#it’s always for the same reasons and there’s no possible solution to be had

[the-teufort-nine]

My TF2 Fic Rec List [ Fanfics I've Read That You Should Too]

*cracks knuckles* right, let's get started! X Reader fics are not included bc I already did a list of them for an ask. Mind the tags and ratings, as always. I'll add to this as I collect more, but its decently long as is

Symbol Key:

** = Incomplete

~~ = Personal favourite

++ = Under 10k

SpeedingBullet:

~~Running Blind by TheTriggeredHappy

(( Scout's eyes are badly damaged in battle and for some reason, Medic's gun can't fix him. Until they figure out how to heal Scout, he needs someone to look after him and keep him safe.

Sniper is given the job.

[3rd person limited, Scout's POV, some character development done on a whim] ))

The SpeedingBullet fanfic. If you like Scout X Sniper, and you haven't read this one yet, I don't know what to tell you. You are severely missing out on not only a great romance story, but also fantastic team dynamics. Also has an available Podfic!

++From a Hospital Bed by SlightlyLessThanAnon

(( Jeremy wakes up in the hospital, his brain struggling the find coherent thoughts as the world churns around him, in and out of consciousness.

He finds the team may care about him a little more than he thought they did. ))

Short but sweet. More whole team fluff than strictly SpeedingBullet. Very cute.

~~Golden Brown, as well as its sister fic, Take Me Out by Ali_Ker (Alina_Kerrin)

(( After seeing his co-worker in a new light, Scout is faced with unknown feelings and a new, distracting perspective on things. ))

This lovely author can be found here under the handle @alikerao3

Grouped these two together because they are they same story, but told from the perspectives of Scout and Sniper respectively. Definitely a bit of a heavier read, especially for anyone who has dealt with Catholic guilt or internalized homophobia, but my God is it worth it. Don't just read one thinking it isn't worth it to read the other fic. Read both. Also, check out the song that inspired the title.

~~Going Through The Motions by AussieBookworm

(( Working under RED can be repetitive at times - but nothing like this. After a curse is fired his way, Scout is forced to live through the same day over and over and over again. It should be easy for someone as perfect as Scout to break the curse, right? As long as he doesn't have to confront the things he's been feeling towards Sniper it should be a piece of cake! ))

Possibly my absolute favourite TF2 fic right now. Scout gets character development out the ass, Demo has a prominent, important role, and there's a plot twist so good it had me tweaking out. TW for Suicide as a method used to get out of a time loop. Absolutely incredible, and it needs more love.

Gills and Gunpowder by popkeeki

(( Monsters are becoming increasingly rare. Between getting pushed to the periphery of society or being targeted by traffickers, life is hard when you are not (entirely) human. Like many others, Scout tries to keep his true form a secret. It has never really been a problem. That is, until a nosy teammate catches him mid-swim. ))

SpeedingBullet Mermaid AU!! Good luck finding a fic with this premise that also reaches this level of quality.

**~~Pet by Anonymous

(( Sniper's terrified of losing the one person he has in his life. It turns out there's a convenient solution to that: just make sure he has no way out, and the rest will follow.

Scout wakes up in a van he knows all too well, loopy and hungover, and Sniper's waiting for him.

*

Or: Learning to live with claustrophobia in small spaces Or: Making the best of assisted living Or: You can’t outrun a fucking bullet ))

Are you like me? Do you enjoy Scout whump and Yandere!/Possessive Sniper? SpyDad? Do you want more of it in your life? If the answer is yes, than Pet is for you! No NSFW, just pure, delicious kidnapping and one-sided love.

General Fanfic Recommendations:

++Something's Up With Respawn by Camelot_taurus, Old Works (HarveyDangerfield)

(( Respawn starts to glitch, and the Administrator sets Engineer to work fixing it.

It doesn't take long for him to find out exactly what's going ))

Super funny, weird little oneshot. Basically, Respawn starts glitching and producing fucked up, Paperjam Dipper-esque clones of the Mercs.

++Mask Off by MatryoshkaDoll413

(( Scout is sick. Really sick. 'If we can't get this fever under control it's the hospital or the morgue' sick, and Respawn can't help him this time. They'd already tried that. He's gotten so delirious he's fighting Medic every second he's awake, not really lucid enough to remember so much as his own name, much less that of any of the team. Medic is ready to put him under full sedation and try and work things out from there, but Spy has an idea. ))

Wholesome SpyDad fic. Spy actually acts like a dad for once, for his sick little bunny.

~~++Scout, Respond by MatryoshkaDoll413

(( Scout wakes up in a dark, unknown place, with rocks bearing down on him and a spotty recollection as to how he ended up there in the first place. The only thing that keeps him sane is the voice of his team in his ear, telling him to talk, to breath, and, more than anything, to stay awake. ))

Scout gets trapped beneath a collapsed building, and receives comfort from his team over his headset while they race to dig him out. Super cute, definitely a must read, and I've done so more than once.

pick it all up (and start again) by bugbee

(( The clues had always been there, he had just never wanted to see them. Maybe neither of them had, instead content to deny the truth before their eyes for the rest of their days because it was better than confronting the alternative. Except Scout had died, and Spy wasn’t able to keep on pretending for his last moments. A part of Jeremy was glad for it, despite the simmering rage and betrayal and hurt. So when he tried to look God in the eye and tell Him that Tom Jones was his father… He couldn’t. Not really.

(Scout discusses his parentage with God, and stays dead for a little while longer. Well. A lot longer. On the plus side, he gets to attend his own funeral reception.) ))

An alternate take on Scout's death from the comics. Very Scout centric, obviously, and ends happily.

~~A Little Bird Told Me… by the_soup_specter

(( Medic learns a secret— something personal, powerful, big enough to cause a rift in the team of mercenaries that could tear two of them apart. And for once in his life… he’s not sure how to proceed.

With no better ideas, Medic decides to ask his fellow mercenaries for advice. But as dueling viewpoints begin to pile up, will he be able to make a decision before the team is changed forever? ))

Medic learns Spy is Scout's dad, and spills the beans. Everything turns out ok, but man the aftermath initially ain't pretty.

~~seven times he has to explain (and one time he doesn’t have to) by conner_is_alive

(( the trans scout obsession has me in a vice

also if i don’t vent my trans sadness i will literally rip a government building down brick by brick lmao ))

The fic that made me a trans Scout believer. If you're on the fence about that headcanon, maybe give this fic a read.

**~~Kith And Kin by BOREDGrace23

(( Mick never thought much of the BLU team. They were just clones, after all. Designed to be their opponents in a meaningless war.

That's why when he woke up, his vision blurry, his brain blistering from a headache like he'd just woken up from a hangover, and several burning questions about what had happened, he thought it was strange that they hadn't killed him already.

//

Or, BLU are clones and RED are decidedly not. They’re then forced to work together when their teams disappear. ))

If you like Emesis Blue, or horror in general, go read Kith And Kin. And when you finish, go give @boredgrace23 some love for such an incredible fic.

**++Der Junge by UpInFlamesWriting

(( Everyone on the team knows that Scout & Medic do not get along. They're like Sniper & Spy, except less bloodthirsty about it. Medic scares Scout, & Scout doesn't give Medic a reason to like him. When the two of them start being more than friendly all of a sudden, the team starts to worry, especially when it becomes obvious that Medic & Scout are keeping secrets from them. Scout & Medic are not about to tell the rest of the team that they are a pair of transsexual men, especially when Medic agrees to help Scout in his transition. For all the weirdness that goes on in the base, the world is not kind to queer people, & they aim to keep the reason behind their friendship a secret, even if it kills them. ))

Trans Scout and Trans Medic solidarity fic. I need more of this.

Eight Mercenaries and A Toddler by ChaosandMayhem

(( When Respawn malfunctions and their annoying Scout is turned into something far more precocious, it'll take all of the RED team's wits and patience to look after him. At the same time, Engineer must find a way to turn Scout back into an adult before the BLUs-or anyone else-realizes what's happened. No pairings, just a bunch of exhausted trained killers and one hyperactive child. ))

An Ancient Text from 2012 and the only FF.Net fic on this list, EMaAT is a classic for me. Lot's of Spy backstory, if memory serves. Quotes from this live rent free in my mind.

PracticalEspionage:

++Under the Lake by Her_AngelEyes

(( Engineer goes fishing. Hilarity ensues. ))

Don't let the description fool you. This is a non-con/mind break fic. If you like darkfic stuff, than this is for you~

[quinnynation]

in the middle ᯓᡣ𐭩 colby brock & sam golbach one-shot

pairing : boyfriend!sam golbach x doberman!reader x colby brock

summary : colby expected this conversation to go way worse than it actually did

warning/extra tid-bits : no warnings but a disclaimer that this fic is about POLYAMORYYYY!! and just bc sam and colby are dating dobie that does NOT mean they’re dating each other <3

word count : 1,070

divider credit : pics from pinterest ,, dividers by @fleurwy

Nobody was mad. Which was interesting because this seemed like the perfect opportunity for fists to fly.

Two best friends in love with the same girl, a trope so common that Dobie refused to watch any movie or read any book that contained it. Yet, here she was. In the middle of Sam and Colby’s kitchen, leaning against the counter with both boys standing on either side of her- directly facing each other.

“We can figure this out.” Sam, her boyfriend, said adamantly. It was cute and Dobie hoped it was true because she would not be the reason Sam and Colby’s career fell apart. 

It was either Sam and Colby stayed together, or she left. Dobie decided that the moment that the boys told her of Colby’s feelings for her.

Dobie’s arms were crossed over her chest protectively, trying to hide the fact she was nervous. If Sam knew she was nervous, he’d be neurotic. If Colby knew Sam and Dobie were nervous, he’d be petrified.

She watched as the two best friends spoke calmly to one another, Colby explaining how he came to realize his feelings for Dobie while also explaining the guilt that weighed heavy on his shoulders for falling for his best friend’s girlfriend. 

Dobie would have been lying if she said she wasn’t at least a bit flattered that both boys seemed to have grown absolutely infatuated by her. 

“And I know- trust me, I know this is the shittiest thing I could do to you- to both of you.” Colby confessed, his blue eyes turning misty. Dobie frowned; she hated when her friends cried. 

Mostly because she didn’t want her friends feeling any sort of negative emotion, but also partly because she’d always seemed to lack in the whole “comforting” department. It’s not that she didn’t try, it’s just that her way of comforting included cracking jokes- which wasn’t always appropriate.

“You could’ve murdered us, that’d be way shittier than this.” Dobie joked, making Sam and Colby turn to her with concerned expressions.

See, not always appropriate.

“Sorry, bad joke.” Dobie chuckled, looking down at her combat boots before looking up and sighing- placing her hands on her hips. 

“Look I…” She racked her brain for what she could possibly say to make this better. To smooth over this hurdle and just, continue on. 

“I’m not mad at you, Colby.” She started, looking towards the brunette man. Dobie’s eyes trailed over to her blonde boy, “You two are best friends, I’m not- I won’t come between that.” Her words were firm; holding no room for argument.

If this were any other situation, Sam would’ve found it hot.

Dobie’s foot tapped against the kitchen tile and Colby felt ashamed at how his heart matched the beat of the thumps. “Please, not even demons could come between us.” Colby said, an attempt to lighten the mood.

The quirk of Sam’s lips told him he was successful. Dobie dipped her head down as she laughed, the corners of her eyes wrinkling.

The three stayed silent for awhile, waiting for someone- anyone to come up with a solution for this mess they were in. It was obvious that nobody had one, yet they all trusted each other enough to rely on each other for one.

Dobie’s eyes widened. They all trusted each other.

“The three of us.” She spoke up, pushing herself off from the counter and allowing a smile to infect her face. Colby and Sam’s brows knit together, “What?” Sam asked- Colby nodded along, equally as confused.

“I mean- it’s the best idea we’ve had so far.” Dobie shrugged happily, looking between the two men. “Dobie, what idea?” The brunette asked, it took everything in him not to smile at how relieved Dobie seemed.

“D’you guys remember that story I told you two, when we visited the conjuring house- the first time?” Dobie asked, looking between both men swiftly. Colby thought for a moment, “About the time you almost hooked up with-” 

“No, Colby, the other one.” Dobie’s tone was one of playful annoyance, which made Sam stifle a laugh. Both men thought quietly before Sam spoke up, “About your girlfriends in high school?” He asked- head tilted in a way that made the top of his hair flop over ever so slightly.

Dobie nodded, walking over to her boyfriend and snaking her arm around his shoulder- “Exactly!” She called out, smiling brightly.

“I’m confused.” Colby said honestly, Sam nodded. Dobie sighed, dropping her hold on Sam and walking over to the brunette boy. Dobie grabbed Colby’s hands and gently tugged him over to Sam’s side of the kitchen, once there she grabbed Sam’s hand with hers.

Colby’s hand in her left, Sam’s in her right.

“I’m okay with having multiple partners.” She spoke slowly, knowing for some people it was a complete turn-off. However, she trusted these boys to listen and not judge.

Sam was quiet, thinking deeply about her proposal. Colby spoke first, “I’m not dating Sam.” 

Dobie and Colby laughed at Sam’s joke-hurt expression, “Well good news, dingus, that’s not how all polycules work.” Dobie informed.

“I can date both of you, without you two dating each other.” She added, Colby thought for a moment.

Could he really do that? Could he really just…share a girlfriend?

“I mean, we already share a channel.” Sam

joked, making Dobie throw her head back with laughter. “And a house.” He added- this time making Colby laugh.

Colby supposed both things were true, he’d trusted Sam with his career, his living space, and even his life at times.

If there was anyone Colby trusted being in a polycule with, it would be Sam and Dobie.

“I..” Colby shook his head, this was not the direction he expected this conversation to take. “Okay, fuck it.” He shrugged, laughing as he looked between Sam and Dobie.

Sam laughed, leaning into Dobie’s side- relieved that the three were able to come to a conclusion that didn’t involve the end of Sam & Colby.

The three were exactly sure how this would play out, but the three trusted each other and that’s what mattered.

Later, when Colby turned on Dobie’s favorite movie he couldn’t help but smile as Dobie curled into his side. Surprisingly, he found he didn’t mind when Sam curled up into Dobie’s side- a bucket of popcorn on his lap.

Dobie found she didn’t mind being in the middle.

a/n : hey so i love them the most actually

taglist !! : @mattsbows @justagirlexisting @cyberskulzzz

[whimsyprinx]

am truly just wasting my time out here and for what?

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Don't Run Off Like That

You told the LADS Men to not piss you off and what did they do? Pissed you off. How I imagine they would react to you storming off in tears and you're not answering their calls or texts. [Requested by: Anon]

Zayne

The minute you run off Zayne would watch you retreat not because he doesn't want to chase you, but because he's going through every possible outcome in his head on whether he should follow you or not.

By the time he decides to follow you're already out of sight. Now you have him walking through the streets of Linkon looking like a lost puppy. After about five minutes of blowing your phone up he's turning into Sherlock Zayne and doing some deductive reasoning about where you may have gone.

He was relieved to find you wrapped up in a blanket. Not in your bed, but in his instead.

Zayne: Please never run off like that again MC: I can't argue with you especially when I'm pissed off I'll always lose Zayne: its not really a competition it's us vs the problem MC: I know that which is why I didn't want to argue with you especially in public Zayne: I feel the same MC: I just needed to calm down Zayne: *Smiles* In my bed? MC: .... Your scent is calming I just didn't want to hug you while I was mad at you so your bed was the perfect solution

Rafayel

Rafayel is immediately chasing after you the minute you storm off, but of course you break out into a full sprint. He would be STRESSED. This man gets antsy when you don't reply fast enough. Now you're not replying and he can't find you? Yea his chest hurts. He's calling you on speaker phone just so he can continue texting you. After about ten minutes of your phone blowing up non-stop you share your location with him.

He found you in his kitchen, sitting on the counter, eating all his snacks. "I thought you got kidnapped or something!"

"Need I remind you I'm a trained fighter and constantly have a gun on my hip?" Rafayel would roll his eyes before taking the snacks from your hands and slotting himself between your legs. He rested his head in the crook of your neck while taking deep calming breaths.

Rafayel: Why did you run off like that? MC: I didn't want to say anything I'd regret so I needed time to myself Rafayel: So you turn into sonic the hedgehog? MC: I knew you'd come find me Rafayel: I'll always find you.

Xavier

Let's be so for real Xavier is on you. If you try to run from him he gonna teleport in front of you. So in order to get away from him you have to excuse yourself and then dip out when he can't see you. That whole turn around and storm off you planned on doing? Not happening that mf way too fast.

He would realize you've been gone for a while so he'd text you with concern. A few minutes pass and he starts getting worried. He's immediately on the move looking for you; checking your location, trying to get the coordinates on your watch. He'd call Jeremiah asking if he'd seen you as he's running around.

He manages to find you in the Hunters Association doing research on the increase in wanderers.

Xavier: You'd rather do research than talk to me? MC: You pissed me off and I hate arguing with you ... I needed something to take my mind off it Xavier: I don't enjoy it either but please don't disappear like that you almost gave me a heart attack MC: I needed to calm down Xavier: There's nothing wrong with that I just .... if something happened to you I don't want our last words to be out of anger you know? MC: I know ... I don't want that either

Sylus

Sylus would feel terrible for making you upset enough to storm off in tears, but he'd let you blow off some steam before coming to find you. He would definitely have the twins contact you first before he showed up. He'd have Mephisto watch you and report back to him as well.

You didn't go far he knew you'd storm off to one of your favorite places on base. The home library. He found you curled up on one of the giant bean bag chairs that you just had to have(he couldn't say no of course)

Sylus: May I come in? MC: Permission granted Sylus: I didn't mean to upset you Princess MC: Im sure you didn't mean to but you did and we're at a good point in our relationship I don't want to say anything I'll regret later Sylus: I don't mind you cursing me out MC: I mind Sylus: Are you ready to talk? MC: Yes, but I want a foot rub as we talk Sylus: *chuckles* I may have spoiled you too much MC: Is that a no? Sylus: *Grabs your foot* I'll do anything for you as long as you talk to me

[yaksha-lover]

Someone New

Summary: Travelling worlds has its side effects; namely, having visions of multiple timelines. As you get closer to the housewardens after their overblots, you begin to see the possible future that awaits the two of you, if only you decide to choose them.

Overblot gang x Reader (Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil, Vil, Idia, Malleus)

GN but mentions of biological children - imagine anything you want though (magic spells that make anything possible!)

i. blooms of red and bursts of reason; riddle rosehearts

Even after knowing him for months, you don’t touch Riddle until long after his overblot. He isn’t truly comfortable with you, with anyone, touching him so casually.

The chill of autumn ghosts your skin, making goosebumps rise along your arms. When he notices you rubbing your forearms to gather some warmth, Riddle insists on offering you his coat. Something about ‘rule five hundred and nine.’

His ways don’t always make sense to you, but you appreciate the sentiment behind the action. You take his coat, uttering your gratitude to him, although it’s quite small considering his stature. He offers you a small smile; in Riddle’s case, you know that means a lot.

You can’t help but return his smile, the small affection making your heart stir suddenly. It’s nice - spending time alone with Riddle. At the beginning of the year, you’d never have imagined becoming close with him. It was hard to see past the strict housewarden who never let anything go.

You think he’d made assumptions about you too. About you being a troublemaker, someone not worth his time, just another problem. You’re thankful you’ve both come around.

You stare at him from the corner of your eye as you walk together. He truly is gentle at heart, despite what his temper might suggest. His red hair sits perfectly on his head, cutely framing his face. It makes you think of his mother; his hair is perhaps the only good thing she passed onto him.

You snap out of your thoughts when you step a little too hard into a puddle and accidentally splash your pants, slightly dirtying them. Riddle turns when he hears your grumble, and you prepare yourself for a scolding. You won’t hold it against him; it was your fault for being careless.

