appreciate his presence.

You stared up at him. His face was different, but that intense look in his eyes was all the proof you needed that he was still the same man from all those years ago.

Tears beaded up in your eyes and quickly dripped down your cheeks. Crying had never been your thing in the past, but you didn't care to stuff the feelings down. Such a reunion was an occasion enough.

"My love," you whispered.

He leaned his forehead down to meet yours.

"My Queen."

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna fluff #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #jjk headcanons #jjk hcs

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yeet-me-lol · 21 days ago

Text

Oc Homicipher

🎩MR. GRIN 🎩

Mr. Grin is a tall ((370 cm)), shadowy entity with an unsettling permanent smile and pupil-less white eyes. Dressed in an old-fashioned suit and hat, his very presence terrifies humans and ghosts alike. He doesn’t need to speak or threaten, his eerie silence and looming figure are enough to make anyone freeze in fear.

He can phase through walls, ceilings, and floors, often appearing suddenly and without warning. When needed, black arms with unnaturally long fingers emerge from his form, reaching for anything,or anyone, he sets his focus on.

Despite his terrifying appearance, Mr. Grin is neutral by nature. He neither seeks to harm nor help others directly. However, if anyone dares threaten his hidden life source, a flickering flame hidden somewhere only he knows, they will meet a swift and merciless end.

Whether friend or foe, Mr. Grin exists as a being of shadows and silence, trapped between light and darkness, forever smiling.

🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻

Mr. Grin’s Personality:-

1. Eloquent and Intelligent

Mr. Grin is highly intelligent, speaking with a calm and refined tone in flawless English. His speech carries an air of sophistication, making him stand out from the other ghosts.When interacting with less articulate entities, he adapts, deliberately simplifying his language or speaking in “broken” English to ensure they understand.

2. Neutral and Observant

He doesn’t show strong emotions, instead observing situations with quiet curiosity. His permanent smile and unreadable demeanor make it hard to tell what he’s thinking.Mr. Grin rarely takes sides unless his own safety or hidden life source is involved.

3. Darkly Witty

Despite his unnerving presence, Mr. Grin has a dry, dark sense of humor. He often makes unsettling but clever remarks, leaving others unsure if he’s joking or serious.

4. Mysterious and Reserved

Mr. Grin doesn’t reveal much about himself. He answers questions vaguely, often changing the subject or replying with riddles.His reserved nature keeps everyone guessing, adding to his enigmatic aura.

5. Unpredictable Yet Polite

He’s polite, even when terrifying someone. For example, he might say “Pardon my intrusion” as he phases through a wall or ceiling.While he usually remains neutral, his actions can shift unexpectedly, leaving others uncertain of his true intentions.

6. Protective When Necessary

Though he doesn’t form attachments easily, Mr. Grin can be fiercely protective of those he chooses to care for, showing glimpses of loyalty beneath his eerie exterior. However, his methods of protection can be chilling—he won’t hesitate to use his black arms or towering presence to eliminate threats.

7. Pragmatic and Strategic

He approaches problems with logic and strategy, often outsmarting others rather than relying on brute force. His intelligence makes him a valuable ally—or a formidable enemy.

🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻

His dialogue:-

He can actually speak fluent English but chooses to use bad English to blend in with the other ghosts. However, when he notices the Protagonist struggling to speak bad English to communicate with him, he finds it amusing and eventually switches to proper English. He even laughs at the Protagonist’s silly attempts at broken speech.

~Examples of his dialogue~

🎩-Talking About Himself:

“No. I. Am. Not. Here.”

“Me. Grin. You. Scared.”

“Walk. Walls. I. Do.”

“Quiet. Always. Quiet.”

🎩-Talking About Others:

“He. Fool. Always. Loud.”

“Ghosts. Dumb. Talk. Too. Much.”

“They. Fear. Me. Why? Look.”

“You. Weak. Run. Now.”

🎩-Reacting to the Protagonist:

“You. Not. Scared? Odd.”

“Stay. Here. You. Safe. Maybe.”

“Why. You. Talk. Me?”

“Run. Now. He. Comes.”

🎩-Warning or Threatening Others:

“Leave. Room. Now.”

“No. Fight. Me. Bad. Choice.”

“You. Gone. If. Try.”

“Light. I. Keep. Always.”

Okk. I think that's all. Have some this does i made, spoiler btw-

#homicipher #mr crawling #mr stitch #oc #homicipher oc #Lmao #Kinda obsessed with this game but such unfortunately the creator quit.. hope she/he get better

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aventurineswife · 2 months ago

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helloo, may I req platonic blade,jing yuan,dan heng and moze with a teen!reader who is like sirin from honkai impact 3rd?

“You can destroy everything in your path, but you can never destroy what lives inside you”

Tags: Blade x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Moze x Reader, Teen!Sirin!Reader, Platonic Relationships, Mentorship, Emotional Struggles, Inner Conflict, Vulnerability, Angst, Personal Growth.

Warnings: Mentions of pain and emotional turmoil, Inner conflict and rage, Destructive thoughts (brief), Themes of vengeance and loss, Mild language.

Blade stood motionless, the broken sword in his hand reflecting the dim light of the underground hideout. His eyes narrowed as he watched you, a figure consumed by inner turmoil and rage. Your expression flickered between innocence and something far darker, a complex mix of vulnerability and an undeniable thirst for vengeance. Blade recognized it instantly—the hunger for destruction, the same fire that burned within him.

“You have a choice,” Blade said softly, his voice devoid of emotion. “The path you’re walking leads to nothing but despair. I know this better than anyone.”

You glared at him, eyes flickering with frustration, before your voice cracked, “I don’t care. The world deserves to burn.”

Blade tilted his head slightly, observing your inner conflict. “Burning it all down won’t make the pain go away. Trust me, I’ve walked that path.” he muttered, glancing down at his fractured sword, a symbol of his own lost humanity. He could see the darkness in your eyes, but also a hint of something more—something worth saving.

“You’re not alone in this,” Blade said, a rare softness in his tone. “But don’t let your anger consume you. You’ll end up like me. A weapon without a soul.”

Jing Yuan leaned against a pillar, the soft glow of his golden eyes observing you as you paced restlessly. The weight of the world seemed to sit heavy on your shoulders, and the way you clutched your hands, as if holding back a storm, was telling. Jing Yuan's reputation for his foresight and calm demeanor preceded him, but he could still sense the conflict beneath your hardened exterior.

“You seem troubled,” Jing Yuan remarked, his voice slow, measured, as always. “I know what it’s like to carry the burdens of the world, but you need to understand one thing: you’re not alone.”

You stopped and turned sharply, eyes blazing with unspoken words. “I don’t need anyone. I’m stronger alone.”

Jing Yuan’s expression softened, but there was no pity in his gaze—only understanding. “Strength is not always about being alone, my young friend. Sometimes, it’s about learning to rely on others. Even the greatest warriors rely on those who walk beside them.”

You looked away, clearly struggling with the idea. Jing Yuan could sense the unresolved anger in you, a mirror of the feelings he had fought to keep in check for centuries. “I know it’s hard to trust,” Jing Yuan continued, his voice a little quieter. “But don’t let your pain isolate you. It can only make you weaker in the end.”

Dan Heng sat silently on the edge of the Astral Express, staring at the vast, starry expanse. Your footsteps were soft, almost hesitant, as you approached him. He didn’t look up immediately, but he could sense your presence—tension hanging thick in the air.

“You’re avoiding them,” your voice broke the silence, a directness that took Dan Heng by surprise. He finally looked up, his expression guarded, though his dark eyes betrayed a certain wariness.

“Not avoiding,” Dan Heng replied coolly. “Just staying out of trouble.”

You smirked bitterly, stepping closer. “Seems like you’ve been doing that your whole life.”

Dan Heng’s gaze hardened. “You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough,” you retorted. “You hide behind your responsibilities, your stoic face. You think running will make things go away. But it doesn’t.”

Dan Heng stiffened, and for a moment, his calm mask cracked. He had seen too much of himself in your rebellious defiance—too much of the pain he had buried deep within. “Running won’t solve everything, no,” he admitted quietly. “But it can keep me from destroying the things I care about.”

Your eyes softened for a brief moment before you turned away. “Yeah, I get that. But maybe you don’t have to run forever.”

Dan Heng’s gaze lingered on you. “Maybe.”

The room was quiet, save for the faint sounds of your breathing as you sat, your back pressed against the cold stone wall. Moze stood in the shadows, watching you with a cold, calculating gaze. He had been sent to observe, not to interact, but there was something about you that drew him in.

“You’re restless,” Moze said, his voice low and devoid of emotion. You flinched, not expecting the intrusion into your thoughts.

“Yeah, so?” you shot back, sharp and defensive. “What’s it to you?”

Moze stepped forward, his expression unreadable. “Restlessness doesn’t serve you. It’s a sign of a broken mind. You seek control, but you can’t control what’s inside of you.”