Instead, Riddle only shakes his head gently, before asking if you’d like to stop at Ramshackle to change before you two arrive at the library.

Your surprise forces you to take a moment and just look at him. So far he’s come from the person he was only a couple months ago. You feel strangely sentimental, so you reach out to touch his shoulder, intending to thank him.

As soon as you make contact with him, the world around you shifts, brown and orange leaves being traded for the bright green of spring.

-

You sit under a pagoda tree, the wind gently blowing the pages of your novel. It’s strange - you’re seeing things as yourself, but you’re not in control. It’s as though you’re replaying the memory of someone else. At the sound of someone’s voice, ‘you’ look up. It’s there that you spot familiar red hair; it forms a stark contrast to the vegetation around you.

He’s not alone, either. In Riddle’s arms is a small baby, with identical hair to who you presume is his father. It’s a striking image - Riddle with his child. He’s noticeably older; if you had to guess, he seems to be in his late twenties.

“MC? Sorry to bother, but he’s been refusing to eat today. I checked our parenting books thrice, but I haven’t found any suitable solutions. I thought you might know how to help him.”

“That’s okay,” you hear your voice say. “How is our little guy doing?”

Riddle passes the baby to you, and you finally take notice of his other features; this child has the same colour eyes as you, and a similarly shaped nose.

You then catch a glimpse of the ring sparking on your left hand, and the other on Riddle’s.

“Hmm,” you’re vision-self says. “Let’s go back home, I’ll try to see what’s bothering him.”

“Alright, dear. I’ll start on dinner,” older-Riddle replies.

He takes your hand and helps you up, before you walk back toward the house in the distance, your hand still in his.

-

When the greens turn to orange, you blink, finding Riddle looking at you. You’re back at NRC.

“Are you alright, prefect? You seem distracted.”

“I’m okay, Riddle. I just…never mind. Let’s get going.”

You decide not to tell him about your strange…Dream? Vision? It all seemed so real…you could smell the tree sap and feel the breeze flow against your skin. You held a baby. Your baby…with Riddle? The two of you were older, but would it really be possible for it to truly be your future? That seemed ridiculous. Then again, you thought the same thing about magic a few months ago.

You resolve to keep this strange occurrence to yourself until you can figure out what happened. It’s hard to look at Riddle, having now seen the two of you married and with a child together. You’re more flustered than usual. Was this just some kind of daydream projection of your fantasies about him? You weren’t even really sure you could say you have a ‘crush’ on him - after all, you’ve only recently begun getting close. Not that you haven’t thought of him that way at all but-

You’re sure Riddle takes notice of your strange behaviour throughout your study session but, thankfully, he doesn’t comment on it.

ii. dizzying dreams and endless nights; leona kingscholar

You’d fought Leona hard to get where you are now - on the left side of his bed, with Grim sleeping at the base. You’re exhausted with everything going on with Azul (hopefully) temporarily taking your dorm, but it’s hard to sleep with how worried you are about the situation.

Leona’s room is dim, moonlight cascading over the silk sheets. You can barely make out his form, curled up in the blankets and turned away from you.

You don’t want to disturb the sleeping lion, but he happens to be hogging the entire blanket. You suppose you should’ve known, but it wasn’t as though you had time to take anything from Ramshackle.

When the chill becomes too much to ignore, you try to tug part of the blanket away from him. This causes Leona to roll over, arm suddenly falling around your back.

You’re hit with another wave of blurry vision as the moon melts into the sun.

-

“Morning,” you hear a voice, your voice, say to him. Your tone is playful and lightheartedly chastising. You can feel his arms wrapped snuggly around you.

It’s happening again, the same as with Riddle. You’re seeing things from your own eyes, but you’re not in control.

A groan comes from behind you, Leona shuffling his position but refusing to open his eyes. His bare legs brush yours under the covers. “Too early. Go back to sleep.” He pulls you closer into his chest.

‘You’ laugh gently, turning around in his arms so you’re now face to face. “You promised the queen we would attend this banquet. Especially after we missed the last one.”

He looks older here too, but as gorgeous as ever. Despite just waking up, Leona’s dark hair falls perfectly around his face. The room is different than his one at school; it’s still a bedroom, but it looks as though you’re back in the castle of Sunset Savanna.

Leona finally opens his eyes, looking at you with a heavy gaze before flipping you below him. His arms hold him straight above you, looking down on you lying prone on the bed. “Hmph.” He leans in close until your lips are only millimetres apart. “We have some time, don’t we?”

You’re left staring into those piercing green eyes, entranced by them being closer than ever.

With that, he leans in completely, lips brushing over your own as he begins to kiss you. The longer it goes, the more ravenous he becomes, more and more greedy for the taste of your lips.

-

When the sunlight fades to moonlight, you’re left embarrassed. That was - so much worse than with Riddle?! Ugh, it’s so awkward with Leona sleeping beside you now, like you’ve violated some kind of rule by thinking of him that way.

You’re too afraid to even consider the possibility of it being some kind of dream. It came on so suddenly, but you hadn’t been asleep. The whole thing seemed so real, too elaborate for a simple dream. No, it had to be more than that - some kind of vision - but how could that be true? And what did that mean about your vision with Riddle? Surely they couldn’t both be correct.

You’d intended on ignoring it before, but with Leona’s vision, that seemed futile. Perhaps the staff would have some answers for you…

iii. seashells shimmer in the forever sea; azul ashengrotto

Azul isn’t one for touching, and this time neither are you. Ever since the Crowley’s theory about alternate universes and rips in time since you’ve travelled worlds, you’ve decided it’s best to stay away from touching too many people. It was…interesting, to see a possible future with Riddle and Leona, but it’s certainly left you ambivalent. It’s a bit difficult not to avoid them when your mind drifts to your ‘visions’ while in their vicinity.

Riddle is kind enough to ignore your sudden shyness, but Leona has openly called you out on how flustered you get around him. He seems both confused and amused about the development, and his smugness is too much to handle sometimes.

Fortunately for you, Leona doesn’t hang around the Mostro Lounge much, making it the perfect place for you to avoid him. You try to force Ace and Deuce to come with you and study there, but the two have been reluctant considering their previous encounters with the twins while trying to get Azul’s picture.

That means you’re left to go alone, sometimes. Well, alone except for Grim. He never leaves you hanging as long as you agree to buy him food. Just like today, where he sits passed out across the other side of the booth, having eaten himself into a food coma.

You try to return to your homework, but out of the corner of your eye, you catch Azul staring at you from the staff area. When you make eye contact, he only waves, smile dripped in plasticity. When you don’t clue in, he walks toward your table, eventually taking a seat across from you, beside Grim.

“Hello, Prefect,” he says.

“Azul.”

Unlike Riddle - and even to some extent, Leona - you haven’t really gotten close to Azul after his overblot. He doesn’t exactly want you to, it seems.

“I noticed you’ve been frequenting the Lounge quite frequently as of late - I just wanted to thank you, for being a dedicated patron.”

“I’m not doing it for you, but you’re welcome, I guess.”

“Ah yes, I presumed. So, who are you doing it for?”

Your mind snaps to thoughts of you and Leona in the future, his arms around you in his bed-

“Nothing. No one. Do you need something, Azul?”

Despite your attempt at neutrality, Azul must see something on your face as you attempt to rid your mind of your vision of Leona. He leans in a bit, curious to observe you.

You begin packing up your things, too distracted to continue studying.

“No need to leave on my account,” he says.

“It’s not.”

He stands at the same time as you, presumably planning to head back to his office. Unfortunately for the both of you, you hadn’t noticed Grim migrate to his place sleeping on the floor. When you take a step forward and trip, Azul is, tragically, directly in front of you.

Your arms reach out instinctively, but instead of stabilizing yourself by grabbing onto his shoulders, the force of your fall knocks the both of you over.

As soon as you make contact with him, your vision swirls into another world full of beautiful blues.

-

The coral sea is even more breathtaking than you remember. You’ve only been a couple times, but the drastic differences between the land and ocean always manage to stun you. The water is so clear that it practically glitters as you wave your hands through it, feeling the water pass refreshingly across your smooth skin.

You’ve never been to this specific place before (presumably, it doesn’t exist yet), but it’s clear what it is: a restaurant. If the octopus logo has anything to do with it, clearly it’s Azul’s. It wasn’t too surprising to you that he would have more restaurants open in the future, but you weren’t sure what you were doing here. If the pattern followed, it seemed inevitable that you and Azul would be…romantically-involved in this timeline, but that just didn’t seem possible.

At least you had befriended Riddle and Leona to an extent - Azul looked down on your existence as a magicless person, seemingly entirely apathetic about you in general. You had to admit, the feelings were mutual considering his treatment of you and your friends.

You feel ‘yourself’ look around the restaurant, before heading back into the staff area. You knock on the door to an office, and Azul opens it with a smile.

He, too, is older. His face has matured a bit and he also wears his hair a bit longer. Azul still has his grey suit, though.

“Hello, MC. Done for the day?”

“I guess so, boss,” your voice replied cheekily. Boss?? Why would your future self ever work for-

“Hmm, I may have more tasks for you, why don’t you come in~”

With that, future-Azul takes your hand and tugs you into his office. On his desk sits several picture frames; one of his parents and one of his wedding. You happened to spot yourself in the second one.

It’s a bit jarring to see; you and Azul posed together, dressed up in such fancy clothing. His arm sits around your shoulder, and yours around his waist. Before this, the two of you have never even shook hands.

You hear yourself giggling, cornering Azul against the wall as soon as he closes the door and bringing your arms around his neck to kiss him.

You can already feel the dread forming; you definitely won’t be able to spend time at the Mostro Lounge after this…

As the two of you pull away, Azul starts talking about a reunion for your graduating class at NRC.

“I told them maybe - with the new branch of our restaurant opening, we may wish to stay back. Then again, it could be a great opportunity to network for us. What do you think, dear?”

Before you can hear your reply, the world fades back into the familiar lighting of the Mostro Lounge.

-

A groaning Azul is beneath you, having (unfortunately for him) broken your fall.

You utter a quiet ‘sorry!’ as you get off of him, still a bit flustered from your vision.

He gets up, dusting himself off. Thankfully, the two of you are in a rather secluded area of the place, so no one was there to witness your embarrassment.

Azul can no longer maintain the facade of kind gentleman as he turns back to you, voice dripping with passive aggressiveness.

“I would prefer if you refrained from touching me in the future. Thank you.”

With that, he gets up and leaves. You shake your head - how could there possibly be any timeline where you’ve married him?

iv. jaded jewels shine, awaken from slumber; jamil viper

While helping out with the VDC, you’ve had time to get close to Jamil. Much closer, in fact, than with any of the others you’ve had visions of before. Now you’ve avoided touching him for a whole other reason - you’re scared you won’t have a vision.

Spending time with Jamil has made you realize things you’d never thought about him before - his handsomeness, intelligence, and talent. You’ve developed a bit of a crush on him, considering how much you admire him.

However, you have no idea how he feels. Jamil has never been one to express his feelings so outwardly, but you can’t get a read on him at all. He’s been polite with you, but he’s treated you basically the same as everyone else.

Your attempts at getting closer to him have been rather unsuccessful - the group is so busy practicing, everyone’s been way too exhausted to really do anything.

You manage to get a moment alone at Ramshackle when the rest of the boys have gone to sleep, and you find Jamil sitting out on the porch alone.

“Hey,” you say. “Mind if I join you?”

Jamil turns to look at you before nodding his head. You take a seat beside him, following his gaze to the stars. The sky is dark but the moon casts a glow on him, making Jamil look beautiful under the light.

“What are you thinking about?”

He hums for a moment before replying, “What I’m always thinking about - how things will just go back to normal again after the end of the VDC.”

You don’t really know what to say; his fears seem inevitable, no matter how much you want to comfort him. “I’m sorry…I can’t understand what it’s like for you, but…what if you could still have some kind of happiness in your life?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know…you could still find love?”

“Find love? You think that’s what I care about?” Jamil’s tone is bitter, but his voice never rises. “Sorry, but you’re awfully naive. Things like love won’t make my life better. It’ll only complicate things.”

“I-I understand.”

When your voice shakes, Jamil finally looks up at you, sighing when he spots your watery eyes.

“Prefect, relax. I’m not angry at you. It’s just a frustrating situation for me, I’m sure you know. I don’t have time to think about love. I just need to focus on myself.”

With that, he pats your shoulder before standing up, leaving you alone to stare at the night sky. Jamil hadn’t even realized you were trying to confess to him, and you felt terrible for even trying to bring it up. Of course he wouldn’t be able to think about something like your stupid little crush - you feel so silly for even bringing it up, you should’ve known better since you know all about his circumstances.

It was then you realized - Jamil had touched you for the first time. He touched you and nothing happened.

The first one you’d been seriously interested in, and there seemed to be no future for the two of you.

Was it possible you’d already messed up this timeline, making it impossible for that future with him to occur? The whole thing made your head spin and your heart ache.

v. swept into spotlights, doused in delicacy; vil schoenheit

Vil had been a surprising comfort in the wake of your unrequited crush on Jamil. The two of you had gotten closer after VDC, and Vil had a way of pulling honesty out of you. It had only taken him a couple days of observing your awkwardness to guess at the situation.

He’d been a shoulder to cry on, both literally and figuratively. There’d been a moment when he first pulled you into his arms that you’d wondered - hoped - that he might be a possibility in your future, but alas, no vision. It was a bit disappointing but you knew it was wrong to feel too badly; it would be greedy of you to desire a connection with so many knowing you could only end up with one.

Vil became a friend - someone you could rely on, someone who could make you laugh, and someone who couldn’t break your heart.

Even when you would start to feel something more than platonic for him, you had to push it away. He was certainly gorgeous and talented and perfect…but he wouldn’t be that for you. He couldn’t, apparently, and maybe he wouldn’t want to either.

Vil was more than just a fellow student - he was an actor, a model, a celebrity - someone too far to reach. Even if you had a vision with him, would it matter?

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by Vil’s hand on your cheek, turning your face to get the correct angle to apply your eyeliner; he’d insisted you get dressed up with him and Rook to go out tonight.

“Move onto the bed,” Vil says.

You stand from the chair in front of his vanity and move hesitantly toward his bed. His silky sheets look perfect - you don’t want to ruin them. Looking back at him, Vil rolls his eyes and gently pushes you toward the bed until you lay back.

You’re left staring up at him on your back, while he sits above you, applying the rest of his products on your face. He’s so close to you, his luscious golden hair almost tickles your face. His pretty purple eyes don’t focus on your own, following his makeup brush.

He looks cute like this, concentrating hard to perfect your makeup. He bites his lip gently, drawing your attention to his pretty mouth, shining with the pink gloss he’d applied earlier.

When he leans away to pick up the blush, you mistakenly think he’s finished and try to sit up. At the same time that you rise, Vil turns back to face you. The timing coincides into an accidental and brief meeting of your lips.

It takes a second for you to realize that the dizziness your feel isn’t due to your racing heart, but the sudden appearance of another vision.

-

The lights flash, bright and blinding. The sharp clicks of cameras obnoxiously disrupt the music heard softly on the street from nearby restaurants and clubs.

You’re rushing away with Vil, hand in hand as he pulls you toward a black limo waiting up ahead. You nearly stumble, but Vil is quick to stabilize you.

Once the two of you escape the paparazzi, you’re left sitting side by side in the backseat of the limo, both breathing heavily. Vil gives the driver instructions to return back to his penthouse.

He turns to you. “Are you okay, darling?”

You feel yourself nod in affirmation, taking ahold of his hand again. He squeezes back.

“I’m sorry they’ve ruined another date. I know it’s hard for you not to have much privacy, but it seems no matter what I do, they find us.” He strokes your hand with his thumb.

“It’s okay, Vil. I knew what I was getting into, dating a celebrity and all that.”

He plants a kiss on your cheek. “Still, they shouldn’t bother us. I may be a celebrity, but you aren’t. You deserve privacy.” He sighs gently. “Has this…impacted our previous discussion?”

You look back up at him. You assume based on past visions that he’s much older now, but he’s kept his youthful and gorgeous look. Even now, his purple eyes make your heart flutter embarrassingly.

“Of course not. I want us to have kids together. You’ll be the best dad and protect them from all this. I know it.”

He kisses you on the lips this time just as your vision begins to end.

-

Vil snaps his fingers over you as you come too, rolling his eyes.

“I know my lips are practically intoxicating, but did you really get that worked up over an accidental peck between friends?”

Your face becomes hot at Vil’s statement, embarrassment setting in. He doesn’t know how right he is.

“Ah, sorry. I got…distracted.”

Vil laughs gently. “Why? Thinking of more of my kisses? They’ll cost you~”

When you stammer in response, he just ruffles your hair gently.

“I’m just teasing you.”

You stare at him for a moment before speaking. “I don’t think we can do each other’s makeup platonically anymore.” If it ever was, that is.

Vil rolls his eyes dramatically again.

vi. hidden in shadows, warmth comes in waves; idia shroud

The incident with Vil leaves you even more confused than before. It makes you wonder…if just touching isn’t always enough to have a vision, does that mean a future where you end up with Jamil is still possible? You don’t even want to hope, knowing the heartache he’d unknowingly caused you before.

And Vil…having a vision about him makes this complicated. When it was just lingering thoughts you could push to the side of your mind, your growing infatuation with him was easy to ignore. Actually seeing your future with him, has made your heart swell and ache at the same time.

You don’t exactly choose to become friends with Idia, it just kind of happens. Just like the previous situations where you’d attempted to avoid the star of your latest vision, Idia is someone who seems like a good choice to help you stay away from them. He isn’t good friends with Jamil or Vil (or frankly anyone). Incidentally, the two of you become friends after a small argument over an anime (the only topic that allows Idia to temporarily overcome his social anxiety just to disagree with you), and you begin to hang out occasionally.

The more your old friends hang out with the VDC group, the more you begin to make excuses and go play video games with Idia and Ortho.

It feels strangely easy, spending time with Idia. You never have to pretend, and with your shared interests, conversation comes naturally. Once you’ve spent enough time around him, he feels much more comfortable around you, willing to share his (strong) thoughts and opinions on everything.

Idia is very…different than you would’ve guessed before you knew him well. While he can be rude, you find it more funny than offensive, and it’s pretty fun to banter with him. His room holds small glimpses into his true personality; video games he loves, posters of his favourite characters. His passion for these things is clear as day.

Sitting on Idia’s couch, you’re playing against him and Ortho in Super Smash Bros. Ortho immediately claimed Kirby, proceeding to destroy the both of you multiple times until he emerged as the winner.

Despite the loss, both you and Idia can’t help but smile. Ortho makes a celebratory noise, before turning back to you.

“MC, we are about to encounter another rip in the time continuum,” Ortho says. “I’m so excited, do you think it will finally be my big brother’s turn to earn your love?”

“What?” you and Idia say for different reasons.

“How do you know about that?

“Earn their love??”

“It’s part of my programming to monitor all things involving space and time.”

“Huh. Okay.”

You suppose it’s true, you’ve never really touched Idia before. The two of you got along like best friends; it wasn’t so much of a stretch to say you could end up having a future together. You hadn’t thought about it much, in light of recent events.

“Usually you’re the only one able to see, but since Idia’s here, why don’t I show him too!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ortho,” Idia says.

“I think it will be good for you, brother! Don’t worry, I’ll give the both of you some privacy to see your future. It’s approaching in three, two-”

When his countdown reaches one, Ortho plops your hand on top of Idia, making your vision fade once again.

-

The Island of Woe is familiar to you by now, after everything that went down with Idia. The architecture remains impersonal; the uniformity of the blank steel walls reminds you of a maze. The thought had unsettled you, the last time you visited.