You clenched your fists, your shoulders tense. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Moze raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps not. But I know what it’s like to feel trapped by your past. To be consumed by the things you’ve done and the things you’ve lost.”

Your anger flickered in your eyes, but there was something else—something vulnerable, buried deep. Moze could see it, and it troubled him more than he cared to admit.

“Pain is a part of life,” Moze said, his voice steady. “But it doesn’t have to control you. You can choose to let it define you or let it go.”

You didn’t respond, but the silence between you felt different—less tense, perhaps, more thoughtful. Moze didn’t expect you to understand right away, but sometimes, it was enough to plant a seed.

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soulofapatrick · 2 months ago

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Bound by Starlight - Cassian x female reader

Summary: Cassian shows you Starfall for the first time since you’ve been changed and it changes something between you

Words: 2.8K

Warnings: none really

Y/N's POV

I remember the feeling of my humanity being ripped away—an icy, clawing pain that stripped me of everything I once was. The cauldron’s water had wrapped around me like iron chains, pulling me down, down, until I could barely breathe. I had screamed, fought, begged to be freed, but the King of Hybern hadn’t cared. To him, I was just another Archeron sister, another human in the way, and he’d tossed me in with the others like I was nothing.

Now, I live as fae, my once-mortal body transformed, immortal senses heightened. My soul, however… it lingers somewhere between what I used to be and what I have no choice but to become. Nesta withdrew into herself, anger simmering behind cold eyes, shutting me out with her silence. Elain, though kind as always, sank into her garden, her love for flowers the only piece of herself she could cling to. And Feyre… she ascended, becoming the High Lady, a role so immense that I rarely even see her anymore.

Velaris is beautiful, I’ll give it that. With its vibrant, bustling streets, the colours and scents so alive, it’s like nothing I ever knew as a human. At first, I stumbled around here like an intruder, the way people would stare at my still-soft, unsure steps betraying how new I was to this world. Yet over time, I grew accustomed to it, learning the rhythms of the city, the names of the shops, and even a few faces. I’d walk the cobblestone streets and marvel at the glow of the faelights, the hum of the city’s magic, the warmth that seemed to cradle Velaris even on its coldest nights.

But even though I’ve adapted to this new life, I never truly chose it. I’m here because the fates made me, a decision stolen from me the moment I was dragged to Hybern. With no family to ground me—Feyre’s duties as High Lady, Nesta’s self-imposed exile, and Elain’s fragile retreat into the comfort of her plants—I’ve been left to find my way on my own.

Almost.

There is one person who’s been there for me. Cassian, with his easy smile and ridiculous sense of humour, has gone out of his way to make me feel welcome. Whether it’s pulling me into conversations, inviting me to training, or simply listening when I needed to vent, he’s somehow always been there, his presence steady and warm. He never makes me feel like a burden, or like I’m less for struggling to keep up in this world I never asked to join.

So when I hear the knock at my bedroom door, the heavy, rhythmic sound that could only belong to him, my heart tugs with a mix of irritation and relief.

“Go away, Cassian!” I call out, though there’s no real force behind it. I curl tighter under my blankets, fighting the urge to stay hidden in their warmth, in the comfortable darkness. I want to stay here forever, to pretend the world outside doesn’t exist, that I’m still just a human who never stepped into this tangled, chaotic fae world.

“Nice try,” he says, his voice muffled through the door. “But I’m not leaving.”

His determination stirs something in me—annoyance, but also a flicker of comfort. I sigh, closing my eyes, but the silence stretches on, tense and unyielding. He’s waiting me out, and we both know it.

I don’t answer, and for a second, I think he might give in and leave. But instead, the door creaks open, and I hear the heavy thud of his boots as he steps inside.

“Sorry, but I’m not letting you wallow,” he says, coming closer. I peek out from under the duvet and catch sight of him—standing there, arms crossed, his expression firm but gentle. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, and his eyes, deep and intense, hold that same unwavering warmth I’ve come to rely on.

I grumble, “Cassian, go away,” my voice muffled beneath the blankets as I bury myself deeper, trying to escape the world outside. But he ignores me, of course. A quiet sigh reaches me before he crouches beside the bed, level with where I’m hiding.

The sight of him, even through the haze of my exhaustion, is almost enough to make me forget everything weighing on me. Cassian, with his wild, shoulder-length black hair half-tied back in a casual bun, his jaw dusted with scruff, and those hazel eyes that seem to hold sunlight and earth all at once. He’s massive, every muscle defined under the soft shirt he wears, and even at rest, his wings—massive and powerful—seem to radiate a silent promise of protection. He’s handsome, but in a rugged, arresting way that’s so different from the polished, refined beauty of Rhysand or the quiet, haunting allure of Azriel. Cassian is warmth and strength, solid and real, and even without saying anything, he fills the room with a sense of unbreakable steadiness.

“You can’t stay hidden in here forever,” he says softly, his voice gentle yet firm. The words slip through my defences, wrapping around me like an anchor, steadying me in a way I don’t think anyone else could. He holds my gaze, his expression so earnest it makes my chest ache.

A scoff escapes my lips as I try to pull the duvet back over my head, though there’s no real force behind it. “You wouldn’t understand.”

His eyes darken for a moment, a flicker of hurt he quickly covers with a smirk. “Maybe not,” he says quietly. “But I know what it’s like to feel out of place. And I know that hiding never helps.” His tone is soft, but there’s something so raw in his voice, an honesty that chips away at the walls I’ve built around myself, brick by painful brick.

He lets out a small, quiet laugh, and the sound is like warmth spilling over me, reaching places in my heart I’d thought long-buried. “You can’t hide from me,” he murmurs, reaching out to tug the blanket down, just enough so he can see my face. His eyes search mine, tender and steady, and for a moment, everything else falls away. It’s just us in this room, his presence a steady, comforting warmth, like a fire on the darkest night.

“Come with me,” he says, his voice softer now, almost a plea. “Just for a little while. I have something I want to show you.”

His words stir something fragile inside me, something I’ve been trying to ignore. There’s a gentle hope in his eyes, a quiet, unspoken promise, and despite myself, I feel that hope awaken in me too, as small and tentative as a candle flame. I sigh, tossing the blankets back, and swing my legs over the side of the bed, shivering as the cool air prickles my skin.

“Fine,” I whisper, barely audible. “But just for a little while.”

Cassian smiles, a soft, genuine expression that lights up his entire face. He extends a hand to me, his palm broad and warm, and I take it, feeling his roughened fingers curl around mine with a reassuring firmness. He leads me through the quiet halls of the House of Wind, his grip steady and grounding as we walk. I’m in nothing but a simple nightdress, my feet bare on the cool floor, but with his warmth beside me, I don’t feel the chill.

He stops before a set of tall, glass-paned doors that lead to a balcony, the curtains drawn tight. Without a word, he reaches forward, pulling them back with a gentle, sweeping motion that makes the light of the stars spill in like liquid silver, illuminating the room with a soft, ethereal glow. He glances back at me, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips as he leads me outside.

The night air is crisp, and a gentle breeze stirs the loose strands of his hair, catching the faint glimmer of stars reflected in his hazel eyes. “Look up,” he murmurs, his voice soft as a whisper.

I lift my gaze to the sky, and my breath catches. Above us, the stars are falling—silver and white streaks of light arcing across the heavens in a breathtaking, shimmering cascade. It’s Starfall, the legendary event that fills the Night Court’s sky with magic, as if the stars themselves are dancing for us. The sight is beautiful, overwhelming, like the world itself is pouring out light and life to remind me of something I’d forgotten: hope, beauty, wonder.

“This,” Cassian says, his voice barely more than a murmur, “is why Starfall matters. It’s a reminder that even after everything, there’s something beautiful left to hold onto.”

I turn to look at him, my heart tightening as I meet his gaze. Cassian watches me with a warmth and tenderness that slips past my carefully constructed walls, cutting right to the raw centre of everything I’ve been trying to hide. I feel a lump building in my throat, heavy and tight, and before I can stop it, my eyes fill with tears. I haven’t cried since all of this happened, haven’t allowed myself to feel what’s been buried, too afraid that if I let even a little of it slip, it would all come crashing down.

But here, with Cassian standing so close, so steady, his presence strong and unwavering, something inside me breaks. My breath hitches, a sob bubbling up before I can swallow it back. The first tear spills over, and then another, until the tears are streaming freely down my face. I try to turn away, to hide it, but Cassian steps closer, his expression softening with understanding.

And then my knees buckle. The weight of everything—of the losses, the terror, the forced transformation—becomes too much, and I sink, my body giving out under the flood of emotion. Cassian’s arms catch me before I can fall, and he lowers us both to the floor of the balcony, his strong arms wrapped tightly around me, supporting me. I cling to him, fists curling into the fabric of his shirt as I bury my face in his shoulder, finally letting it all out.