Strangely enough, you don’t feel that same sense of anxiety and claustrophobia in this vision. You’re strangely calm; it wouldn’t be crazy to assume that exposure and familiarity has dulled these feelings.

The scene is devastatingly unsurprising. You suppose you’d always known what Idia’s future would be; what all his ancestors futures had been. That hadn’t lessened the spark of hope you’d been carrying that perhaps things might turn out differently than he believed.

You had a bad habit of that: false hope for Jamil, false hope for Idia. It didn’t truly do anyone any good, no matter how much you wished it to.

You’re in Idia’s room. Aside from its size and how nice it is, the decor is a clear giveaway. The posters that line the walls aren’t from media you recognize, so it must be future content, but it’s all in line with Idia’s current tastes. You’re happy he has that, at least. You even catch a glimpse of a couple of his old posters from NRC rolled up in his closet. A few pieces even stand out, things that seem much more suited to your taste than his own.

A familiar head of blue hair wanders into the room.

“Hey MC.”

“Hi Idia,” you feel your lips gently pull up in the corners. Despite ‘your’ outward expression in the vision, you feel a small twinge of pain in your chest.

Idia’s entrance into his room (your room?) lets you take a close look at him. Even ten or so years later, it seems he hasn’t been able to rid himself of his eye bags. Even so, you still think he looks nice, his vibrant hair illuminating his pretty face. He’s cute, smiling back at you.

“Sorry I’m back late again. There’s been so many problems with the new system update, even Ortho can’t handle it himself.” Idia’s expression drops a little.

“It’s okay, I know you’re busy.”

Idia comes to sit beside you on the bed, head turning toward you. “Is it though? Stuck down here with me, and I can’t even be by your side half the time. I doubt this is the life you- anyone would dream of.”

“I miss you, of course I do. But I chose this life. I chose you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have.”

The tears well in your eyes before you can stop them, and Idia’s panic only rises once he notices.

“Gah!! No, MC, please don’t cry. I didn’t mean it like that. Sevens, I’m so stupid.” Idia awkwardly pulls you into his arms, and you begin wipe your tears onto his shoulder as you settle down.

“Sorry, I-I don’t know what came over me,” you sniffle.

“Don’t apologize, it was my fault. I don’t know why, every time I try to tell you how I feel, it always just comes out wrong. I try to tell you that I love you, that you deserve better than to be stuck here with me, and it comes out like that.”

“Idia…I know what you meant, it just took me by surprise to hear those words.”

“Loving you is supposed to be the one thing I can do to make your life here better, and I can’t even do it right.”

“Says who? Don’t you think I should be the judge of that?”

“I made you cry, MC! Something is wrong with me…”Idia’s cheeks flush pink as he stares at his feet.

You want to comfort him, to tell him that it doesn’t matter, but you quickly feel yourself being pulled away. You’ve never wished more than to have a few more moments in a vision.

-

The room remains silent for a minute after the vision ends, the both of you trying to process what had happened.

“Idia…” you say, trying to bridge the gap between you, but not exactly knowing how.

“Maybe- I uh - maybe you should leave?” Idia says sheepishly.

“Leave? What did I do?” you say, feeling a bit hurt by his suddenly rejection.

“Nothing! I just- I’m sorry, I need some time. I can’t speak right now, I need to be alone.” Idia is clearly panicked, so you follow his brother to the exit.

“Sorry, MC,” Ortho says, opening the door for you. “Sometimes Idia gets overwhelmed in situations like this. Please, give him time and…please don’t give up on him like everyone else does.”

vii. sun and moon, forever in orbit; malleus draconia

You’ve known Malleus as long as you’ve known Riddle, but despite your blooming friendship, you’ve never had the chance to touch him before. The fae always seemed to prefer to keep his distance when visiting you at Ramshackle; close enough to talk, too far to touch.

That all changes when you finally agree to join the gargoyle studies club. It’s not as though you’d purposefully avoided it before, there’d just always been too much going on to really think about joining any of the clubs.

With Idia shutting you out, you were in dire need of a new hobby that would allow you to finally avoid thinking about what had gone down with him in the days before.

When Malleus finally strolls by Ramshackle again, you’re able to inform him of your intention to join his club.

It’s a remarkable thing, having stunned the fae prince into momentary silence at your request. He furrows his brow before replying.

“I do hope you aren’t making a joke at my expense, prefect. That would be rather cruel of you.”

You wave away his words, telling him that you’re entirely serious. He looks you up and down for a moment before a playful grin pulls at his lips.

“I suppose I will see you in our meeting on thursday, then. Please, don’t be late. We have much to see.”

-

Weekly meetings become bi-weekly, and soon you’re meeting up with Malleus almost daily. Since it’s only the two of you in the club, you take certain liberties when it comes to subject matter. You agree to let Malleus show you some ruins and he, in turn, agrees to watch the bachelor with you.

You don’t even like the show, but Malleus’ reactions are the real entertainment. He’s surprisingly sassy and opinionated about all the drama, although he tends to get confused on ‘human customs’ as he so puts it.

“Why won’t he make a choice? It’s clear who he truly desires,” Malleus asks one day, sitting on Ramshackle’s beat up couch as you watch the reality show together on your laptop.

“I don’t know, the guys on this show are always like this. They want to keep around as many options as possible until they’re forced to choose,” you mumble, mouth full of popcorn.

“Human men are fickle.”

You laugh. “Fae aren’t?”

He takes a moment to answer. “Some. Not dragon fae. Once we choose a person to love, we give everything to them, and expect the same in return.”

You don’t know how to reply to that, so you turn back to the screen. Throughout the rest of the episode, you can feel Malleus’ gaze flicker between yourself and the show, not fully invested like you are.

-

You’re not oblivious to his hints. It’s clear that things between you are become more than friendly, but it’s difficult to know how you feel about it.

On one hand, Malleus has always felt strangely charming to you, despite how he often came off to others. There was something about him, or perhaps just the sum of his parts that came together perfectly to make him into a wonderful being.

Spending time together and getting close felt nice, but you were far too used to this pattern to not feel worried about some kind of impending doom. It seemed every time you had a nice friendship, things would fall apart as soon as you found out about your future together.

Even when pleasant, the strangeness of the experience makes it uncomfortable to be around them again. You’ve felt bad avoiding your friends, but there isn’t much you can do to change your feelings.

Even worse - what if your vision with Malleus isn’t positive? After what you saw with Idia, the fear lingers in your mind.

Once you opened the gate, questions begun to flood your brain. What would a future be like with Malleus? Would that even be possible? Would you be his consort? Would a relationship between a human and fae be accepted? Would you be able to handle it? The anxieties were endless.

You think about telling him about everything. About Riddle, Leona…but how would he react? You tell yourself that it’s better if he doesn’t know. At least not until after.

He’s the first one you touch on purpose; you have to know.

A casual stroll around Ramshackle leads to the purposeful brushing of fingers, and you’re pulled into a familiar haze.

-

You’ve never been to Briar Valley, but you know with certainty that your vision takes place there.

The hall you sit in is long, gold trims running along the walls. The black dragon heraldry mounted above the fireplace at the end of the room looks more expensive than anything you’ve seen in your life.

Two wide doors swing open, and Malleus finally enters the room. He isn’t alone.

A small black shape zooms past his legs, plopping itself in front of you.

“Daddy and I picked you flowers from the garden!”

The blur isn’t some shadow, but instead a small child. Five or six, if you had to guess. If her words didn’t give away her parentage, the small, stubby horns peaking out from the top of her head of dark hair certainly told you this was Malleus’ daughter.

“Thank you, sweetie.” You smile at her, taking the flowers she drops in your hand. There’s still some dirt and roots attached, but she’s so adorable, you truly don’t mind.

“Can Uncle Silver take me horseback ridding today?” she asks you. “Daddy said it’s okay with him if it’s okay with you.” She blinks at you sweetly.

“Alright, I suppose. Just be careful, dear,” you reply.

“I have the best parents in all the kingdoms!” she shouted, running along to her chambers to get ready, leaving only you in Malleus in the room.

“She’s so lively today,” you comment, looking up at him.

“Indeed,” he replies, coming to rest beside you. “You look beautiful, my love.”

“And you, my king.”

The two of you share a kiss. It’s all so - dizzying. It’s not unexpected to have a child with Malleus - you had one with Riddle, but this is different. This child is older, she knows you, she feels so real.

He pulls away to smile at you. “I have a gift for you.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Need there be one for me to celebrate my wonderful spouse?”

“I suppose not. Thank you, Malleus. No matter how many gifts you give, I will treasure them all.”

He pulls out a box from his pocket, asking you to turn around. You feel him guide a cold band around your neck, clasping it in the back. He then places a small, handheld mirror in your hands, urging you to look.

The necklace he’s given you is beyond stunning. It’s silver, with a dazzling gemstone in the middle. You don’t even want to ponder how much it must’ve cost.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

It’s strange - seeing yourself much older when Malleus looks the same. It unsettles you more than you’d like to admit. It’s one thing to know you’ll age at different rates and another to see it with your own eyes.

This must be something on your mind in the future as well, because of the next thing you decide to ask Malleus.

“Will I see her grow up? For me, it feels like she’s been young forever. I love it and yet…I want to see more of her life than just this.”

He doesn’t ask who you’re referring to. “You will. You’ll see most. I was practicing mature by my eighty-first birthday.”

You sigh. “I may not even get that far. I’m healthy now, but who knows. The curses of being human…”

He tilts your chin to face him. “It is not a curse to me, my love. I chose you, and I would again.”

There’s infinitely more to discuss, but you already feel yourself slipping away.

-

You come to from the vision mid walk. Malleus is unaffected, seemingly still in the middle of one of his explanations behind the rich history of one of gargoyles you’d just passed by.

When he notices your silence and turns to ask if you’re alright, you have no response for him.

It seems almost selfish, for you to choose him. Why- why did there need to be so many things wrong? Why did you have to be human, to pain him and your future children by leaving them behind so early?

The joy and the pain - would it all truly be worth it? Or would it be better for it to have never happened?

Malleus looks at you with concern, wiping the tears suddenly cascading down your cheeks.

“What’s wrong, my child of man?”

Everything and nothing, you want to tell him.

viii. all things end, all that we intend; conclusion

Seven beautiful souls, all potential endings. Every future you glimpsed has it’s own charms, and it’s own poisons.

Which future will you choose? One of them? Or perhaps…another?

[scarnatlover]

Yours is in red underlined

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Electrokinesis!Reader

Summary: Years ago, Natasha Romanoff and Y/N Y/L/N, a Red Room guard, shared a forbidden love. Y/N helped Natasha escape, but was captured and brainwashed by HYDRA, losing all memory of their love. Years later, they meet again as enemies, but Natasha still recognizes Y/N as the woman she once loved. Determined to uncover her lost memories, Natasha begins a painful fight to awaken Y/N and free her from HYDRA's influence. Will Natasha be able to rekindle the spark between her and Y/N or will theirs be forgotten hearts forever?

Warnings: dark themes, violence, torture, whipping, restraining, cutting, skin, sewing, brainwashing, blood, gore, name calling, mention of death, fainting.

Fear.

What is fear?.

“Emotional state consisting of a sense of insecurity, confusion and anxiety in the face of a real or imaginary danger or in the face of something or a fact that is or is believed to be harmful: more or less intense depending on the person and the circumstances, it takes on the character of a strong and sudden disturbance, which also manifests itself with physical reactions, when the danger comes unexpectedly, takes you by surprise or in any case appears imminent”: definition of fear

“Again”

It is a primary emotion, present since always in both the human race and the animal kingdom. Like all emotions, fear has an adaptive function, in fact it protects the individual in the face of a danger or a threat (real or imaginary) and is invaluable from the first years of life.

“You were nothing before we found you”.

We refer to fear with different terms based on its degree of intensity: Fear, Anxiety, Fear, Phobia, Panic, Terror and Horror.

Fear is the least intense form of fear and is determined when a situation promises pleasure but, at the same time, also pain: there is the perception of the possibility of losing pleasure, but one still moves towards it. In this case the threat of pain and that of pleasure are equivalent, generating a situation of conflict while waiting for some clue capable of tipping the scales to one side or the other.

Fear emerges when the context is dominated by the threat of pain or its perception: in this case one is pervaded by the desire to escape or in any case to distance oneself from the source of pain, whether real or imaginary. When the anxiety in front of a certain object, animal or event is considerable and cannot be controlled by reason, it is called phobia.

This causes a reaction that is significantly disproportionate to the situation being faced. For this reason, the subject who has phobias carefully avoids all situations that could trigger his anxiety. Therefore, his social life can be significantly affected. Examples include claustrophobia, agoraphobia, and centrophobia. When fear is at its maximum and is charged with a premonition of death, it is called panic. This is defined by Galimberti as an "acute episode of anxiety characterized by emotional tension and intolerable terror that hinders adequate organization of thought and action". The panic situation is related to claustrophobia.

Terror is the extreme form of fear, even more intense than panic, where the impulse to escape is so high that an immediate solution is sought: in this case the individual chooses to retreat inside himself. Terror is a real escape inward, so much so that the muscles can become paralyzed in an attempt to reduce the sensitivity of the organism during the presumed or real agony.

Horror is a feeling of strong fear and disgust aroused by what appears cruel and repugnant in a physical or moral sense. By extension, horror can indicate a fact, an object or a situation that arouses such a feeling.

“You will never be enough”

Many people have common fears, but you. Oh, if only I had only a few. There are so many that you probably don’t even know them all. But no fear you have ever felt can be compared to what you felt in those moments.

In the moments when you were tied to the bed, with ropes that left marks on your wrists, when they pushed your head under water and continued to do so until you passed out, when they left you in a small room without food and water for days. And the memories continue. Those memories that every day, constantly, cloud your mind, make you feel even more angry towards the people who took you. For the conditions in which they made you live. For how they changed you.

—

The footsteps that echoed in the hallway, getting closer and closer to your room, were heavy, full of anger and rage. Somehow, it gave you a very clear idea of ​​what was waiting for you.

Those same footsteps stopped right in front of your door, then slammed it open and entered that small space where you are forced to spend your few free moments.

“Get up” said the hoarse voice of the man in front of you. “You’ve done it big this time, you mutt” he approached, forcefully lifting you to your feet.

You stumbled, but the strong grip the man had on your arm prevented you from falling. The two of you walked in a direction that was now familiar to you. The red door, given by the rust that had formed on it, was getting closer and closer, and with it the consequences of his actions.

The two guards in front of the door moved when they saw you coming and opened the door, both with an evil smile plastered on their faces, knowing exactly what was about to happen to you and ready to hear the noises they would hear.

The guard who had initially escorted you now led you to the center of the room. It had no windows, the only light came from a light bulb attached to the ceiling, right above you, the stone walls almost made you feel the pain that the other test subjects and prisoners had felt and among those screams of pain, you could hear yours too.

The guard made you undress, leaving you only in your underwear. The chains that he then tied to your limbs were heavy. Those same chains that you had been attached to for hours were sometimes no longer your first thought, not even the noise of the whip with the metal tip, which dragged along the floor emitting an annoying screech. No, your only thought was whether you would actually come out alive, and if so, how much longer you would last. He circled you, stopping right in front of you and lifting your head with a knife.

“Were these not enough for you?” he asked, smiling evilly at you and tracing the scars on the sides of your mouth with the tip of the knife. “Obviously not,” he pressed against your cheek, glaring at you with hatred and causing a few drops of your blood to fall to the ground.

You still remember the pain and the satisfied face of the person who had caused them. You remember one of your attackers holding your head still while the other, without flinching, pushed the blade against your skin. You remember your eyes filling with tears and the two of them laughing at the scene. You remember your mouth filling with blood, that metallic taste that was unknown to you before, now oh so familiar. You remember being taken to a doctor who, without caring about your pain, began to sew your cheeks back together.

He spat at you, then returned to his starting position behind you.

Your back arched as the whip came into abrupt contact with your skin. Your hands gripped the chains so tight that if they had been normal, they would have broken. You could feel the skin splitting open, wounds that were now almost completely healed reopening, blood running down your back. You felt like you were on fire. The subsequent lashes were never in the same place, but each time they hit an open wound it felt like a limb was being torn from your body. You could hear the laughter of the man behind you and, unfortunately thanks to your super soldier hearing, that of the guards outside the door.

You were always taught never to grimace in pain or show signs of weakness in general. Maybe that's why you didn't cry; or maybe, more simply, because you didn't have the strength to do so. The first few times they tortured you, your screams could be heard from thousands of miles away, but now it was as if they had ripped out your vocal cords. You didn't even know what your voice sounded like anymore. Was it high-pitched, like the little girl who was kidnapped all those years ago, or hoarse, like the monster they created, or soft, like you spoke to that red-haired Russian girl you'd met all those years ago, during your time in the Red Room? You couldn't have known that. 

You didn’t know if your mind went blank for the rest of the punishment or if you fainted, you just knew that you didn’t feel the last lashes. It was almost as if your body was a mannequin. You could feel the skin of the whip on your skin, but you didn’t feel any pain. But you could see, or imagine, a very well defined, but above all very familiar silhouette. That very bright red hair, those sharp green eyes, those full lips, that body, those shapes that some time ago had been your favorite.

Natalia. Your Natalia. The girl you, against your will, began training during your time in the Red Room after the unexpected death of your predecessor. The girl with whom you formed an unbreakable bond in such a short time. The girl who introduced you to that feeling that still consumes you just thinking about it.

You muttered her name under your breath, but in that dark, windowless room, the sound was amplified. And, unfortunately for you, the murmur of that name, which even now, years later, still instilled fear, was heard by your torturer. He stopped, the hand that held the whip still behind his head, ready to deliver yet another violent and painful lash. His face showed shock and disbelief, but it was quickly replaced by an expression of anger mixed with terror. He quickly dropped the whip, and quickly returned in front of you, kneeling down and forcefully cupping your face in his hands, his fingers applying pressure against the hideous scars on your cheeks.

“What the fuck did you just say, mutt?” he spat, his spit landing on your face. You closed your eyes, not wanting to look into the eyes of the man in front of you. You tried to hide your face by turning it towards the floor, but his grip was too tight. “Say that again, if you dare.”

Silence.

The small, dark, gray room was deadly silent. The only sound that could be heard was the mix of yours and his labored breathing. You looked up at the man’s eyes, but this time there was no more anger or fear on his face, replaced by a smirk.

“Did I hear that right?” he began, after you whispered the forbidden name again. “Is that the name of that cheating bitch Black Widow? The girl who made you weak? The bitch who’s the reason these scars were made on your face?” he laughed.

“Did you really think she fell in love with you, that you two had something special? Oh, honey, she just used you to escape that shithole that is the Red Room. No one could love a monster, not a murderer, not even a monster himself,” he continued.

“I’m not a monster,” you muttered, watching the man’s face harden and turn red with anger. “You made me one,” you spat in his face, smiling at his shocked face. Apart from the first few times, you had never spoken to anyone like that, too scared of the consequences. But you had nothing left to lose.

He looked at you for a few seconds and then called out to the guards outside the door. They untied you from the heavy chains and forcefully dragged you out of the small room, walking down the long corridor that smelled of death, probably from the multitude of now-deceased bodies that remained in the basement to rot.

They pushed you into another room, this time much larger and much brighter thanks to the many lights, but still without windows. You realized how heavy the consequences of your actions would be only when you saw the chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by all the other utensils.

“No no no no, please. I’ll be good, I swear. Please, I beg you. Everything but the chair” you screamed, your voice full of terror. They ignored you, without even deigning to look at you and, with a few struggles, they tied you to the seat. You started to squirm, trying in every way to free yourself from the straps, but one of the two guards, positioning himself behind the chair, held your face still while the other, after briefly heating the blade of his knife with a blowtorch, started to cut your cheeks, in the exact same spot as the original carvings.