The stars keep falling around us, casting their ethereal glow across the balcony as Cassian holds me, his hand gently stroking through my hair, murmuring quiet words of comfort I can barely make out over the sound of my own sobs. His other arm is solid around me, like an anchor keeping me from floating away on the tide of my grief and confusion. I feel the warmth of his hand as it trails down my back, grounding me, reassuring me that I’m not alone.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, voice rough but gentle. “I’ve got you. Let it out; I’m here.”

I don’t know how long we sit there, with me sobbing into his shoulder, clinging to him as though he’s the only real thing left in the world. His hand never stops stroking my hair, each touch soothing, melting the ache in my chest little by little. Gradually, the sobs turn to quiet gasps, the tears slowing as I breathe in his scent, warm and familiar, a mixture of leather and something uniquely Cassian.

When I finally pull back, wiping at my tear-streaked face, he watches me with a gentleness that steals the breath from my lungs. There’s no judgment in his eyes, only understanding and a tenderness that makes my heart ache with something I can’t quite name. He brushes a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb, his touch warm and steady.

“There you are,” he says softly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His hazel eyes hold me, like I’m the only thing in the world he sees right now, and for a moment, I almost believe that maybe I’m enough—just as I am, scars and all.

“There you are,” he says, his voice soft, a quiet warmth in his gaze as he brushes another tear from my cheek. His thumb lingers, a gentle stroke against my skin, and it feels like he’s holding something precious, something he’s afraid might slip away if he’s not careful.

His eyes—those warm, hazel depths flecked with amber—search mine, and I realise he’s looking at me in a way I don’t think anyone ever has. As though he sees past everything, past the pain and the shadows, to a part of me that even I’ve forgotten was there. His hand rests against my face, grounding me in his presence, and I lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against my cheek.

A strange sensation unfurls in my chest—a tug, an ache so deep it almost hurts. It’s as if something invisible has been there all along, waiting, and now, with every beat of my heart, it snaps into place. The bond. I feel it, so powerful and certain, weaving itself between us, binding us together in a way that feels both foreign and achingly familiar. My breath catches, and I can see it in his eyes too, the moment he realises what’s happened. His expression softens, the smallest flicker of wonder and relief breaking through his own surprise.

“Do you feel it?” he whispers, his voice almost trembling as he searches my face, his gaze so full of awe and love that I feel like I could drown in it.

“Yes,” I breathe, barely able to speak around the emotion swelling inside me. It’s overwhelming—this sensation of being tethered to him, heart and soul, in a way that makes me feel more whole than I’ve ever been. I don’t know if I’m crying again or if it’s just the intensity of the moment, but I feel a tear slip down my cheek, and Cassian’s thumb gently brushes it away.

For a heartbeat, we’re just staring at each other, neither of us daring to move, afraid to shatter the delicate, perfect thing we’ve just found. But then he leans forward, his eyes locked on mine, and I feel his breath against my lips. Slowly, achingly slowly, he closes the distance, his mouth brushing mine with a gentleness that steals my breath.

The kiss is soft, heartbreakingly tender, like he’s pouring everything he feels into it—all the care, all the patience, all the love. His hand cradles my face, his fingers tracing small, soothing patterns against my skin as his lips move over mine, unhurried and soft, as if he has all the time in the world. I melt into him, letting the warmth of the bond settle around us like a blanket, wrapping us in something that feels as ancient as the stars.

Cassian’s other arm slips around my waist, pulling me closer, and I feel his heartbeat against mine, steady and strong, grounding me. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his eyes fluttering open to meet my gaze.

“I never thought…” he murmurs, his voice breaking slightly as he searches my face, his expression so open, so vulnerable, that it makes my heart ache. “I never thought I’d find this. That I’d find you.”

A shaky breath escapes me, and I reach up, threading my fingers into his hair, feeling the softness against my skin as I hold him close. “You saved me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, a truth that I hadn’t fully realised until this moment. “In more ways than one.”

He smiles, a soft, beautiful expression that makes my heart stutter, and then he kisses me again—this time with a little more certainty, a little more passion, as if he’s making a promise. It’s gentle, heartbreakingly sweet, every brush of his lips over mine conveying the depth of his love, his commitment, and the quiet, fierce protectiveness that’s always been there.

When we finally pull apart, he cradles my face in his hands, his gaze so warm, so tender, that I feel my heart swell in my chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, his voice rough but full of certainty. “Not now, not ever.”