This time, unlike before, you screamed in pain, hot tears streaming down your face and mixing with the blood, landing on your wounds and starting to burn. This went on for quite some time, the guard only stopping when a deep, raspy voice ordered him to stop and move away from your painful form. Your vision was blurry, the figure in front of you unidentifiable, but that didn’t matter. He touched your cut and bloody cheeks, pressing hard against the cuts, making you moan in pain. “Oh, how I love it when whores like you moan for me,” he muttered. He motioned for another individual to come over and position the machine above your head in the correct position. The iron was cold against your skin, which brought relief for a millisecond.

“Wipe her,” he ordered, not a shred of hesitation in his words.

“But Sir, she is too weak. She may not survive,” another voice replied, higher pitched and with an Eastern European accent, very different from your Western one

“I told you to do something, and you will do it, without question. Wipe her.”

The doctor approached the control panel of the machine, and with uncertainty, he lowered a large lever and immediately the room echoed for a second time with your cries of pain. The procedure took a long time, almost longer than usual, but it was much less precise and effective, since the last thing you thought about before giving in to the pain and passing out was the very person who put you in these conditions.

Natalia Romanova.

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

girl, i wanna see you undo it

i wanna see you but you’re not mine.

how the other batboys react to a breakup

18+, mdni !!!!!!

readers can expect: a fem reader, lotttta angst, cursing, mentions of violence, sexually explicit scenes including mentions of penetration, oral, and masturbation. also tim drake being a creep via e-stalking but reader is aware of it and more or less okay with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

your ex boyfriend, bruce wayne, was avoiding alfred.

his butler was insisting on signing him up for therapy, and bruce was dodging him, hard. he didn’t have it in him. he wouldn’t go pay a professional to hear how pathetic he was over the lack of you in his life. couldn’t. he’s found a much more effective way to get out his emotions.

one that involves his fists and a goon’s face.

it was probably cruel, these poor goons were just trying to feed their families, or something, but batman was indifferent.

he was now always nearing dangerously close to breaking his no-kill rule. almost always teetering over that edge. even with his own life. he’d head out in the batsuit, prowling the seediest streets of gotham, hoping, practically praying, for someone to do something illegal. he would put himself in the most deadly situations just to feel alive. wasn’t the healthiest solution, but.

did he care? no.

bruce was numb, unfeeling to those around him. he couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror, not at the stupid fuck who’d lost the love of his life. he’d lagged behind in his case solving, gordon was growing increasingly more concerned. he was rude to the paparazzi asking after you, almost able to hear your voice in his ear, telling him to be nicer to them, whacking him on the bicep. he’d throw his usual charity galas, sure, but would send dick or jason in his place to showboat. he didn’t have the patience to talk to reporters. didn’t want to show face if you weren’t there on his arm. you always made the social aspect much more bearable. would always help him relieve the stress of it all after the event had ended.

but did he still care about you? yes.

just like when you were dating, bruce taking care of you was second nature.

he wouldn’t dare cancel the flower deliveries he’d set up when the two of you were together. they appeared at your apartment door every week and a half, always something different, but always in your favorite colors. you couldn’t stay mad at them either, the flowers brightened up your kitchen so nicely. when you and bruce were dating, he’d merged your calendars, just so scheduling was easier. you’d since deleted the connection, but he somehow still knows when you have appointments, as you’ll come out of your building’s lobby to a sleek black wayne enterprises car. the chauffeur opening the car door for you silently. you’d take it over the subway every time, even if it was a little awkward.

the dating app you’d downloaded after the breakup kept glitching, never letting you text any of your matches back. if you cared more, you’d contact support, but it was so odd. everything else on your phone works perfectly fine! but you had a gut feeling it had something to do with your ex boyfriend.

bruce might’ve slipped oracle a few bills for her silence over that favor.

he tried not to think about the fact you were already willing to start dating again. he couldn’t fathom being with anyone else. could not possibly wrap his head around it. why would he want anyone when he could have you? when he had already had you? everyone else seemed..lackluster.

it’s the same reason he’d been celibate since the breakup. after you, he was tainted. he didn’t think he’d ever be able to have sex again without thinking of you. especially in his own house. the two of you had fucked on every surface possible, seriously. tried every position.

it’d been difficult just sleeping in his own bed when he used to share it with you. used to make your legs shake as you gripped at the sheets. would never make you beg for anything, eating you out until you couldn’t take it anymore. that’s when bruce would press you up against him, holding you up with his huge arms as he pounded into you, his balls slapping against your clit as you whined, barely able to form words.

he’d never been with anyone the way he had with you. so obviously he wasn’t even able to finish with his own hand. it was nothing, nothing compared to the way you felt. his imagination would never have him moaning the way you could. could never make him melt the way you oh so easily were able to, with just a look.

so he was numb. and bruce just figured that’s how he’d stay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

your ex boyfriend, jason todd, throws his book across the room, flinching when it thuds against the wall opposite.

annoyed at the surprise romantic subplot, he huffs out a breath from behind his hands. he has to get over his sudden aversion to romance, but it feels impossible after losing you. he can’t watch any of his favorite movies, can only read a select few of his favorite books.

he barely even goes out anymore, mostly to avoid seeing couples on dates. the two of you loved going out together, loved going out to community events like concerts in the park, fairs in the summer. he missed accompanying you to your nephew’s t-ball games, watching you cheer and beam up at him in one of his old baseball hats.

so he barely goes out. he doesn’t have you with him!

he saw an elderly couple strolling in the park the other day. jason had promptly turned in the opposite direction, to avoid crumpling into a ball and sobbing or throwing up into the nearest trash can.

he’d gotten back onto his bike and rode home, going way over the speed limit. he didn’t care about being safe on it anymore, not when you weren’t there to ask him to or be his backpack. he missed the way you’d hold on to him, your thighs bracketing his torso as the bike roared. how at stoplights you’d rub your palms over his chest, grabbing his pecs with your gloved hands. your resulting giggle was muffled through your motorcycle helmet, but it was still the sweetest sound in the world to him.

but jason stopped bothering trying to function out in public after that, only ever really leaving his place for missions and to train at wayne manor.

and boy, had he been training. ever since the two of you had broken up, he’d been working out to the point of exhaustion.

barely peeling himself off of the floor after each workout, always heading straight to the shower to rinse the sweat off while he zoned out into the steam. after his workouts was the only time he would relieve himself. he’d hunch over with one hand propping him up opposite the tiled wall, the other fisted around his cock as he thought of your pretty smile, your gorgeous eyes, the meat of your thighs, the curve of your ass. how you’d clench around his cock with yet another orgasm, moaning his name into the mattress.

he’d finish, hard, his body shuddering, leaving him to be ashamed with himself.

he wasn’t allowed to do this, he wasn’t allowed to think of you like you were still his. all this and yet the pain in his muscles still didn’t ease the pain in his heart, the pain seeping into his bones whenever he thought about you.

jason was still hesitant to be around his siblings.

you had left your perfume in his bathroom, and while he knows it sounds crazy, he's been spraying it on his clothes. he misses the way they would smell like you after you’d borrow them. he still hadn’t touched one of his flannels, the one you loved to steal and loved to see him in. he didn’t see the point in wearing it if you weren’t there to see it.

the last time he’d seen damian, his little brother had loudly asked him why he “smelled girly.”

jason had turned bright red and mumbled something probably unintelligible before briskly walking away, bumping into the doorframe on his way out.

he’s been spraying your perfume on the pillow you’d always use too, snuggling it close to his chest like he used to with you while he fell asleep.

it’s definitely not the same, but it’s the closest jason has to the real thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tim drake, your ex boyfriend, swiveled in his desk chair, spinning back and forth. the monitors covering the wall above his desk were alive with various video feeds and social media websites.

@user892548276 was viewing your instagram story, a gorgeous selfie of you that tim had already screenshotted. he had plans for that later. @gothamite69 was liking your latest tweet, while @ilovedoggiess couldn’t get enough of your latest tiktok.

he knew he had to switch up the users so you’d think it was bots. you’d figure it out otherwise. too bad he had a thing for smart people.

he nodded, satisfied at the cctv feed of the street your apartment building was on, before throwing a hoodie on over his bare chest. tim strolled into the kitchen, his sweats slung low on his hips. he ran a hand through his hair, using the other to grab the coffee pot to refill his mug.

“hey, tim. whatcha up to?” jason leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed.

tim jumped, turning around.

“just some surveillance, nothing much.” he replied, hoping he sounded nonchalant.

“ohh, that case for bats?”

“mmhm.” tim cracked his knuckles, something of a nervous habit he’d developed after the breakup. and his serious lack of sleep.

“well, i won’t keep you. tell y/n i said hi!”

tim flinched at the mention of you as jason left in the direction of the garage. it’s not his brother’s fault. jay had been really busy with the outlaws lately, never home long enough to realize tim hadn’t brought you over in weeks. tim scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. maybe it was the exhaustion muddling things, but tim can’t remember the last time he’d had a full night’s sleep. it was already difficult falling asleep. it only made it worse that every time he did fall asleep he dreamed about you.

but dick had noticed. he had slowly transitioned tim’s assignments to mainly desk work. his older brother was probably worried about him being too tired on the field and getting hurt. but he hadn’t told bruce. tim preferred it that way. he didn’t need a big fuss about if he was okay or his performance level as a hero.

tim grabbed his mug, making his way back to his bedroom. he caught a glimpse of a dark figure in the window, spooking himself. he was on edge so much worse than usual. his reflection stared back at him, his face skinny and his eyebags dark against the pale skin of his cheeks.

tim shook his head, heading into his bedroom. he swayed a little, locking the door behind him. he set his mug on his desk, sitting down in his chair just in time to see you heading down the street.

he stood up so fast his chair rocketed back, hitting the wall. you usually don’t go out on thursday nights. is everything okay??

he types frantically, finding different angles to effectively follow you down the street, physically recoiling to see you stop at a restaurant. just another date.

you stopped, looking around, waving when you spot a blond guy walking towards you. tim enhances the best he can, zooming in on this asshole who thinks he’s good enough for you. tim scoffs out loud at the wrinkled shirt your date has on, looking ridiculous in comparison to your beauty.

the sundress you’re in is one of his favorites, red and white and flowery. he gulps down a sip of coffee at his screen when you turn around, the fabric hugging your body. he blinks, snapping out of it as your date ushers you into the restaurant. tim cracks his knuckles. he reaches for his phone, pulling up your contact. he itches to call you, to pull you out of the date you’re on, to make you think about him instead of that tool you’re with.

but he can’t. he shouldn’t.

he pulls up the screenshot of your story instead, staring at the selfie of you in his favorite sundress. his cock twitches against the fabric of his sweats. he can’t even count how many times he’s had you rutting against him with that dress hiked up to your waist.

he tosses his phone onto his bed, sitting back in his desk chair as he palms his cock, his brain full of thoughts of you.

you pressed up against him in a slinky dress as you slow dance at a wayne gala. waking up in your bed how the two of you fell asleep, naked, limbs intertwined. dancing in a gotham nightclub together, your hair in your face as you throw your arms up and swivel your hips in his direction in your shortest dress. the texts and pictures you’d been sending back and forth after the breakup, unable to let each other go.

tim throws his head back as he finishes, your name on his lips. his body rigid, the warm liquid all over his hands. he cleans himself off, staring into nothing until his computer dings at the motion detected on your street. you’re strutting down the sidewalk, the street empty. before you head inside your building, you stare into the cctv camera across the street. you wave, smiling coyly. tim sits up straighter, holding his breath. you hold up your thumb, and tim groans. that guy??

but you flip your thumb down at the camera, shaking your head. bad date.

tim whoops, beaming.

he shuts down his computer before flopping onto his bed, burrowing under the covers. five minutes later, he’s fast asleep as his coffee grows cold where it sits on his desk.

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids,

I feel like advice on loneliness comes in only three flavors:

"It's all mindset, learn to embrace being alone and you'll never feel lonely!"

"Your head is lying to you, you have friends and they love you!"

"Here's a list of places you can go to hang out with people and make new friends!"

Those are usually well-meant and I'm sure there are situations where they do help someone feel better - but they're definitely not universally applicable.

The first one is even plain wrong: connection is a basic human need. You can't just "change your mindset" and turn that off, the same way you can't turn off your need for food or air or mental stimulation. Humans are group animals. We absolutely need social interactions to stay healthy and sane. It is true that some people do not need a large number of friends and are happiest with just one or two close friends, and it is also true that some people prefer to fulfill their social needs in other ways than what's traditionally defined as friendship - but that's not something you can (or should) try to train yourself to do, that's just natural differences and preferences!

The only thing you could "train" yourself to do would be to learn to ignore your social needs and bury them deep down under layers of denial... and you don't need me to explain to you why that's a very unhealthy idea. It's sad enough that so many people have to do that to not lose their minds in loneliness, we certainly don't need to celebrate an unhealthy coping skill as a "superior mindset".

The other two at least get a bit closer to the truth: the solution for your unmet need is not to kill the need, but to fulfill it... but that's easier said than done, isn't it?

After all, "Don't worry, your friends love you!" doesn't help if you have no friends. Loneliness is not always "all in your head": Maybe you moved to a new place and don't know anyone there. Or you cut off contact with all your friends after a big fight. Or you grew up neurodivergent (or got mentally ill at a young age) and had no chance to learn how to make friends at the age most kids do, and by now you have been friendless for so long you don't even know where to start.

Same with "just go to a bar and talk to some new people" or "Take a pottery class and you'll meet some interesting people there" - that's not factually wrong, but also not helpful if the reason you feel lonely is that you struggle to make friends (or even struggle to just talk to people). Which can also be part of neurodivergence or mental illness, or just be a part of your personality (shyness), or be a result of isolating circumstances (like having spent a lot of time in a closed environment, for example a long hospital stay, and now feeling unsure how to connect with people outside of that environment). 

And those are just a few of the many, many possible explanations why someone may be lonely that require a more individualized approach - which is why we can’t solve loneliness with any one-size-fits-all solution.

That may be a somewhat disappointing-sounding conclusion in a letter on loneliness, so let me also tell you: hope and support are always within reach, even if it might take some time and patience to find them. The key is to remember that your feelings are valid and that you're not alone in your struggle.

First, recognize that admitting that you feel lonely, and wanting to take action based on that feeling, is a sign of strength, not weakness. You’re pretty insightful for recognizing your loneliness and super brave for wanting to reach out!

Secondly, be kind to yourself and allow yourself to take small steps. Small, actually manageable steps are crucial in any healing journey! If it’s not an option to just go to the bar or that pottery class, then it’s okay to start somewhere else. Maybe a therapist, a support group, or even online communities can be valuable “training sessions” for social connections. Even reaching out to one single person can make a significant difference over time. Your journey to finding companionship and connection might be different from someone else’s, but that doesn't make it any less valid (or achievable!).

Lastly, do consider embracing new activities that you may enjoy - but not just for the sake of meeting others. It’s important to nurture your own happiness and well-being when you’re feeling lonely. Those can be activities you can try out alone and even at home, for now! Anything that enriches your life is good. Long down the road, maybe it will lead to opportunities to connect with others, but even if it doesn’t: it’s important to incorporate new experiences into your life.

While there isn't a universal solution to loneliness, I truly believe there is a path forward for everyone. It's all about finding what works for you.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

[literatureloverx]

Mdni, ideal type! fem!reader x Dazai Osamu, VERY LONG AND DETAILED, platonic relationships such as: Odasaku, Atsushi, Kunikida, Chuuya and Sigma are briefly mentioned, Yandere behaviour, unhealthy behaviour, psychological disorders and suicide/double suicide mentioned.

DAZAI’S MASTERLIST => HERE

I enjoyed writing for Dazai very much, he has a big place in my heart.🩵 I received a request regarding PM!Dazai’s ideal type as well, I’ll post it in a few days.🩵

Dazai’s ideal type

Dazai is a complex and enigmatic figure, who can be described as a romantic—though not in the conventional sense of actively seeking love and connection.

Instead, he romanticizes the idea of meaningful connections. What does this mean?

Dazai is known to suffer from depression and harbors a deep desire to end his life.

However, he doesn’t wish to do so alone. He fantasizes about dying with a “beautiful woman” in a double suicide, which is inherently romantic.

This desire echoes tragic love stories like Romeo and Juliet or Cleopatra and Mark Antony, where love and death are intertwined.

This suggests that Dazai may deeply fantasize about love and being loved—perhaps even yearning for someone who loves him so much that she would sacrifice her life for him.

But why would someone wish for a double suicide in the first place?

Dazai sees no purpose in life, a perspective not commonly shared by others.

This makes it likely that his ideal partner would be someone who not only values life but is also grateful for what she has��because Dazai is only truly comfortable when he is surrounded by such people as Atsushi, Kunikida, Chuuya (debatable), and even Sigma.

He needs to learn this perspective to find his own meaning in life.

She would possess a sweet, positive spirit but would still be able to fully grasp Dazai’s bleak outlook, his feelings, and his philosophy—or the lack thereof.

Dazai might be drawn to a partner who is calm, patient, and nurturing.

Given his often childish behavior, it’s possible that he never had the chance to experience love in a normal, healthy way during his childhood.

We know little about his upbringing, but it’s clear he lacks any emotional connection or attachment to his parents.

Dazai is deeply wounded, depressed, and feels empty—though the reasons remain unclear.

The only person Dazai has truly loved, and who loved him in return, seems to be Odasaku.

So what makes Odasaku so special? What traits does he possess that Dazai might seek in a partner?

Odasaku was always calm and patient with him, seeing through Dazai’s lifeless eyes and empty heart.

He recognized Dazai's pain, suggesting that “someone needs to rip that pain out of this child’s chest.”

What if Dazai's ideal partner is someone who embodies these comforting and meaningful qualities, loving him unconditionally?

I believe this to be the ultimate solution to many aspects that trouble Dazai.

Teenage Dazai, in particular, strikes me as more of a “puppy” than the “cat” he becomes as an adult—craving affection and warmth.

He needed someone who cared for him, and that someone was Odasaku. His partner should be able to do the same.

Dazai might love a calm partner who can handle his antics but also sees through them without violating his comfort zone or coping mechanisms.

She would understand his inner darkness but wouldn’t fear it—instead, she would embrace it with a loving demeanor.

She would be confident, but in a strangely shy and quiet way.

She would be someone who is at peace with herself, someone who is inspirational to others.

She would accept him as he is and believe in him, helping him to become the best version of himself.

This is why Dazai is so fond of Atsushi.

Atsushi is empathetic, having suffered himself, and he embraces Dazai with unconditional love.

If Dazai were to meet a woman who could offer the same understanding and compassion, it’s hard to see why he wouldn’t be saved.

Dazai feels responsible for Atsushi, and it gives his life a certain meaning he doesn’t truly grasp yet.

If he felt the same responsibility for someone much closer to his heart—his lover—it would have a profoundly positive effect on him.

Regarding physical traits, Dazai doesn’t seem overly concerned with them.

However, he has expressed a preference for “beautiful” women, as seen in his desire to commit double suicide with one.

While physical beauty might not be his top priority, he likely appreciates aesthetically pleasing women.

Dazai claims to like all women, but I can imagine him being drawn to a feminine, quiet, and insightful young woman.

This woman would possess an innate ability to sense others’ emotions and motivations, her sensitive and calm nature allowing her to do so effortlessly.

She would be observant, with her beauty often leading others, including Dazai, to underestimate her at first.

And yet, it would be as if she could read his mind and heart—something deeply uncomfortable for someone as guarded and inflexible with his own vulnerability as Dazai.

Interestingly, some of these traits might also make her an ideal partner for Fyodor.

However, while Dazai and Fyodor are alike in some aspects, they differ in others.

Fyodor’s ideal type might align with Dazai’s, but with less submissiveness and more approachability.

Does it ring? The drama that might approach?

Let me summarize: In terms of personality, Dazai has a soft spot for empathetic and loving people.

Therefore, he would undoubtedly adore a darling who is very empathetic, sensitive, and kind.

I don’t see him having a specific preference for body type—short, tall, curvy, or skinny; it doesn’t matter to him.

He will always find a way to appreciate your body in every sense, as this is simply part of who Dazai is. You shouldn’t be surprised by that.

I can see Dazai taking a liking to long hair (similar to Fyodor), as it emphasizes femininity.

He might particularly favor wavy or curly hair because it gives a more approachable, sweet, and innocent appearance compared to straight or short hair.

This style implies youth and an ethereal quality, which aligns perfectly with Dazai’s romanticism.

Skin color, as well as hair and eye color, wouldn’t matter to him at all.

In his mind, he would view you, his love, as aesthetically ethereal and one of a kind.

Your features would be etched into the canvas of his mind's eye, surrounded by fitting backgrounds and colors.

With you, he would find solace, love, and acceptance, as well as the meaning in life he has been desperately searching for.

You don’t need to match his intellect or mastermind abilities; he cherishes those around him who don’t possess these qualities, and he doesn’t look down on them.

What he needs is someone empathetic enough (like Oda [ in his case platonically]) to love him unconditionally and sincerely, without judging him—someone who would guide him to the light without expecting anything unnatural or selfish in return.

However, his darling would need to be mentally strong and willing to share his burdens.

This is difficult to do and would only work with true, pure love, which is why Dazai needs someone who loves him unconditionally.

I don’t see Dazai manipulating his darling because he doesn’t manipulate or control the people he cherishes. Instead, he trusts them.

This would be the case with his darling as well. He would trust her, and this trust would be a choice that greatly benefits his well-being.

You would need to bring brightness to his life—love, warmth, connection, and compassion—balancing out his dark inner world.

He would be astonished when he realizes how deeply you love him without being manipulated, how pure your feelings are, and how you seem to see his soul and accept him as he is (much like Fyodor).

Your dedication to helping him improve, because you see the light and potential in him, would touch him deeply.

To you, he is human, and you wish to help him see that too. He loves you for it, so, so much.

Once Dazai recognizes this, he would never, ever let you go.

He might fear losing you or worry that you deserve better, but he would be too selfish to let you be with anyone else.

This would make him fiercely protective of you, even as he tries to maintain his enigmatic self, playing it off with his usual clinginess.

But of course, you would see right through this and reassure him that you’ll always be there for him, protecting him from anyone and anything else, even from himself.

In return, he would protect you, love you, and obsess over you—affectionately.🩵

TO MY OTHER WORKS => HERE

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

Word count: 5.2 k Summary: Yup it’s König with a Virgin!Nun!Reader folks. This is all @wordstome 's and @melancholic-thing 's and their König & religion post's fault! :( Tags/warnings: PINING. Eventual smut, eventual blood & minor injuries. A cute, sweet, silly story with undertones of religious despair. Watch out for possible mistakes concerning Catholicism, I was more interested in the forbidden love trope.

Part 1

You don’t know how it even happened, but you became friends with a foreign man visiting your city. 

You bumped into him one day. Literally bumped into him, or then he bumped into you; you’re not entirely sure who’s to blame here, but you would’ve fallen to the ground had he not grabbed you by the arm and hauled you back up and against him. 

It was just to prevent you from hurting yourself, but your mind short circuits for a moment when you’re pressed against the broadest chest you’ve ever seen. The man is tall, so tall you have to crane your neck to see who has such lightning-fast reflexes.

Worried eyes look down at you from above, but the man’s expression softens when he sees how frightened you look.

“I’m so sorry. Are you ok?”

“Yes… Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

He starts to fuss about being in such a hurry without any particular reason and asks if he can make this up for you somehow.

Could he offer you a lunch or something? No, how about a drink? He’s truly so sorry.

His accent is charming, and the genuine regret and worry make you quickly judge him as a safe enough person to grab a coffee with. Accidents happen, and it’s not illegal to sit down with a man you just met, right?

You tell him you don’t drink drinks, but a coffee would be nice. The man raises an eyebrow when you reveal to him that you’re not only a teetotaler, you’re also a nun. 

“Ah… So you prefer a simple life?” 

He takes you to a dark, cosy cafe around the corner. His inquiry leads to a conversation on the joys of silence and simplicity, then on philosophy, faith, and the cons of modern life. By the time he grabs you a table for two, you’re already discussing how people are always on their smartphones nowadays, looking for instant gratification and pleasures and how it wrecks their brains. You both gush about how nice it is to steer away from all that. 

You find yourself talking to him with ease about your life choices. How the anxiety reached a point where you wanted to get away from all the fuss, and how much peace this solution has brought you. How you have meaning and purpose these days, and how you doubt you’d be able to adjust into a modern society anymore. He gets what you mean immediately, saying he only feels at home when he’s alone in the mountains. How he’s been alone his whole life, really, and that it doesn’t scare him anymore, on the contrary.

You feel warm and safe with him, lost inside a soft bubble you quickly create in the corner table of a cellar cafe. Perhaps it’s the dimly lit environment or perhaps it’s just him, but you have one of the deepest conversations ever with this mysterious man.

He’s attentive and curious without being your usual pervert on the sly. You’ve had enough of men looking at you like you’re the forbidden fruit after hearing about your life choices. 

This man doesn’t try to seduce his way into your pants; he listens to your insights and agrees with you on how silence does you good, especially in times like this. You wonder what he does for work and why he’s here because clearly, he’s not local. You never get to ask him because the conversation ends far too quickly. 

He receives a message on his phone, cruelly reminding you that the magical bubble has burst and you’re back in the modern world. He looks crabby about the interruption too, especially when he says he has to go.

You both agree that you had a nice talk and should continue it sometime – why not tomorrow? Same time, same place.

So you meet him again. 

And again… And again. 

You find out he’s in town for at least two weeks, but when he finally reveals what he does for work, your stomach sinks. He tells you he’s working for some private military contractor and can’t really share any details about his work. When you ask him does this mean that he kills people for money, he falls silent.

“I guess you could put it like that.”

He’s looking at his shoes when he says it, somewhat embarrassed or sad. His feet barely fit under the table, so he has them stretched out, leading to a waitress almost tripping on them one day. Your heart is squeezing inside your chest when he rises immediately and apologises like the perfect gentleman, helps the lady up and never gets insulted by the murderous glares the woman shoots at him. 

He gives you his codename, König, and that he comes from Austria, but then refuses to share any other personal details. You don’t even get to know his first name. You do talk about your childhood, you talk about your schools and what you were supposed to become when you grew up. He tells you about his love for hiking, and you tell him about your dance hobby. 

The usual “Oh? Nuns are allowed to dance?” comment has you laughing. 

“Well… I don’t do twerking, but yes, nuns are allowed to dance.”

“What’s ‘twerking’?”

It’s so funny how you seem to know about modern trends more than him. You know about Tinder and TikTok through your friends; it’s just that these things are really not for you. Still, this König knows even less about dating apps and internet challenges than you. 

It makes you intrigued: he could have dozens of women right now if he wanted to. And not only because he’s attentive and kind: he’s so big and tall that most women would beg him to whisk them away. All he needed to do was go to a hookup site and deal out some likes. 

Most of his muscles are packed in the shoulders and chest area, making it challenging for him to fit through a door. You can see he hasn’t skipped a leg day either, and immediately chastise yourself for checking out his butt in the coffee queue. You ignore your filthy thoughts of wanting to get pressed against those pecs again, you pay no attention to the fleeting musings on how good that short stubble would feel against your neck if he ever chose to kiss you there.

A soldier and a nun make an odd pair, but you find yourself enjoying his company more than anyone elses. He seems to wait for your meetings with eager but polite enthusiasm, too. You know it’s an attempt to make you forgive his choice of career when he reveals to you that his best mission was when he saved thirty women from sex trafficking. And it does make your heart crack open a little. Killing is a sin, but he has tried to protect life in his own crude way.

You start to include him in your prayers. First, you ask for the Lord to guide this man away from the path of killing. Then, slowly, you ask him to be protected from harm, you only pray for him to be safe. 

And you say nothing of this new acquaintance to the others. You ought to, but your lips remain sealed.

You’re allowed to have friends and visit them, and it doesn’t matter if the friend is of the opposite sex as long as the meetings are purely platonic. Which they are. This man could be your brother, you tell yourself. He could be a long-distance cousin. There’s nothing fishy going on around here, and he’s just visiting, so why would you bother to tell anyone? It would only lead to troubled sighs and concerned questions, and you really don’t feel like answering them right now.

You miss a few midday prayers, and once, your chores. The relationship turns out to be far from platonic.

König can’t even keep his eyes in check. 

They travel down your neck and land on the smallest amount of cleavage, barely visible in the loose, dull shirts you wear. They slip further down and stop to admire your breasts next, then quickly rise back to your collarbones as if this was just a mistake, just an absent, wandering gaze. You know you’re wearing a semi-helpless stare by the time he meets your eyes. The blue steel in his is completely swallowed by hunger.

You want to believe it was only a momentary lapse, but then he does it again. Actually, you catch him looking at your breasts, scanning your body and cherishing the tender spot between your collarbones more times than you can count. They’re quick, stolen moments, so harmless that you choose to stay quiet. He usually starts to talk about something trivial right after, or asks you a quick question as if nothing ever happened.

Those stolen glimpses stay with you for the rest of the day though. They give you intrusive thoughts during morning prayers and evening silence. You’ve never felt this… adored.

He has a quiet, commanding presence, and you feel like a mouse under his gaze, a mouse who’s always thoroughly examined. At the same time, he’s so polite and so charming that you can’t think ill of him. He always takes your coat and brings you coffee, always asks how your day or week has been, and actually listens to you speak. He listens to your every word with a softening glow in his eyes, a shimmer that spreads across the table and makes you feel warm all over. 

König always softens in your presence... You always tense up in his. 

Your face is flushed, and you blame it on the overcrowded cafe. You feel both safe and in danger with him, and it must be the virgin inside you talking. But you sense there’s something more at play here. He’s simply not like other men. 

You fear he’s seen hell; in fact, he must walk there every day. From what he tells you, you understand that he has suffered a lot and could use your prayers. But it’s also quite clear that he’s not a victim anymore. 

It’s difficult to see this utterly charming teddy bear in front of you, enjoying his large cup of coffee and giving you the occasional husky laugh, then imagine the same man bursting through a door and starting a massacre. Marching in some dark, dirty recess with a rifle or a shotgun in his hands, hunting down screaming people and putting down his already bleeding enemies.

Because that’s what you imagine in your mind when he tells you he’s sometimes used as an insertion specialist; a human battering ram in short.

You look at his hands around the mug, long fingers curled in search of warmth. He has short, trimmed nails and no sign of blood under them… But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

…

"Oh honey. Soldiers are the worst," your friend sighs when you meet her at another cafe, different from where you meet your killing machine. It’s bubbly and lively and colourful, just like your friend; it’s the opposite of König, the special operations soldier who’s dark, intriguing, and intimate, just like the dimly lit cellar cafe you meet him in secret.

"He probably owns a Fleshlight," she mumbles with her mouth full of croissant.

"A… A what?"

She starts to cough at your innocent inquiry, and you know you didn’t hear ‘flashlight’ in the first place, it’s just that you’re not sure if you want to know what on earth she’s talking about now.

When she finally survives the munch she almost choked on, she politely tells you what a fleshlight is, and you find yourself not rolling your eyes, but actually thinking about König using one with need.

Christ have mercy…

"Soldiers are crazy. I once dated this peacekeeper,” your friend continues in her usual chirpy way. “Couldn't hold a conversation for his life. Unless it was about guns... And when I went over to his place, the walls were covered with pictures of naked women. It was so pathetic I had to keep myself from laughing. And oh god, now I remember! He offered me microwaved mac and cheese for dinner…"

You sip your coffee and listen politely to your friend ramble about some guy she used to date. She has a lot of these stories, and all of them are worth hearing. Sometimes you think if you’re living your unlived sex life through your friend, the way you’re so curious about hearing all the different descriptions of male genitalia and the crazy, funny, downright unbelievable scenarios that have happened to her. 

Some of the tales are so gross you’re quite happy you haven’t indulged yourself in casual sex. And at times, hearing about all the things your friend has gone through, being an onlooker to all that heartbreak and pining and loss, has managed to strengthe your resolve.

Being a nun isn’t so bad... At least you haven’t wasted your time on shallow men.

"He put so much chili in that shit that my makeup started to run," she continues her story about the poor excuse for a dinner and a date. Usually, the food leads to sex in these tales, and you’re a hypocrite for wanting to hear more.

"Did you sleep with him…?"

"After that? No thanks," she looks at you and raises an eyebrow. "I pretty much fled the building."

Even the most sad, pathetic, crappy tales make you both laugh, especially if enough time has passed. You laugh now, too, both at your friend falling for a man simply because he was a hot soldier and at the poor man who was in obvious need of an interior designer and a cook. Or a girlfriend… Or a mom.

"Look. I'm saying this because you're my friend." She says after wiping a few tears from her eyes, "And because you’re a virgin and a goddamn nun. Like come on, how many years have you been locked up in that dreadful monastery?"

"Convent," you correct.

"Whatever. I'm telling you this man is just looking for some easy pussy while he's deployed."

“I wouldn't call a nun an easy…ugh, you know.”

“Perhaps he likes a challenge then, “ she shrugs. “Men like to hunt.”

"It’s not like that,” you quarrel, trying to ignore the way her lips purse with amusement. “He's been very nice to me and… we have these great conversations. We talk about really deep stuff, you know? He explained the difference between Schopenhauer and Kierkegaard to me last time we met–"

"Ok, that's even worse. That's a red flag."

You look down at your beverage, sullen and beaten. She’s the first person you’ve told about meeting a man over a coffee, and you’re already doing it wrong.

"Does he ever look at your tits?" She asks all of a sudden.

"What?"

Your friend crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head, looking like an overly self-satisfied detective.

"Do you ever catch him staring at your breasts," she rephrases the question as if she’s talking to a lame person.

"Well… Uh. Yes, sometimes–"

"Well there you have it. Man's just bored with his fleshlight."

"Shh! Keep it down, would you…? Good God..."

"Don't take the name of the lord your god in vain," she chimes. “But seriously, it’s no wonder. If only we could get you out of that convent, there would be a line of men at your door.”

“Oh for God’s sake…”

“No, seriously. We’re talking about fistfights and broken bones. Dating apps would explode. People would get killed.”

You roll your eyes - your friend always loves to exaggerate things. If anything, you’re scared of men, and you loathe the dating world. You’re put off by shallow commitments and one-night stands and getting ghosted and God knows what else. That’s why you became a nun: to find something stable in your life. You always told your friend that Jesus Christ is the most stable man you’ve ever met, and you will stick with him. As always, your friend was not on the same page with you.

“Stable? Excuse me, but didn’t he start a riot or something at the temple? Are we talking about the same dude who lead an uprising against the Romans? Hung out with whores, raised corpses from the dead, fucked around and found out until someone nailed him at the cross? Stable my ass!”

“Look, even if he wants something more, I’m not up for it,” you try to convince - both yourself and your friend.

“Mm. What a shame,” she smirks. “Is he handsome?”

“Yes, but–”

“Mmh. Deep voice?”

“Umm… It’s memorable?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “Okay fine, it’s nice and deep and I like it. And I love his laugh,” you confess, and your friend does a silent little ‘yay’ and ‘I knew it’ cheer. You know it would be a field day for her if you finally got laid. As cliche as it sounds, you’ve always treated your friend as some sort of devil’s advocate.

You allow yourself to gush a minute, maybe two, about his muscles to your beloved devil. You tell your friend about his broad back, how wide his shoulders are, you tell her about the easy smiles he always sports with you. You describe the tactical pants and the snug black t-shirts he wears in detail, you confess he has a nice butt and that he’s so big he can't even fit the table. 

You tell her how König starts to talk with his hands if he gets excited and how you have to fear he’s going to knock something over and make a mess. You tell about his blue eyes and the way they always soften when he looks at you, and looks at you often. All the time, really. He doesn’t even see other women, uh, you mean, other people in the cafe. He’s polite to the waitresses but never fully acknowledges anyone else but you.

Your friend's enthusiastic grin turns into an uneasy, pitying smile when she realises how deep into this man you actually are. 

"I'm sorry babe… Someone has to give you the tough love," she reaches for your hand across the table. "Do you understand that if this guy is not working for the regular military, he's probably doing some war crime type of shit?"

The way you rush to defend your steadfast soldier who probably has his hands covered in blood, would make your abbess sigh.

"No, no, actually, he's working against these human trafficking cells–"

"Ok, he shoots human traffickers too, that's great. Good for him. You're still about to step into a pile of traumatised, immature, emotionally unavailable soldier shit. Trust me."

"Just because your soldier was like that doesn't mean mine has to be," you blurt.

Gosh - that was a good old Freudian slip...

"Yours now, is he?"

"No, that was… It just slipped."

"So you've actually thought about banging this guy?"

"What?! No."

"You have," she insists with a widening smile.

"No. No, I–"

"Oh my god. You're about to forsake your vows," she brings her hands together in excitement. "Oh my god, oh my god. This is amazing!"

You feel your lips snap into a thin line.

Just whose side is this woman on? Does she want to protect you from heartbreak or push you into some man's lap just for shits and giggles? 

If you're chosen by God, your friend is chosen by the Devil, that's for sure. Nothing exciting ever happens behind the walls of your 'monastery', nothing but endless prayers and boring lectures and monotonous chores. Of course she thinks it's about time you got a round of good dick. She just wants to hear a filthy story when you return from your secret little fling, a fling that could get you kicked out of the convent for good. 

"How tall is he exactly...? Does he have big hands?" 

Your friend's eyes are shining with excitement - apparently the possible war crimes and atrocities König has committed are forgiven and forgotten.

"What does that have to do with anything…?" 

"I can tell you what to expect in the dick department," she smiles with an impish grin.

You eventually leave the cafe with a dirty soul and a skittish heart.

The way your friend described your new acquaintance's probable blessings in the "dick department" left little to the imagination, and now you're actually scared. 

This man has been so polite towards you, so kind to you. He's offered you coffee and pastries and cake along with an intellectual challenge, but now it's all ruined because all you can think about is what's inside his pants. How big his hands are, and how they correlate with what's downstairs. How nice it would feel to lay under him, with his chest pressed against yours, how divine it would be to get pinned down by him. How those strong, narrow hips would fit between your legs, broad shoulders eclipsing the view above as he slowly crawls on top of you. How he'd kiss your neck, your collarbones, your mouth, with such hunger that your legs eventually give in and spread wide open.

You return to the convent with a heavy heart and distressed thoughts, but find some solace in your evening prayers.

Nothing has happened, you remind yourself; these are only thoughts. You have seen a man who's interested in you for half a dozen times. You took part in a shallow, mundane, earthly conversation today with your friend, but nothing carnal or wrong has happened. Everything is the way it has always been.

You’re safe now, completely safe here. There’s no chaos and no guns and no tall men with big dicks, no Austrian war criminals trying to seduce you and then discard you after their deployment ends. 

There’s only a man with a kind smile, warm eyes, and a nice, husky laugh. Some good coffee with distant notes of chocolate and perfectly civil conversations about European philosophers and the crisis of modern thought.

Sturdy walls support you; they have held you for centuries, and the crucifix above you has given hope to so many people before you. The ever-safe embrace of your faith envelops you, and you can always trust that you are loved, even when you’re flawed and incomplete.