And as I look into his eyes, feeling the bond humming between us, I know he means it. I feel the weight of his promise settle around me, grounding me, filling the empty spaces in my heart with a warmth I never thought I’d feel again. And for the first time in so long, I believe that maybe, just maybe, I’m home.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout

#bat boys #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #cassian x you #cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian fluff #cassian smut #cassian angst #cassian acotar #acotar cassian #cassian acosf

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heli-writes · 10 months ago

Text

A dragon's heart, part 5.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: mentions of injuries

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Katsuki holds onto y/n and the reigns of the dragon with all his strength. Y/n notices how his breath comes out heavier with every passing minute.

"Katsuki, I think we should land. You're going to pass out.", y/n tells him knowing he won't understand a thing. Katsuki lets out an indecipherable mutter.

Y/n grips his arm and tries to turn around in order to look at his face. "Katsuki.", y/n says insistently. Katsuki nods into her shoulder and gives the reigns a weak pull. The dragon understands its master and starts descending.

The dragon lands near a small lake. Katsuki has trouble getting out of the saddle. His feet hit the ground heavily and he groans in pain. Unsteadily, he tries to reach for y/n but she refuses his arm. It's probably safer to get off her own than to rely on Katsuki right now.

When she manages to get down from the beast, Katsuki's already sitting on the ground catching his breath. Y/n takes the water bottle and walks over to him. She opens the bottle for him and hands it over. Katsuki drinks in greedy swallows.

Meanwhile, y/n takes in the view of him. The cuts on his cheek and bicep have stopped bleeding but something's wrong with his leg. It's soaked in blood. Y/n gets up and goes looking for the medicine kit Katsuki keeps in one of the bags.

When she's found it, she returns to the man sitting on the ground. "Katsuki", she calls out to him and sits down next to him. Katsuki glances at her but doesn't react and only pours more water down his throat. Y/n starts unpacking the medicine kit looking for the things she might need.

"I need to see your leg.", she tells him and points at his leg. Katsuki shifts and lets y/n see the wound. It's deep. "This won't kill you unless it gets infected.", she tells him. "You will also need stitches.", she mumbles while looking for alcohol and threat and needle.

"Take off your pants.", she tells him when she has gathered all the supplies needed. Katsuki shifts uncomfortably, probably to give her better access to his leg. "Yeah, that won't do it.", y/n deadpans. "The pants. It needs to go off.", she repeats. Katsuki grunts as a response. Y/n rolls her eyes. Even if he doesn't speak her language, he could still respond properly. "Pants. Off.", she repeats and motions at his crotch.

Katsuki is starting to get annoyed. He's in pain and he doesn't understand what this woman wants from him. Y/n lets out an exaggerated sigh. She stares at Katsuki for a moment while figuring out her next move. "Alright, then.", she says and reaches for his pants.

"What the fuck!", Katsuki exclaims and catches y/n's wrist with his hand. "Keep your hands to yourself, woman!", he growls. Y/n stays still for a moment. Clearly, Katsuki is not a fan of what he's supposed to do. "You need to let me go, Katsuki. If you want me to stitch you up, I need to see the whole wound.", she tells him and reaches for the buttons of his pants again.

"What the hell are you doing?", Katsuki yells at her and grips her wrist tighter. He's embarrassed. Not only he got hurt and this weak woman has to take of him, but now he also is supposed to expose himself in front of her. Y/n gets irritated by his loud voice and actions.

"Cut the crap, Katsuki!", y/n yells back at him. "You walk around half-naked all the time and now you get shy?", she barks. Katsuki looks taken aback. "Seriously, I can cut up your pants if you prefer but then you will have no pants to wear at all. Is that better?", she keeps scolding him.

Katsuki lets go of her wrist in surprise. He didn't expect the woman to raise her voice at him. Y/n's brows are furrowed in anger. Her cheeks are blushed and she wrinkles her nose a bit. Katsuki didn't expect her to get angry or to look this cute when she is. Y/n keeps glaring at him but doesn't move. Katsuki grinds his teeth. Eventually, he pulls his hands away completely.

Finally, y/n reaches for his pants button and opens them. She helps Katsuki shimmy out of his pants being particularly careful when they have to pull the fabric over the wound. Katsuki's face is burning red and he avoids y/n's eyes staring at the sky angrily.

Y/n shakes her head in dismissal. "Seriously, didn't think for you to be the shy type.", she tells him as she takes the bottle of alcohol. Katsuki doesn't answer her and keeps staring at the sky. Truth is, Katsuki's not shy. He's proud of his body, dick included. If a woman wanted to see it, Katsuki would be cocky and eager to show. However, this is different. Right now, he's in a weak position and y/n holds a certain power considering he needs to entrust his wounds to her. It doesn't sit right with him submitting further to her by taking off his pants.