Even with indecent thoughts, you can pray for mercy and ask for forgiveness. Even if you have impure urges towards your Austrian mercenary, you can still pray for him... It’s the least you can do to repay the kindness he has given you.

But the heaviness follows you to your room; it makes your chest feel dark and thick. You don’t say your last prayer before bed. You don’t want His eyes upon you tonight.

You don’t want to draw the Lord’s attention to you while your hand travels down beneath the sheets, your thoughts wandering to a certain god-like soldier with eyes like burning ice.

…

The next time you two meet, he crosses a clear boundary. 

König has started to take you for walks, sometimes suggesting you two could visit a museum, clearly wishing you’d show him around the city. In truth, he’s the one parading you around like you’re his cute little lady. He pays for your museum tickets and brings you ice cream while you sit on a bench at a park, grabs your arm to draw your attention to a few swans swimming in a pond. And that’s ok - physical touch like that is ok. Holding hands is not.

Because…

One time, when you’re walking down a hill path, admiring the sunset, a big, warm hand wraps itself around yours. 

It finds you in silence, envelops your tiny palm completely, squeezes you softly and emanates so much heat that a cord of fire shoots across your arm and straight into your heart.

You allow yourself to bask in the warmth of the huge, calloused palm for a few more seconds before ripping your hand away. You take a few hurried steps and turn, noticing he has stopped to look at you with guarded hesitation.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise even if König is the one who went off limits, “but this is not appropriate.”

“Entschuldigung… I know. That was out of bounds,” he raises a hand over his heart and bows his head a little, watching you from under his brows. You could keel over from how the gesture reminds you of Arthurian romances, of knights who place their hand on their heart to swear they’ll never disgrace a lady again. 

Instead, you nod, your soul saved but your heart sinking like an anvil dropped in the sea. You’d want nothing more than for him to do it again, to grab your hand in his and never let go.

The rest of the walk happens in awkward silence, and you thought he would keep his distance - Christ, you thought you would keep your distance - but he insists on walking near to you, and so you continue down the path with your fingers still touching each other every now and then. You don't even try to move your hand away.

I’m going to die, you scream internally while looking at the bleeding sunset in the distance. You can’t look at him; you can’t even talk to him. It’s like your body is pumped full of some drug these days.

Falling for someone so hard is making you feel faint; your insides are churning and turning and your brain is a mess. Your heart is racing so fast that you’re afraid you’ll end up having a heart attack one of these days.

He’s probably used to this: the thrill and the adrenaline, a world laced with rush and extremes, indulging in things such as guns and explosions and blood and women and darkness.

You only have your safe routines, your sisters, a few friends you meet over coffee, a family you visit thrice a year. You’re not used to being bombarded with hormones and raw emotion like this. You have never, ever lusted after a man like this. The only thing you ever craved for was another slice of cake.

“Do you still want to see me?” He asks apologetically when you approach the convent which has now started to resemble a frigid, uneventful prison.

“Of course,” you hurry to say. “Just… No more holding hands. Ok?”

“Ok,” he chuckles softly, and you stop and turn.

He’s never been this near to where you live, and you’re afraid someone will see you if he escorts you to the door. You can’t be seen with a man in your current state, that would be a catastrophe. Anyone in the building could tell that this friendship is far from platonic.

“I’m sure you’ll find some other girl to… hold hands with,” you say, hating how bitter and self-pitying you sound. You even swallow when you look up into his eyes. They’re so soft now that the ice has almost disappeared, devoured by longing, a thick and sinful darkness.

“What if I don’t want some other girl?” 

His voice is so wickedly gentle too.

You can see he’s fighting an inner battle to not touch you again; he’s standing toe to toe with you, towering above you, with his shoulders slightly hunched. If someone walked behind him, they wouldn’t even see you’re there because of how close you two are standing to each other. You can’t back away from him because you’d bump into a tall iron gate - in fact, you’re half-pressed against it now. 

“I’ve enjoyed our conversations,” he continues with a throaty voice. God, how you would melt if he used that voice in bed…

“So have I,” your voice comes out as a wavy whisper. “But there can’t be anything more than that... I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” he laments, but the corner of his mouth curves slightly up. “So sorry you wouldn’t even believe…”

It’s mischief and seduction, darkness and deception, and your insides squeeze into a tight little knot.

“Please… Let’s just keep it the way it was,” you plead with eyes that beg the complete opposite.

“Sure... I will try my best, Kätzchen. Is this your convent…?” 

You wonder if he’d pay you a visit if you told him where you sleep. You wonder if your single bed would creak if he tried to make love to you on it... You wonder if you could muffle your cries when you clenched with him inside you. If he’d groan too loudly when he reached his peak…

“It’s just around that corner,” you explain with a frail voice, hating how it betrays every single thing that crosses your mind.

“Good to know,” he replies, with no shakiness to his voice at all. He seems to enjoy making you so flustered; he seems to draw strength from people weaker than him. Which is probably 99 % of the population…

“How so,” you peep, already praying that he wouldn’t come to try his luck with the poorly locked windows. The back door is always open too because some of the nuns are smokers. König wouldn’t even need to use his insertion skills to get in.

“Now I know where to find you if I come to work here again,” he shrugs as if innocent. As if his eyes didn’t betray a few filthy thoughts too.

“Are you… Are you leaving then?”

“Soon.”

Your heart is about to break after two weeks of knowing some random guy, and you feel like the silliest woman in the world.

You try to remind yourself of what your friend said: this man just wants some easy pussy. He’s just bored with his fleshlight. Men like challenges, they like to hunt. You think about Lucky Luke and all the other cowboys who came and went as they pleased, breaking hearts and then riding into the sunset.

This cowboy only got to hold your hand though... And he’s saying he doesn’t want “some other girl”. Of course there’s a chance that he simply visits a brothel after discussing philosophy with you, or goes to a club or whatever, but you don’t want to entertain such horrible thoughts. 

“I’ll miss you, then,” you try to sound neutral while he’s looking down at you like you’re his first love.

“Ganz sicher, I will miss you too. Perhaps I’ll visit you, work trip or not?”

“That would be nice.”

“It might take a while. But you won’t forget me, ja?”

“Of course not. I will pray for you every day,” you smile with a good amount of affection. It has the same effect as saying something like “I want to blow you right here on this street” because your Austrian giant gets visibly excited. His breath quickens, and his eyes start to wander again. 

“...Are you sure I can’t hold your hand?”

You give him a shy smile, then quickly guide your eyes to the pavement. This König is definitely taking it as some love confession when a girl says she will pray for him. Your insides turn to jello when you see his hand close into a loose fist, then open with a spasmlike stretch. He wants to touch you so badly that he has to physically fight against it.

“No…?” He inquires high above you, so desperate that you’re quite sure he’s not frequenting any brothels in the area. He might stroke his cock to the thoughts of you, though…

You shake your head softly, then raise your eyes back to his. What a silly, silly man. If only you weren’t a nun, you’d let him do whatever he wants with you. Even abandon you after using you in every which way, because to be under that adoring gaze is worth a thousand heartbreaks.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

There’s more desperate hope in that question, and you wonder if tomorrow is the last time you’ll see each other. Soon could mean anything, but you can’t bear to hear the exact time and date when he leaves. Not tonight.

“Yes. Same time, same place,” you agree, then flee from under the dark, adoring stare to the safety of your cloister. 

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x FWB!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley, Reader

Summary: Simon is getting more and more obsessed with his little friend who constantly finds herself in his bed. But when you are off on a quick mission for a few weeks, Simon begins to grow restless and this no strings attached messing around finds itself being turned on its head. What happens when you get a text from him the day you get back, in the middle of the day?

Word Count: 4.8 k

Warnings:

Part 1:

Late Night Texts

Whatever spell you had cast, whatever potion you had had the Lieutenant drink down he didn’t know, but there had to be some preternatural reason that he could not get enough of you no matter how much he had. You were in his very veins, in the marrow of his bones, in the crevasses of his brain; he was completely head over heels for you and it was only growing by the day.

Your visits to his room under the shroud of darkness were becoming almost nightly at this point, his texts popping up so frequent that no matter when your phone vibrated after dark, you knew it would be him asking if you were on your way over back to his quarters. There was no complaints, however, as you could not get enough of his very particular brand of ecstasy.

You both were in so deep that it was becoming more than just an occasional hook up now and that was only demonstrated more when one night after another round of steamy hot body parts interlocking in that specific way that led to both of you experiencing that little death, he made a request of you that you had not expected.

“What?” you asked as Ghost stared back as you, brow furrowed and mouth contorted as if he were deep in thought while he lay beside you in the bed.

That stoic man knew that what he was going to ask you was going to sound obsessive, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t about to deny himself just to save face; as if his nightly texts weren’t already making him look like a lust-drunk teen. Ever since he hit it that first time, he had not been the same and it only compounded each time he got it until whatever composure he had flew away.

“I… need ya to keep your phone on ya at all times,” he said.

You weren’t one to always keep your phone with you outside of your barracks, not unless you were off duty or it was after hours. It was a nuisance to constantly be drawn to look at it when you were busy and you hated being controlled by it, but the moment he told you to keep it on you there was nothing else for you to do; you had to comply.

“Keep it on vibrate,” he continued, “in case I need to reach ya.”

You smirked. “Strictly military business, correct?”

A deep roll of his eyes met your sarcasm. “Ya fuckin’ know what it’s for,” he said with an incredulous shake of his head.

“Fine…I can do that,” you played with a wink.

A large hand roughly palmed your cheek, eyes drifting over the features of your face as the need to kiss you again grew unbearable. “You did say ya wanted to be my problem, yeah? Well, now ya have to be the solution too.”

“Who said I didn’t want to?”

“Good girl,” he praised before pulling you forward into him once again. “Good girl.”

It was only a couple of days since you had strictly been carrying around that small rectangular object in your pocket at all times when the Lieutenant finally utilized it, making you meet him in the ammunition depot for a quickie during lunch. There was no time to waste as he pulled you inside and immediately got to work, having you coming faster than you thought you’d be able to, mostly from the rush of the forbidden nature of this lewd bit of sneaking around. How you were both able to get in and out in such an easy manner was astounding, but Ghost did have rank on the base so you were sure he had pulled a few strings to make such a filthy thing possible.

It seemed like you both were living on cloud fucking nine, but as life always tends to do nothing can ever be that simple.

As if to shake up your lives, a wrench got thrown into everything. A mission, close to just over a month, was assigned to your squad and there was nothing you could do but leave behind your prefect situation to go out into the field.

“Keep your phone with ya,” he reminded you and you did.

Week one of your departure wasn’t so bad; Ghost was able to distract himself enough that he was able to at least get through the day without thinking about you constantly. He took on more work, volunteered his time, anything to keep him busy until he was too tired to do anything other than head back to his quarters and pass out.

Then week two hit and he started to feel your absence. It began small, his mind would wander to his phone, trying to think up some sort of message he could send you that wouldn’t make him sound too desperate. He’d ask about how things were going, if the weather there was just as shit as back at base, just random things to hear from you. And he realized that his heart would skip a beat each time his phone vibrated, thinking it was you.

By the last week before your return, he could hardly keep still. Fuck he needed you more than he needed food or sleep, he pined for your company again as a starving man pines for food. His hand would never do to satisfy him like you did and it frustrated him that he could not focus because his cock was constantly straining against the barrier of his pants and his body craved to feel your own against it. Every day he checked to see if your squad had returned and each day there was nothing made his heart sink into his feet.

On the other end you were faring just as badly. You did your job just as you were supposed to, keeping your focus mostly on the task at hand, but when you had those moments of freedom it was spent on thinking about the countless nights you had spent in his company already and how you genuinely missed being in his presence as was what you had grown accustomed to.

Things were only made worse when he would text you, drawing attention to the fact that you were separated for the immediate future. Each day droned on and on in endless fashion until you were able to check your phone and see the scant few texts from him that had you holding on until you could be filled with him once again.

And yet it was more than that…though you didn’t know if you could admit it yet. Secret worries crept in that made your mind misfire with fears that he could possibly have moved on in your absence, those anxieties lacing themselves within your bodies need for him, and by the time you and your squad finally were able to return to base you were a wreck. The moment you stepped foot back on home turf you were acutely aware of everything and you wondered with palpating heart just where your lover was.

The team had returned around midday and that meant everyone was given a couple hours for lunch before debriefing would begin. A few of your mates had wrangled you into eating with them and though you hesitated at first, ultimately you gave in. Checking your phone and not seeing anything popping up on the screen sealed the deal; at least they would offer a distraction until you could find a second to see Ghost again.

About half an hour in, your phone buzzed in your pocket as you took another bite of your lunch. Ignoring it as to not be suspicious, you focused back on the conversation happening in front of you until it went off again and again in rapid succession, clearly trying to get your attention and fast.

Discreetly as you could under the table, you pulled the small rectangle out of your pocket and checked the lock screen as your heartbeat was in your ears. Three short texts glared back at you, simple and easy to read in a hurry.

My office.

Now.

Don’t wait.

You hadn’t even read the name of the sender, but you already knew who it was beckoning you in the middle of the day; there was only one who would be desperate enough to risk getting caught like this, but you weren’t about to deny him. It had been long enough you two had been apart that you had to see him again that instant.

Omw

You quickly sent back and in an instant there was a reply.

Got five minutes to get here.

Making up some bullshit excuse to break away from your group, you rushed out of the mess hall and towards the officer’s building that housed their private offices. Your steps were quick, but metered in such a way as not to draw any unwanted attention; no sense in causing yourself to waste time by getting caught up with someone asking where it was you were off to in such a hurry, especially when debriefing was happening so soon.

There was tightness in your chest as time seemed to slow down to an agonizing crawl. Logically you knew that you were almost there, but even with the building looming on the near horizon, it still seemed to take forever to reach it and all you desperately wanted to do was get to him as quick as you could.

The cool air of the officer’s building hit you and you could feel a shiver vibrate through your body; when had you gotten so warm? No time to analyze that as you had more important things to focus on.

You had been inside the building a few times, but never to Ghost’s office in particular and so it took you a minute to locate the room that had his nameplate on the door. Stepping up to the last barrier you both had between you, your heart leap violently in your chest as you raise a balled fist to the wood.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound of knuckles tapping on wood sounded through the small office and Ghost looked up just as the door was cracked open and his breath hitched when his eyes met your face that had just appeared through to the other side.

“You needed to see me sir?” you asked, blood pressure rising and heartbeat thudding wildly inside your chest; you had to keep up appearances to anyone who might be passing by, but you wanted nothing more than to just sprint straight to him and shred his fatigues from his perfectly sculpted body.

Ghost was on his feet in an instant, his pulse now racing liquid hot through his veins at the very sight of you suddenly before him again; he was already on edge the moment he had learned you were back as he waited for a free second in his busy day to call you to him. Now seeing you here in front of him again after such a profound gap of time spent apart sent him into a tailspin.

“Come in and shut the door, private, we need to have a chat,” he ordered roughly, playing his part effortlessly, and you did so without having to be told any more than that.

As soon as he heard the door latch he was on his feet, crossing the length of the room with quick steps that matched his accelerated breathing as he ripped his balaclava up and over his head to discard it somewhere on the floor. “Lock it,” he said abruptly and you immediately followed orders.

You turned back around and Ghost was on you before you could move further, closing his eyes and leaning in with his mouth to immediately connect your lips ferociously together before any of your other parts could touch yet. You had to be quick, there was no guarantee of how much free time you would have before someone could come around, but still he had to take a moment to enjoy that initial reunion of your mouths. Face pressed snugly against the contours of your own, wet, sloppy mouths crushed together in waves of aggressively frantic kisses as if he had completely forgotten the taste of your lips and it had been torturing him to insanity.

His hand moved out from his side and searched for yours until he found it, interlocking those long digits in the empty spaces between your own. Even in the fiery desperation with which he devoured your lips embraces, his touch was still incredibly tender as his hand stayed locked in yours.

“Goddammit, I missed you, luv,” he groaned through pauses in your mouths connection. “Missed you so fuckin’ much I couldn’t stand it. The second I got wind you were back, I couldn’t wait…had to see ya now.”

Your lungs begged for air, but you couldn’t tell him to stop as his free hand locked on to the back of your neck to force your face even harder against his mouth; he was trying to drown in you and you didn’t want him to stop, even with his roughness causing your lips to swell hot and sensitive from the pressure.

“God, sweetheart, how I’ve missed these fuckin’ lips,” he grunted in hushed whispers into your open mouth as his forehead rocked on yours. His cock was straining harshly against the zipper of his pants, tenting the fabric as he ground it into the muscle of your thigh. “Can’t stand bein’ away from ya at all anymore. I was in agony waitin’ for ya to return.”

Your chest tightened while your stomach plunged into your shoes; his need was overwhelming and intense as if it could swallow you whole and fuck were you ready to let it. Rough fingers squeezed down on your hand, using it as a way to ground himself to stop from being ripped apart with the strength of his desire. Your bodies were so close you swore he was trying to fuse you both together.

“Wish I had more time, I wanna suck on those fuckin’ juicy tits of yours so fuckin’ bad,” he groaned as the feeling of your breasts pressed against his chest caught his attention. “Been missin’ those too. Shit, I’ll be honest, there ain’t a part of ya I haven’t been cravin’ like crazy, baby.”

Acting off of pure impulse and adrenaline alone, you reached towards him with your free hand and latched on to his belt, pulling at the hindrance as if you could will it off without having to use any of the fine motor skills that you currently did not have access to as you slipped into that primal state of knowing nothing else other than to satiate the throbbing between your thighs.

Your fingers grazed the tip of his cock through the fabric of his pants and he hissed, his torso contracting from the intensity of that first contact; he had become engorged so quickly that it was painfully sensitive to the touch.

Ghost released your hand to reach over to your own belt, still enough faculty available to him to go about undressing you, though that was quickly waning as your own neediness fueled even more of his desperation for you. “I need ta be inside of ya, luv,” he breathed, resting up against the side of your cheek. “Need it so fuckin’ bad I can almost taste it.”

A light jingling hit your ears as he unlocked your belt from itself and let it fall loosely to hang in the belt loops as he moved on to the button and zipper, undoing them just as easily before everything was shoved down to the floor in one swift motion. His hand moved on top of yours still clinging to the band around his waist, guiding the unsteady fingers on your hand to make you undo the buckle yourself.

The backside of your hand pressed against the soft skin of his pelvis as you slipped inside the waistband of his pants to undo them and shit was he boiling. “Take it out,” he groaned as you got the damned button to release.

A jolt like an electrical current ran through him, shivering up the length of his spine as you plunged those silky soft palms within the confines of his pants and caught his rock hard member in your grasp. Unconsciously his hips bucked into your hand as you situated him so that he was now outside the fabric.

With your hand wrapped around the girth of his cock, you could not stop the urge to stroke the length of it. It pulsed and jolted against the skin of your palm as you worked it up and down and a tiny, almost imperceptible whimper escaped his lips as Ghost unraveled at your touch. All that pent up frustration that had plagued him for the past month and some change burst at the seams and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Can’t wait; I have to make you cum, right fuckin’ now,” he said, the agony pervasive in his gravely, low tone.

Grabbing you by the hand Ghost drug you the short distance across the room to his desk, spinning you so that your back was to it. With his hand under your arms he picked you up and set you on the surface, not caring about the papers currently strewn about across the top that now lay under the padding of your bare ass.

Scooting so that you were at the very edge of the tabletop, you immediately spread your legs open wide, only wanting to feel him and not wanting to waste even a second more of time where you both were not connected. He took the invitation to move in, placing his hand on your sex to check how ready you were for him; there was moistness against his palm, but he wanted to be sure you were well lubricated.