"Alright, this is going to sting.", she warns him as she pours the alcohol over the wound. Katsuki doesn't even flinch. His muscles tighten however indicating that he does feel the pain. Y/n lets the needle and threat soak in the alcohol for a moment. Meanwhile, she takes a cloth and the alcohol and starts cleaning the wound on Katsuki's bicep.

When she's done with that, she moves to the cut on his face. She's met with Katsuki's angry stare. She holds his stare. No way she's going to yield when she's the one helping him. She reaches for his face and carefully cleans the wound on his face. The alcohol must sting otherwise Katsuki wouldn't break eye contact with y/n all of a sudden.

Y/n sighs. She feels bad for Katsuki. He fought bravely. It's unfair he got hurt in the first place. Carefully, she raises her hand to his other cheek and lets her thumb run over his cheek. Now, Katsuki avoids eye contact on purpose. He's not used to a tender touch like this and it makes him feel uncomfortable. Y/n has to snicker at his stiffness.

Katsuki finds y/n's eyes again when he hears her soft giggle. He's surprised to find her looking at him softly. It makes his stomach feel all tingly and mushy. Meanwhile, y/n enjoys seeing the mighty Katsuki Bakugou all flushed and embarrassed. She decides to push it a little bit further by reaching for his face again planting a soft kiss on his cheek. When Katsuki instantly turns his face away. Y/n has to laugh at his beet-red face.

"You're a bitch, you know that?", Katsuki mumbles. Y/n continues to chuckle to herself but continues to clean the wound. When she's done, she picks up thread and needle. "Alright, this is really going to hurt now.", she tells him and points at his leg. Katsuki nods and prepares himself for the pain. It's not the first time, he needs stitches.

Y/n works quickly and carefully. It's actually also not the first time, she's stitched someone up. She can hear Katsuki grinding his teeth in pain. If she didn't need to concentrate right now, she would tell him that he was damaging his teeth. When she's done, she puts some rash cream onto the stitches and wraps some bandages around it.

Katsuki's relieved that y/n's done. He has to say, she worked quite expertly on his wounds. Clearly, she has done this before. He relaxes a bit and only grunts at y/n when she pats his head. He lets his back flop onto the ground. He's absolutely spent.

Y/n starts to unload the dragon who watched the two of them intently the whole time. She fetches the bedroll and Katsuki's cape. After she has prepared the bedding, she helps Katsuki to get on it and puts the cape over his leg. His pants need to be cleaned and mended first. Katsuki doesn't even argue with her about it. He's out within minutes.

Y/n watches Katsuki snore and she finds herself worrying over him. She's sure she did a good job treating the wounds but there's always the danger of infection. She tries to get the worry out of her head by setting up camp. She builds a small fireplace and unloads the bags. Then, she sets out to find something to eat.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Unfortunately, y/n isn't a great hunter even if she had a bow and arrows. Therefore, she can only stick to gathering wild vegetables, berries and mushrooms. She fries them in a pan with some fat and the spices Katsuki carries with him.

The smell of the food wakes Katsuki up. The sun is just about to set. Y/n is kneeling next to the fireplace cooking food. He groans as he sets up. The adrenaline of the fight kept the pain in moderation. After taking a nap, the pain hits him in full force.

When y/n hears him groan, she swirls around, a worried look on her face. Katsuki tries to wave her off, not wanting to have the woman fretting over him. Y/n hurries over to him nevertheless and checks his forehead. If he got an infection, he wouldn't have a fever already but one can never be too sure. Katsuki slaps her hand away and gives her a sort of growl. Y/n snickers at him which makes Katsuki a bit angry. But not too much. He doesn't want to admit it to himself yet but he likes that y/n is worried about him.

Y/n disappears for a moment and fetches him a plate of food. While Katsuki eats, y/n starts boiling water for tea. Katsuki watches her carefully.

Y/n moves around relaxed and confident. Katsuki thinks back to the frightened woman who arrived at his camp just mere days ago. He prefers this version of y/n to the jumpy, insecure girl he met. He picks at the food she has made. It's quite good for the simple ingredients she had at her disposal. Considering this and the way she treated his wounds, she'd make a good mate, Katsuki decides.

He snickers at the thought how she got angry at him earlier. She sure as fuck has got some fire in her, he thinks. He has to admit he was surprised when she jumped on the bandit's back earlier. He thought the attack would leave her frozen in fear. She also stabbed a man's hand without thinking twice. Considering this, it's surprising that she didn't stand up to the men who hunted her. Then again, they outnumbered her and carried long-distance weapons.