There was no more time to wait so he would have to improvise just to be certain you were wet enough; the last thing he would ever want to do was hurt you. Gathering all the saliva he could in his mouth, he spit into his hand and quickly coated the area thoroughly. Your legs twitched from his fingers rubbing up against your sensitive clit as he went. “I fuckin’ swear we’ll do this proper later, just gotta be quick this time,” he reassured. “Tonight I’ll savor ya proper, sweetheart.”

Aligning his cock with your entrance those hardened fingers dug into your bare hips to steady himself as he thrust careful inside you. He watched closely as he slipped it in, his body shuddering as it reacted to him being wrapped fully in you down to the hilt. You whined as he stretched you to capacity, your pussy needing a minute to readjust to his size; it had been a hot minute after all since he had filled you this full.

“Goddammit, luv,” he groaned with a hiss, eyes clamping shut as he struggled to hang on to sanity, “don’t you ever leave me again. I don’t ever wanna fuckin’ miss this.”

Catching his cheek with your hand, Ghost opened his eyes to your touch and you pulled his face closer to yours. “Never if I can help it,” you breathed as you crashed your lips on his again; you needed something to make sure you stayed quiet as he began to forcefully thrust in and out of you, all that longing he had done in your absence culminating in his movements now.

It had only been a few short minutes of him pumping all he had into you, but he was already completely drunk off the feeling of your tight, wet core sucking him with voracity each time he rocked into it. His burning mouth stayed locked onto yours for a little longer, just to be sure you had a handle on the sound before he released it.

“Can’t stop… how much… I need ya…” he panted quietly between desperate thrusts. “Down so bad for ya… sweetheart.”

“Fuck, I was so miserable without you,” you admitted sheepishly. “My fingers are sore.”

The longing in your voice was palpable and Ghost could not get enough. “Missed me like fuckin’ crazy, didn’t you sweetheart?” he asked as his speed increased with new vigor at your words. “Missed what I do to this sweet little body of yours?”

You nodded, but that wasn’t good enough; he was hungry for more of your need of him to be vocalized. “Words, use them,” he demanded.

“Missed you so fucking much,” you whimpered as a twinge of pleasure shot up from your core through your body. “I am an absolute fucking mess without you.”

His lips shot to yours as you were starting to get loud again and though he hated to keep you quiet, it was a necessity in here. Half of him was of the mind to just let you be your usual vocal self, letting the whole fucking office building hear you taking him so well, and as much as his body burned for such a thing he knew in the long run it would be detrimental to your situation. The last thing he wanted was to ruin this by exposing the secret.

“Wish everyone in this fuckin’ office would just leave so I could enjoy your sweet little noises, luv,” he purred into your face as he released your mouth again. “Can’t get enough of your pretty music; my room’s been so quiet without it.”

Panting into his face with mouth open, chest heaving up and down with laborious breaths, Ghost put more into his thrusts so that even the desk itself began to rock with you from the force. The strength of his pumps made you feral, relinquishing any hold you had on civility as you would do anything to get more of the way his body fit into your cunt; it felt nice to be filled out by him again… you had grown far too accustomed with being constantly overflowing with his cock on the daily.

So wet, the sound of slapping skin against skin filled the silent space within the room, Ghost’s second favorite sound that you produced. It was like a round of applause for all his efforts, that he was putting in the right amount of work, and he pulled back to watch himself pump in and out of you. He hoped that someone would take him out permanently if he ever got tired of that sight, though he wasn’t worried about it as nothing would ever look better to him.

Taking the first two fingers of one of his hands he brought it to your clit, drawing circles with the pad of the digits over that overwhelmingly sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips bucked wildly at the extra bit of stimulation, slamming against his hand as your eyes rolled back with all that ecstasy flowing through your veins.

“Don’t stop, baby,” you begged, trying desperately to keep your volume at a reasonable level. “Gonna cum soon.”

Christ, those three words he had longed to hear for weeks now only fueled those strong thrusts and quick flicks of your clit. “That’s it, darlin’, fuckin’ come for me,” Ghost growled so desperately it made your brain numb. “I need to know your body still belongs to me.”

“Only you,” you returned without hesitation. “You’ve ruined me for anyone else baby. I can’t even get wet to anything but you.”

That beastly, towering hulk of a man shuddered at your proclamation, nearly spilling his seed inside you at such a beautiful phrase coming from your lips, but he would not allow anything to stop him from bringing about your release and so he focused everything he had left solely on you.

Keeping the pace of both his fingers and his cock at the same, precise speed Ghost watched as after a few more minutes your head finally flicked back and your thighs clamped down around his hips, a cry exploding out of you before you quickly locked your lips together to stifle the tail end of your ecstasy-filled exclamation.

Your cry is what did him in and he jerked violently as your pussy fluttered around him and he had to harshly pull out of you so that he could milk himself dry over top of your bare stomach. The sticky, hot fluid coated your skin with an amount more than you were expecting; clearly it had been a while.

Ghost looked back up at you, a contented, amused smile plastered to his lips. “Goddamn, luv,” was all he could say as he admired the beautiful flush in your cheeks and glazed look in your eyes, all a product from him.

It took him a second to find something to help clean you both up; a spare t shirt he had balled up in the bottom drawer of his desk would have to do. He took care of himself first before he moved to you, handing you the shirt while he went to gather your clothes. Waiting till you were finished cleaning off, he helped you to redress as your legs shook unsteadily.

The care he was taking with you now, it wrought to the surface just how silly you had been while you were away, thinking that he could have ever dropped you for someone else. You thought you had been slick, concealing your emotions from his discerning eye until you heard him speak.

“What’s that?” he questioned, causing you to look back up into his face.

“What’s what?” you posed curiously.

“That… look. On your face.”

You didn’t really want to say, you knew it was only an intrusive thought, but something about the way he stood gazing at you as if actively waiting for you to answer made you speak up. “It’s silly, but…” you paused; why couldn’t you just be honest with him? That man was just inside of you and yet this felt so much more intimate than that.

“Tell me,” he said, genuinely interested in the answer.

You swallowed hard. “Well, I was… worried you might have forgotten about me…moved on to someone else or something while I was gone. Wouldn’t have blamed you. I mean, needs are needs right?”

Ghost had already moved back in as you nervously laughed, both of those large hands cupping your face between them. Amber eyes stared back at you for a few seconds as if trying to read the meaning behind your words before he tilted his head to one side and leaned in to kiss you in such a way as he never done before: it was softer, but with just as much passion that you felt you might choke on it.

“I will neva forget about ya, luv,” he stated firmly as he broke the kiss, unable to hold back the string of truth that began spilling forth. “There’s no one ‘round here that could replace ya, absolutely fuckin’ no one. I don’t want some flaky tart that’s gonna get sick of my shit after a while or some dumb bimbo that talks a big game, but cannot keep up with me. I want you. Only you, understand?”

You nodded. “I only want you too, Simon.”

In all this time, you had never really used his name; perhaps it was too familiar for the type of relationship you both had together or maybe it was simple enough to stick to more formal monikers so that when not in a more intimate setting things wouldn’t get confusing. Whatever the reason was it didn’t matter anymore. Fuck did his name sound good being said in your voice; there was no going back from the shift that was happening here.

And maybe eventually you’d both be able to say it… out loud. For now, though, this was enough.

“So…” he said in hushed tones as he cleared his throat, knowing that you needed to head back soon and hating every bit of it, “you’re comin’ by later, yeah?”

You let out a small sigh and gave him a sweet, muted smile. “I believe you owe me more than just a quickie, so I guess so.”

Simon shook his head. “Fuckin’ hell,” he chuckled. “I guess off you fuckin’ go then before someone gets suspicious.”

And with another quick kiss you left him all alone in his quiet office to count down the literal seconds until he could be with you again. Hopefully, the rest of that day would go by fast, but the way his heart was beating, he didn’t hold out for a painless outcome.

Part 3:

[mdemorita]

new interview of Tobias from Rock Hard magazine, issue number 255, he talked about other projects that he has in mind

interviewer: "do you already have other plans in mind?"

Tobias: "other film projects in mind, yes! but they are not necessarily movies related to Ghost. There are other things i am to accomplish (although i obviously can’t talk about them in detail at the moment) and my appetite for filmmaking has in no way disappeared!

i’m even hungrier today. I want to do more things. I don’t claim to be a director, but i think i have a talent for imagining stories and being able to conceptualize something that i feel like a "movie of my thoughts" (laughs) i have, in this case, several movies of this kind in my mind, which i think people who have the same taste as my will enjoy…”

interviewer: "are these ideas that germinate in your mine for a long time? possibly since childhood?"

Tobias: “when i work on a film, or on a record or a scenography, even the smallest thing i suggest has its origin in a specific point of my life. It’s always a mix of ideas that i could have had when i was 12, 22 or 32 years ild, and that i implement today at 43.

this is the reason why it’s always important to remember your ideas and write them down somewhere to not forget them. As i said, there are things that i haven’t been able to do here, stuff that i wanted to di but had to discard, like all directors or show producers do.

it doesn’t mean that these ideas were not good or that they will not be realizable later. It’s often the economic aspect that stops you, but there are may come a time when i will have the means to afford these ideas, or cheaper alternative idea. Perhaps the solution to the problem will appear later, especially with technology, which sometimes allows things that looked crazy then years earlier.

interviewer: “be careful, this technology sometimes leads to contrasting results, like the special edition of George Lucas’ 1997 Star Wars!” (laughs)

Tobias: (smiles) “it’s true! i could clearly, too, make a special edition with visual effects borrowed from a 1997 top of the pops show, it would be retro!” (laughs)

[espace--positif]

Focus and Distraction

A Zayne x F!Reader fluffy shortfic [Love and Deepspace]

Summary: What do you do when you’re distracted by your partner’s arms when trying to work? Arm wrestle him, of course. Pairing: Zayne x F!Reader WC: ~1.5k Content tags: fluff, suggestive themes, arm wrestling, thirsting over arms A/N: Reader is better than me cause I personally would’ve asked to be put in a chokehold and dragged to the bedr— *gets shoved in a van* THANKS FOR READING *scrumpt through the cracked windows as the van speeds off*

Read on AO3 // Masterlist

It was a day as normal as any, with Zayne tapping away at his laptop, buried in his work, while you polished off reports and fielded mission requests on your tablet. Seated comfortably at his kitchen table, you both toiled away at your respective responsibilities. You’d often engage in this coworking practice — it was the perfect solution to your unfortunately busy schedules, granting you a chance to see each other despite it all.

And the comfort that his calm presence provided during your work sessions was no secret; you found yourself more productive, more motivated, and less likely to spiral into needless anxieties when your slate grew a little too full. You liked to think he felt the same, that you could at least make his work more bearable, though he’d never verbalized it.

But today, his presence was beginning to become a bit of a problem.

You see, it was a balmy May afternoon, and with the weather becoming increasingly warmer, wardrobe changes naturally followed. Namely, Zayne’s dress shirt, usually neatly cuffed at the wrist, was now rolled up, exposing his sculpted arms. It was a minor change, one that could easily be overlooked and probably went unnoticed by everyone else, but it was all you could look at right now. Consuming your every thought, as your finger hovered over your tablet, occupied by nothing.

“It’s not break time yet,” Zayne sighed with his eyes still glued to his screen, and you startled. The man truly had a sixth sense.

The timer-clock you’d purchased for him as a gift, in the shape of a cute tomato, sat between you at the table, confirming that you were indeed only five and a half minutes into your fifteen-minute work block. You frowned at its adorable yet accusatory gaze.

“I know, I know,” you replied, willing yourself to return to your reports.

But the rhythmic typing that came from Zayne’s side of the table called you, and it wasn’t long before your eyes were glancing upwards again. The small, almost imperceptible throb of his arm muscles as he pressed down on the enter key, a push ever so slightly harsher than his normal typing, had you captivated. You loudly tapped at your tablet, paying the endless words on your report no mind as you stared. If he could hear you working, then he couldn’t possibly catch you in the act, right?

But he did. Eyes darting up impossibly fast, Zayne’s gaze caught yours and you were far too slow to look away.

“If you need to take a break right now, we can do that,” he said. He’d always been understanding of the ebbs and flows of focus, and how uncontrollable those tides were. So when you would become visibly distracted, he’d be less rigorous with enforcing the schedule you’d both set for yourselves. Little did he know that he was the very reason that your mind was endlessly wandering today.

“Nope,” you said as your shifty eyes met with your tablet once more, only to find that you’d deleted the last five lines of your report in your blind tapping. Resigned, you sighed. “Ok, maybe I do need a break.”

A soft smile tugged at Zayne’s lips as he half-closed the lid of his laptop, directing his full attention to you. “Short walk or tea?”

You pondered your two choices for a bit before a glint of playfulness flashed in your eyes. You couldn’t suppress the smile that invaded your expression as you responded: “Neither. Arm wrestle me.”

Zayne raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Arm wrestle?”

“Yeah, you know, to refocus,” you offered. “Something about muscle activation, blood flow…”

You trailed off, hoping he’d have some explanation that could give credence to your odd request.

“Stretching one’s muscles is important to reduce strain caused by long stationary periods, and light exercise can improve blood flow, which is linked to—”

“Exaaactly,” you interrupted, which earned you the mildest frown, more of a pout really. But you had more pressing matters at hand. “So let’s do it.”

You gently swept the devices and papers that littered the table to the side before leaning your elbow onto the dark wood. Zayne stared at you for a moment, incredulous, but soon obliged, clamping your hand within his. His soft fingers were cool to the touch, yet the warmth that settled within you was anything but. For the sight you were taken with right now was even better than you’d imagined. The muscles of his arms were now fully flexed despite his gentle grasp, their chiseled edges sharp enough to cut glass. Yet the soft curves where the muscle dipped beckoned you, the outline of taut veins branching under his skin as he shifted his elbow.

A breathy laugh escaped your lips, satisfaction taking over. You’d already seen every part of Zayne, countless times at that, but you doubted you’d ever find a sight more perfect than this. It was the subtlety of it all, the way the weight of his muscle shifted with every small movement, the way his sleeves constricted around the girth when his elbows bent, the almost forbidden setting in which all these little details invaded your eyes and mind. You briefly pondered whether this was how Victorian men felt when they managed to glimpse a stray ankle in the ballroom.

“Ready?” Zayne said in that low half-whispered tone he knew you liked, and the smirk he wore let you know he was probably already onto you. Not that you cared.

“Don’t hold back,” you replied. If only he knew how much you meant it.

You gently tapped the table in a mock countdown, signaling the beginning of the battle. Three, two, one.

You braced yourself, digging your free arm into the table as you pushed. But your strength was met with no reciprocation — the fact that your joined palms remained in a standstill told you as much, and the barely perceptible twitch in his arm confirmed that he wasn’t even playing, not really. And the ratcheting anticipation that had built up within you remained an unresolved ache that bloomed in your abdomen.

“You’re letting me win,” you huffed, and he confirmed your suspicions with a smirk as he let you slam his arm down with a soft thud.

He chuckled as he softly stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. “There’s no fairness in beating such a distracted opponent.”

A flush crept from your ears and through your heating face. You felt silly for getting so worked up about something so banal, but part of you couldn’t help but smile at the fact that Zayne was actually entertaining this. Seemed to be enjoying it, even.

“Hmm,” you hummed, bringing your free hand to boldly trace at the ever so slightly raised veins on his arm. “That won’t hold up in court. When I tell all your colleagues that I beat you at arm wrestling. Maybe I’ll post a moment commemorating my victory…?”

You trailed off, the delectable firmness under your palm, his muscles constricting and relaxing as you moved up his arm, the goosebumps you felt prickling at your fingertips, all doing nothing to quell the mounting thrill drumming in your core.

“In that case…” said Zayne before gently pulling your free hand away. And his next gesture was not so gentle. He effortlessly pushed up against your palm, teasingly letting up as your interlinked hands were upright again. You grabbed onto the edge of the table with your free hand, which you were pretty sure was considered cheating, as Zayne somehow kept your strengths matched while his hold on your palm somehow remained soft. And in an instant, the tables were turned. Your arm was roughly shoved down before you had the time to react, but you only had eyes for one thing.

You watched the muscles in Zayne’s arm ripple deliciously as he stretched his fingers, finally untangling his hand from yours. He let out a soft breath, something between a grunt and a sigh, relishing in his victory. And you were relishing in something else entirely. You let out a breathy sound of your own, much less intentional than Zayne’s.

“And that’s five minutes,” Zayne coolly remarked, as if nothing had ever happened. “Break time’s over.”

“Oh.”

“We are still working,” he said as he adjusted the cuffs of his rolled-up sleeves, his taut muscles constricting the fabric with the movement. Thirty wanderers wearing top hats could walk through the front door right that instant and you still wouldn’t have been pulled from the sight.

Right. Work.

“Do we have to?” you pleaded.

“Hmm,” he hummed. “That depends. Are you still… distracted?”

“Yes.”

Zayne sighed, a voiceless exhale. But the twinkle in his hazel eyes, the half-cocked smile that tugged at his lips, and the soft tightening and releasing of his forearm muscles as his fingertips drummed the table top betrayed a palpable anticipation. “Then we should do something about that.”

[iovetecchou]

Circumstances ⧸ Aki Hayakawa.𖥔 ݁ ˖

summary:  Trapped inside the hotel that has been taken over by the eternity devil, your superior: Hayakawa Aki, is the only comfort you've found. As the days go by, you find yourself seeking more than just comfort from your usually stoic leader.

༞ Contains...! smut, porn with a slight plot, and a sprinkle of fluff, only one bed trope, virgin!aki, inexperienced!aki, touch starved!aki, consent, dry humping, handjob, pussyjob, no penetrative sex, pillow talk, confessions, overall very soft and clumsy, the reader lovingly teases aki throughout the entirety of this fic

༞ AFAB Reader.

༞ 3,064 words.

kinktober masterlist!

It had been days.

Days; since you first stepped foot inside this forsaken hotel with your unit. Your Captain, Aki, was the only individual keeping your crew from losing their minds. Although, Kobeni was way beyond saving at this point.

You tried to stay optimistic, putting your trust in your Captain. You had no reason to doubt him, anyway. You admired Aki. If he asked you to follow him blindly, you would.

Aki always made you feel safe; it would be a lie if you said you had not fallen for him.

You admired every version of Aki, but your favorite side of him was the one only you got to see. The Aki who helped you get stronger, never giving up on you even when you stumbled and screwed up. The Aki who would go out after a harsh mission and eat almond tofu with you. The Aki that allowed himself to smile when he was in your presence, letting himself forget about his trepidations. Even if it was briefly before you witnessed the sorrow creep back into his cerulean eyes.

You could not help but feel as though Aki might have a soft spot for you. He always requested to be stationed with you on assignments and spoke highly of you to Miss Makima when you did exemplary work.

So when you got paired up to share a room with the captain himself, you could hardly contain your excitement.

Arai and Kobeni were in shambles, so Power locked them in a room together. She laughed menacingly on the outside from the sounds of them wailing and shrieking. Power and Denji took the next room, unintentionally pairing themselves up. You could hear them bickering through the thin walls before it got quiet. Ultimately, assuming that Denji must have fallen asleep.

And then there was Aki and yourself.

You would be lying if you said the prospect of sleeping in the same bed as your crush didn’t excite you, just a little bit. You knew it was wrong, considering the situation was less than ideal. You secretly wished your first time sharing a bed with Aki would be under better circumstances, but there’s no time like the present.

You could’ve sworn you saw Aki's cheeks flush when he noticed there was only one bed before he blurted out,

“I’ll take the floor. You take the bed.“

A frown etched its way into your visage, coming up with a solution to change his mind on the spot.

“But, Mister Hayakawa, I think it would be safest if we stuck together and stayed as close as possible. Who knows what the eternity devil might do next? It might try to separate us, so we must have eyes on one another at all times. That’s why we all paired up in the first place, right?”