Katsuki is ripped out of his thoughts when y/n stands in front of him handing him a cup of hot tea. He takes the cup from her and y/n sits down with a plate of food for herself. He watches her eat.

"Why are you staring at me like this?", y/n asks growing irritated by how intensely Katsuki is staring at her. She's noticed it earlier when she boiled the water. She puts her fork down and meets Katsuki's gaze. Katsuki holds her gaze, then lifts his hand and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. This takes y/n by surprise and she feels heat rushing into her cheeks.

So far she's seen Katsuki angry, irritated and more angry. While he wasn't necessarily violent towards her, he's always rough and kind of mean. This tenderness is something that catches y/n off guard. "It's probably the pain and exhaustion that makes him this way.", she thinks to herself.

After dinner, y/n tidies up around camp for a little bit while Katsuki settles back onto the bedroll. When she's done, she sits next to the fire poking the hot embers. Katsuki props his head onto his hand wondering what she's doing. It's time to settle for the night.

Despite that, y/n feels restless. The attack today caught both of them off guard. Y/n can't deny that she wasn't paying attention. She totally relied on Katsuki for the whole trip. She figured that Katsuki would catch something like this before her anyway. And if not him, then the dragon. She decided that she will keep watch tonight. Katsuki's not in the condition to fight, so she will ensure their safety somehow.

"Y/n.", Katsuki calls out to her. His voice sounds low and raspy but not angry. It's surprisingly quiet for a man who always speaks so loudly. Y/n turns around to him in surprise. It's the first time Katsuki ever said her name. "Y/n, come over here.", Katsuki tells her even though he knows y/n doesn't understand him.

To his astonishment, y/n does get up and walks over to him. She lets herself plop onto the ground next to him. Katsuki makes grimace. It's not exactly what he meant but he takes it.

Sitting up, y/n keeps her eyes focused on their surroundings. She doesn't want another surprise attack to happen, especially now that Katsuki is injured.

Katsuki watches y/n's intense stare into the distance with discontent. While he does find it amusing that frail little y/n looks so determined (as if she could actually protect them in case of danger), he also finds himself getting increasingly irritated. Katsuki Bakugou doesn't like to be ignored.

“Oi!“, Katsuki barks. Y/n's eyes are still focused on something far away. “Oi!”, Katsuki repeats louder and nudges her. Y/n is ripped out of her thoughts. “Hm?”, she mumbles and turns her head to him. “It's getting cold. Come here!”, Katsuki demands and pats onto a spot closer to him. Y/n crooks her head. “What do you want?”, she asks and shrugs.

Katsuki is not used to having to ask twice for what he wants. Usually, his people hurry to follow his orders, or, he just takes what he wants.

Katsuki grabs y/n's injured shoulder and pulls her down to his level. The stinging pain in y/n's shoulder keeps her from struggling against Katsuki's action. Before she knows it, she is tucked under Katsuki's armpit. Her head is leaned against his shoulder as he curls his arm around her tucking her closely to his side.

Relaxed, Katsuki leans back. Meanwhile, y/n is frozen stiff in place. She didn't expect Katsuki to make such a move on her. Actually, she didn't expect Katsuki to make any move on her at all. So far, he didn't seem interested in her like that. She assumed she was more like a burden to him... or a pet to take care of.

Y/n doesn't even try to get out of Katsuki's grip. Instead, she tries to relax. Which proves itself kind of hard. Katsuki's too close. He's radiating off warmth and his smell floods y/n's senses. It's hard to tune out his presence and the proximity.

Maybe she shouldn't be embarrassed about this. It's not like she didn't think about Katsuki like this before. It certainly flashed in her mind here and there. Despite his mean demeanor and wild look, he's still an attractive man and y/n is only human. Previously, she felt silly for thinking this way about him. One does think about the barbarian leader like that. One fears him. However, it's hard to fear him in moments like this. He's more human than he leads on and in these moments it shows.

Y/n sighs and twists in Katsuki's arms. Katsuki grunts in response and pulls her closer. Y/n stops moving and lies awake. The light from the fire slowly fades as the fire goes out. Eventually, Katsuki's breath slows down and his grip becomes less tight.

Y/n can't sleep. She feels too anxious. She's not sure whether it's because of what happened today or because Katsuki keeps her so close. When she's sure Katsuki is sound asleep, she slips out of his grip. She walks over to the dragon who seems asleep as well. She plops down next to the beast and leans against it.

With open ears, she stares into the night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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