You watched as he lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply and holding it in his lungs for a few beats before ultimately exhaling with a sigh. You could tell he was thinking over your proposition from the way his eyebrows knit together.

“Alright, you have a point. But only if you are comfortable with that.”

Your eyes lit up as he agreed to your proposal. You turned on your heel, making your way toward the messily made bed. Trying to conceal your grin from Aki.

“Of course I’m comfortable! You always make me feel safe, Mister Hayakawa.”

Aki's cheeks dusted a pretty pink from your words. With your back still turned, you kicked your shoes off. Shrugging off your blazer before rolling up the sleeves of your white button-down. He took another drag of his cigarette, making slow strides toward the bed. Aki propped his sword against the nightstand before unbuttoning his suit jacket. Trying his hardest not to overthink resting beside you.

“I will only need a few hours until I am back on patrol, but I want you to get as much rest as possible. I will try my best not to wake you when I leave.”

All you could do was nod in agreement as you lifted the covers, making yourself as cozy as you could; regarding the circumstances.

You turned on your side from beneath the sheets, observing Aki as he put his cigarette out. He slipped his shoes off, lifting his side of the duvet before crawling underneath. He was as stiff as a board as he rested flat against the bed. You could tell he was nervous, and you were not sure if it was because of the proximity or because of the devil, which was still at large.

“Mister Hayakawa, are you okay? You look a bit tense.”

Aki let out a deep sigh. He turned his head slightly so that he could glance at you before he spoke softly.

“It’s just… I want to make sure we all get out of here alive without having to sacrifice anyone. Defeating this devil, getting the gun devil chunk, and making sure you get out of here unharmed, are my top priorities.”

You felt your cheeks heat up from his words. To learn that Aki prioritized your well-being in such a way made your heart flutter.

“Don’t worry mister Hayakawa! With you being our captain, I have no doubts that we will succeed in all of those departments. Also, don’t feel like you need to bear the burden on your own. You can lean on me, I promise.”

Your words forced Aki’s chest to tighten. You put so much faith into him, and knowing that you believed in him to such an extent eased his mind. For the time being.

Aki took in a deep breath before sitting up swiftly. He reached over toward the lamp resting atop the night table, tugging on the copper string. Enveloping you both in complete darkness.

“Thank you… Now get some rest. I’m sure we have a long day ahead of us,”

Aki whispered, turning on his side to face you. A tight-lipped smile pulled at his lips before he finished his thought.

“And one more thing, you don’t need to call me Mister Hayakawa while we’re on the job. You can always call me Aki. You know that, right?”

You watched as he tucked a hand under his pillow for support, adjusting slightly to let himself slump further into the bed. A small giggle slipped past your lips from his words before you retorted,

“Of course, I know that! I just figured you liked it when I addressed you as Mister Hayakawa. I mean, considering how your ears turn a pretty shade of pink when I do.”

You teased. Inching yourself closer to your superior from where you lay atop the mattress. Practically sharing the same air at this point.

“Hey, cut that out.”

Was all Aki could blurt out before he turned his back toward you. He silently thanked the darkness for shrouding the room, concealing the rosiness that painted his face.

That didn’t stop you from shifting impossibly closer. You pressed your chest against the expanse of Aki's back, closing the distance between you two before letting your arm sling around his hip.

“I’m sorry, Mister Hayakawa… I didn’t mean to tease.”

Your voice laced with faux innocence. But Aki could hardly focus on the words you spoke only moments ago. The feeling of your arm wrapped around his midsection and your chest pressing into him had his brain short-circuiting.

Physical affection was not something Aki was used to by any means, and the fact that you were the one touching him made his head spin even further. Aki felt comfortable with you. He cherished the time you spent together, more than he let on.

“Yes, you did. Do you take me for one of those idiots over in the next room?”

Aki huffed, trying his hardest not to twitch when your fingertips trailed over his clothed abdomen. You scooted up the bed slightly; so you could rest your head atop Aki’s shoulder. Lips ghosting over the shell of his rosy ear before you whispered out,

“Of course not, Mister Hayakawa. You are clever, way better than the others. In every aspect.”

Your hand trailed lower, fumbling with the clasp of his belt. You heard Aki’s breath hitch as you pulled the leather out of the buckle.

“What are you—“

“Like I said earlier, you seem a bit tense. Let me help you, Mister Hayakawa.”

His heart was pounding against his sternum. Aki could feel his hands shaking as he remained silent. You could tell he was way beyond nervous.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop if you are uncomfortable.”

You whispered, slowly retracting your hands from around his waist. What you didn’t expect was for Aki to turn in his place, coming face to face with you once more.

“No it’s not that… i-it’s just…”

You could barely make out his expression in the darkness, but you could feel his hand trembling beside you. Your hand crept down to grasp his arm, placing his large palm atop your waist.

“Why are you shaking so much, Mister Hayakawa? It’s just us.”

The way that nickname rolled off your tongue made his head fuzzy. He could feel the warmth of your skin seeping through your shirt.

“Is this what you want?”

Aki took a shaky breath, trying to collect his thoughts.

“I…”

His voice was quivering as you two shared the same air. Another moment passed before you whispered,

“Do you want me to stop, Aki?”

His breath hitched. You said his name, finally. Aki’s heart was beating a mile a minute as you slowly started to pull away.

“N-No… don’t stop.”

That was all the conformation you needed. You could hardly contain your excitement as you pressed your chest flush against his in one swift motion. You hoisted your leg around his waist, pulling a low grunt from Aki.

Now you understood the reason behind Aki’s trembling; he was hard. You could feel his erection pressing up against your clothed core from the new position.

“Ah… I’m sorry—“

Before Aki could finish his sentence, your lips were on his. His cerulean eyes were blown wide at the sudden kiss, but he wasn’t complaining.

Aki thought about this moment countless times your lips colliding with his. But never in a million years did Aki think your first kiss together would be under these circumstances.

You deepened the kiss further, swiping your tongue across his bottom lip. At first, Aki didn’t get the hint, but when your pelvis ground down against his aching cock, he couldn’t help but let out a whine.

The moment his lips parted against yours, you slipped your tongue past. Tangling with his appendage slowly, letting him get used to the newfound intimacy. Aki was still shaking, you noted, as your hand came up to unbuckle his belt; for good this time.

Aki only pulled away from your lips when he felt you unzip his pants, tugging on the waistband of his boxers.

“W-Wait… I’ve never…”

Aki could feel the perspiration trickling down the side of his neck as he swallowed the lump in his throat, adams apple bobbing in the process.

“I know, and it’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed about it, Aki. I want to make you feel good, and I promise I’ll go slow.”

You muttered against his lips, slipping your hand through the hole in his boxers. Aki gasped against your lips as you seized his needy cock. Gently pulling his length through the cut-out of his underwear.

“Is this okay?”

You asked, halting in your movements. You placed a small kiss on Aki's nose as you awaited his response, being as patient as ever with him. Aki nodded fervently before whispering,

“Yes… more— please…”

Aki’s plea sent heat rushing to your core. He was too precious, and who were you to deny him?”

Your hand slowly began rubbing his leaky cock. There was so much pre-cum coating the head of his dick; making it even easier to glide your palm along his twitching length.

“Does this feel good?”

You picked up the pace ever so slightly, letting your thumb circle around his ruddy tip.

“Fuck— yes, so… so good…”

Aki’s head fell forward, now resting his forehead against yours as you continued to stroke his cock.

“Better than when you do this to yourself?”

You asked earnestly, reveling in the little whines and whimpers that slipped past his lips.

“Mhm…”

That was all Aki could muster out. He was too drunk off the pleasure you granted him. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good. Your hands worked him so carefully— so tenderly. For the first time in a long time; Aki allowed himself to forget his worries. He allowed himself to succumb to you entirely.

You could feel him throbbing in your hand. You knew he was nearing his end. Aki’s perspired forehead stuck to your own, his breath was warm against your lips. You couldn’t help but clench around nothing at his silent pleas of,

“Please, don’t stop… feels s-so— good…”

Quickly, you removed your hand from around his length. Your leg unhooked from around his waist for a brief moment as you fumbled with your belt. Swiftly pushing your pants and panties down your legs before kicking them off from underneath the covers.

“What are you—“

“Shh… don’t worry, I’m not stopping. I want to try something different, just trust me on this… okay?”

Your hand came back up to Aki’s waist. Slowly, you pushed his trousers and boxers down his thighs, letting his cock spring free. His length slapped against his tummy. Aki hissed at the friction, harshly swallowing once more as your leg came back up to wrap around his waist.

“O-Okay... I trust you, Y/N.”

With that, your chest came flush against his once more. Only this time, your slick pussy grazed along the underside of his throbbing length.

“S-Shit…”

Aki cursed, suddenly feeling overwhelmed; at the feeling of your essence coating his cock. You were so warm and wet. He could hardly contain his moans as you began grinding against him. You moved your hips slowly at first, rubbing the most sensitive parts of his length with your drooling slit.

“Does this feel good?”

You huffed. You began to feel dizzy from the intimacy Aki and yourself shared. You whined as your clit rubbed against him so perfectly. Your slick allowing you to glide against him with ease.

“T-Too good!”

Aki cried out. His hand around your waist tightened as he began aiding you in your movements. Thrusting you impossibly closer to him. Adding even more pressure against your puffy bud. You both moaned in unison. Grinding against each other with more intensity than before.

“I think… I’m…”

Aki could hardly finish his train of thought. Too wound up in the heat of the moment. You soothed your hand over the small of his back, continuing to hump into Aki before you whispered,

"I know, baby, let it all out."

Your tender words sent Aki spiraling. His release crashed down on him faster than he could process. Before you knew it, Aki was the one kissing you. He whimpered against your lips as his first ropes of cum shot out past his slit.

The feeling of his cock twitching and throbbing against your clit was enough for the coil within your tummy to snap. You gasped against his lips as you came. Your movements staggered, still trying to work Aki and yourself through your orgasms.

A few moments passed before Aki finally pulled away from your lips. He took in a deep breath as his hand clenched and unclenched around your waist. You assumed it was a form of self-soothing for Aki.

"Are you okay?"

You asked softly. You trailed your hand up Aki's frame, slotting to cup his face instead.

"Mhm… are you? Did you… enjoy that?"

Aki's words were hesitant. You could tell he was immensely unsure of what this now meant for the both of you.

"Of course I enjoyed it, Aki. I've been dreaming of a moment like this with you for ages now. I just… I'm sorry, I wanted to properly do things with you. But our lives are so complicated,"

You paused, caressing his cheek with your thumb softly before letting out a deep sigh.

"Aki… I truly adore you, I always have. So, now you know. I figured since there's a high possibility of us dying here, I might as well lay it all out on the table. I mean, we did just hump each other like a couple of dogs—"

"Ah, stop right there."

Aki's eyebrows scrunched up at your crude words. He felt embarrassed all over again.

You could not help the giggle that slipped past your lips. Aki was too adorable for his own good. He was such a gentleman, another thing to tack onto the list of 'things you love about Aki'.

"Sorry, sorry! I wish it wasn't so dark in here, I bet the look on your face was priceless."

You teased, bringing your hand back down to encompass Aki's waist before nestling your face into his chest. Your leg was still wrapped around his hips, pulling a small grunt from Aki when you closed the distance between you both for the last time tonight.

"Hey, at least let me get you a towel so I can clean you up. It's a… mess, down there— because of me."

You smiled against his chest before a yawn passed over you. You slipped your hand under his shirt, smoothing over the small of his back before you whispered,

"Aki, relax! It's okay… let's get a little bit of rest before it's back to patrolling. I wanna hold you like this, just a little while longer… Please?"

His heart ached at your words. Aki would give anything to stay in this moment with you forever. His hand tightened around your waist, keeping you snug against him before ultimately letting out a sigh.

It only took you a few moments to knock out. Aki smiled to himself as your little snores filled the room. He tried not to mind the sticky sensation coming from below as he placed a kiss atop your head. Finally, he allowed his droopy eyelids to close before whispering,

"You could be such a brat at times… you know that, right? But, that's just another thing I… love about you."

[endearing-dalliance]

the way the Arcane team romanticize the undercity disgusts me

Especially in the new art book, they talk about how Zaun and Piltover really aren’t as different as they first seem, as they are both heavily invested in technology. Zaun is a bastion of flamboyant body modification and innovative technology. They describe it as a refuge for outcasts who are looking for a home, where people are free from Piltover’s rigid rules and politics. A communal place with a thrilling sense that anything is possible. The Firelights are described as a group uses the freedom granted by Piltover not caring about them to find beauty and innovation. People are particularly interested in recycling technology and resources because "nothing is precious and everything can always be made better". Bc obviously that's why poor people fix stuff. They are definitely able to easily replace stuff at any time, but they want to strive for perfection...

In the same breath, they describe Zaun as being oppressed, crushed by Piltover, addicted to Shimmer, having “some issues with the mob”, dangerous, volatile. They talk about how if it was better, people like Jinx and Ekko could use their skills for good. This is the same place that’s a refuge for innovative, flamboyantly augmented outcasts to be able to make wonderful technology?

Notable mention: "we had to design a prison, and that was tricky because Piltover is supposed to be a city of progress - do they really put people in prisons? Maybe only people from the Undercity, and maybe they put them really far away" like seriously does nobody realize how fucked up that is? Your issue with it is the difficulty in designing the prison?

Like have any of these people ever actually met someone who lives in an irl place like Zaun? Heard of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs? Opened any book or video on heavily polluted urban areas?

On top of that, the undercity is filled with negative stereotypes. Many of the characters are “bad” in some way, whether that be missing body parts, mentally damaged, filthy, an addict. Their food is tentacles, a drooling animal head, and a dish that looks very much like slugs in mud sauce (vs Piltover’s “normal” sandwich). Many of the people are all dressed punk/goth/sexy and look “dangerous”. This season, I expected them to address those stereotypes and show how Zaun has equal value to Piltover. That those differences don’t make people hateable or disgusting or deserving of their misery. Instead, we got “actions have consequences” theme and a dying man who suffered from chronic pain and mobility issues his entire life being told that his imperfections make him beautiful. (She-Ra did that line already and did it much better.) Because using tech/magic to fix his leg and spine strip him of his humanity.

The team have said they were specifically inspired by the current political climate in the US, specifically the two-party system within one nation divided and unable to reason with each other. But that is an entirely different and incompatible concept. Zaun literally doesn’t get a vote, and that kind of lack of political representation is literally why America rebelled against England. Its not as simple as them just talking it out or getting a single vote. And for me it explains why the conflict fizzled out in season 2 and felt so unresolved. I was expecting independence, which is the only solution to colonial oppression, but the creators gave us a fix for the political party problem they thought they were showing. We only got to see the Piltie’s viewpoint of Zaun, and it was unflattering specifically in the ways that are in real life associated classism, body shaming, and cultural shaming. They were never redeemed or validated, and almost everyone repeatedly proved the Pilties were right about them all along. In season 2, all the bad guys were Zaunites (Jinx, Viktor, Skye, Vanwick, Singed kind of) aided by a foreign power also trying to use them, and the solution was for them not to be part of their world anymore. They were too broken, too evil, too violent to remain. And for the rest, their only use was to die protecting the Pilties from one of their own people (whose autonomy wasn't even respected by his own partner and became his own worst nightmare). Instead of it being this glorious, Marvelesque fight where everyone bands together against one common enemy, it’s just another situation in which they are brutally exploited.

And I would genuinely be OK with all of this as some sort of tragic story that ended terribly for everyone and there was no real solution or progress, just more bloodshed. A tale of caution.

But the creators have been very clear that they feel that this is an appropriate ending to the story and the individual characters’ stories. Specifically, they are pushing this idea that the finale was to show the characters facing the consequences of their actions. But the characters themselves aren’t the problem, it’s the society that they are living in that basically corrupted everything it touched. Mel and the council manipulated and pressured Jayce and Viktor into making weapons instead of technology that was designed to help people, while also ignoring Viktor’s steadily worsening health problems that *they caused*. Vi and Jinx were repeatedly traumatized, orphaned, and weaponized. Cait literally got away with being a dictator, but even she was manipulated by someone who was only ever able to establish power by taking advantage of the situation. Singed (OG Piltie) literally committed war crimes and got everything he wanted. And according to the creators, everyone got what they deserved. Piltover received no punishment or retribution for their oppression. The undercity got no apology or redemption/validation. Piltover got no significant consequences. They’re still in power, still rich, still have Hextech, still oppressing the undercity. And I guess that's what they deserve.

What a load of absolute horseshit. I had a lot of expectations for season 2, but "the arcane team are actually Pilties in the worst way possible" was absolutely not one of them. I'm genuinely devastated.

[psychotrenny]

There's a real unearned confidence to the way that Social Democrats talk about their ideology, like they've cracked the code and found the perfect way forward and the only reason people disagree is because they're misguided or evil. Like they'll correctly point out problems within Neoliberal Capitalism before spouting some absolute nonsense about how uniquely evil and dysfunctional Communism was (nearly always in the past tense too; they take it for granted that the end of the USSR was the end of all Communism) and then going "Don't worry though, there's a third way; a mixed regulated economy. We can have a free market in consumer goods while making sure that corporations pay their fair share in wages and taxes that can fund the welfare that looks after everyone". And like putting aside the fact that such a model relies on the super-profits of imperialist exploitation to actually function, and the inherent instability of an arrangement where the Bourgeoisie make concessions even while maintaining ultimate control of the economy, there's the simple fact that much of the Imperial Core did indeed had Social Democracy but does not anymore.

Like these Social Democrats never think about why that might be, why their ideology failed and what they can learn from it going forward. They just act as though some dumb individuals (i.e. Ronald Reagan, Milton Friedman etc.) managed to slip into power and make bad decisions and like the best way to fix this is to vote good people in who'll change it back. Like hell a lot of these people take the previous existence of these policies as like a good point, the whole "We had them before so we aren't being radical by wanting them back. We don't want anything crazy we just wanna bring back The New Deal or Keynesian Economic policy or whatever". There's never any thought about why those policies failed (how often do you hear these people even talk about "stagflation" or "the oil crisis" let alone the impact of the fall of the soviet union) and what implications this might have on the viability of bringing it back. They also love talking about how Social Democratic institutions are still largely intact in the Scandinavian countries, but rather than even consider what specific factors in their political-economic situation led to this these people just go "Damn isn't Sweden great. Why aren't we doing exactly what they do?"

And sure some people might compare this to Marxism-Leninism, the whole "trying to bring back a defeated ideology", but for one it's stupid to treat the dissolution of the USSR as the end of Communism as a global political force. It may have been a major blow, but even if you write off like Cuba and Vietnam as too small and insignificant to matter you can't just fucking ignore that over 1/6 of the world's population continues live under a Marxist Leninist party. Whatever concessions these countries may have made to global Capitalism, it's just plain ignorant to act as though Communism suffered anywhere near the humiliating loss of global power and credibility that Social Democracy has. Sure the latter may be more politically acceptable to toy with in "The West", but "The Western World" ≠ The Entire World. Also, nearly every ML on the planet is painfully aware that Soviet Communism collapsed and that it collapsed for a reason. There might be plenty of contention about why exactly it died and what exactly we can learn from this, but nearly everyone agrees that we need to learn and ideologically grow. No serious Communist wants to "bring back the USSR" in the same way that many Social Democrats want to "bring back The Welfare State". Far from being a form of "best of both worlds" mixed economy, Social Democracy is nothing more than a flimsy tool to stabilise Imperialist Capitalism at its moments of greatest strain. And if people are still gonna promote it wholeheartedly as the best possible solution, I wish they'd be a little less arrogant about it. It's not as though they have history on their side