#or he does still recognise him. but is reminded every time of his worst moment how he broke the trust of his friend how everything

[arsenicflame]

do you guys ever think about how ed wouldn't intuitively recognise izzys steps anymore because ive been thinking about that a lot this week

[lvndrdaaze]

OMG HI MY FAVORITE TUMBLR CREATOR I have an idea >>:D WHAT IFF Your favorite Genshin Men (Diluc) come home extremely late ((2:00 am late)) and you are MAD. So- after you express how you feel (NICELY OFCCC❤️❤️) they feel so bad that they spoil you ROTTEN. Anddd if you doo— then uhh I'll sing... SWAY BY MICHAEL BUBLÉ!!!

(Honestly— Micheal Bublé reminds me so much of Diluc idk why) ALSO TYY FOR TGD WRIOTHESLEY ALPHABET!!!

——🎵🎶🎼Anon (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

aaaaaaaa i'm sorry this took so long to get out (つ﹏⊂) i hope you like it!! i put my whole pussy into this one just for you <33

(also i've never thought about it but now that you mention it...yeah diluc does give michael bublé vibes ._. and now i'll never un-notice it)

Warnings: SMUT, includes use of 'pussy' and 'cunt', light hurt/comfort, crying, insecurities, oral (f!receiving), p in v, missionary, mating press, breeding kink (if you squint), biting, squirting

(fem!reader, NSFW so no minors!!)

Wc: 2.6k

The Dawn Winery was always quiet at this time of night, though you weren't usually awake to notice it. With the maids asleep and all other business concluded for the day, the only sounds in the manor's entrance hall were the crackling of the fire and the rush of blood in your ears.

Diluc was out again, fulfilling his self-imposed duties as he did every night.

Not once had you ever complained, knowing that the Darknight Hero was something of a coping mechanism for Diluc, but tonight, something about the quiet of the manor caused all of that repressed loneliness to well up from deep within your bones, streaming out in sorrowful trickles from where it had been locked away for so long.

You sat at one end of the sofa, staring into the fire. It reminded you so much of him, not only for the obvious reason of his pyro vision, but because of the burning intensity of it. Once, he would have been beside you, red eyes crackling with that same passion that few others recognised in him, hands exploring your skin like a new world made just for him.

But now, you were alone. All you wanted was for him to come home and take up the other seat, to take his place beside you and stay for a while. There were no doubts in your mind as to his adoration for you, you saw it anytime he spent so much as a few moments by your side. It was his dedication to protecting the city that drew him away from you, forcing more and more distance between the both of you.

If only his feelings of guilt weren't so much stronger than his love for you.

When the door to the Winery suddenly swung open, you were startled out of your reverie. Shooting a glance over your shoulder to watch him enter, you read the exhaustion written in every movement he made like a story you had read a million times before. His claymore was propped against the wall and his coat hung on the rack before he noticed you sitting there.

As soon as he did, his eyebrows furrowed. Even with such a look of concern, it felt good to have his eyes on you once again.

"Love?" He called out to you, consternation tinging his low voice. "What are you still doing up?"

How could you answer that? The truth, that you had been aching for him to return and spare you even a single glance, would only weigh him down further. The worst thing you felt you could possibly be in this moment was a burden to him; that would only push him further away.

"Just couldn't sleep." You lied easily, giving him what you hoped was a convincingly relaxed smile.

However, Diluc's frown only grew deeper.

"Love…you're crying." He pointed out gently, not yet moving from his spot in front of the sturdy wooden doors.

With a swipe of your fingers across your cheek, you found that he was right. They came away wet, glistening in the warm firelight.

"Oh…" You hadn't even noticed them until now, but suddenly, your lip trembled with the emotions just barely being held back. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."

But your placating words only seemed to make him worry more. In an instant, he had crossed the room, kneeling before you and cupping your damp cheeks in his hands with a troubled look in his eyes.

"Please don't lie to me." He requested quietly. His thumbs swiped delicate lines beneath your eyes, clearing the tears that collected there.

His intense gaze was filled with such deep concern, such apparent care, it felt impossible to hide your feelings from him any longer, despite not wanting to cause him any more strain.

With a light sniffle, you dropped your gaze from his to your lap, staring down at your fidgeting fingers as they twisted around each other fretfully.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to trouble you, I just…"

Your words faltered, and tears clouded your vision once again, streaming down your cheeks in hot rivulets. Diluc stroked your skin soothingly, waiting patiently for your words.

"I miss you, Luc." Your voice was barely above a whisper. "You've been so busy recently, and I don't want to take up your time when you've got so much on your plate already, but I just feel so…lonely."

The air was still for a few seconds after your admission, until you chanced a look up at his face. His expression was stormy, clouded with irritation, causing your stomach to drop. Of course, you were demanding too much of the man who already had so many people depending on him. With a shake of your head, you pulled away from his gentle touch.

"I'm sorry, I don't want to be a burden. I'll be fi-."

"No." Diluc cut you off with a firm shake of his head, taking your hands into his with the utmost conviction. "Don't apologise. Never apologise for taking up my time."

Your lip quivered once again, the vehement tone of his voice only making your guilt feel that much stronger. Of course, Diluc would be understanding. Why had you even tried to hide your feelings in the first place?

"No matter how busy I am, you are always my priority. I apologise for failing to show you that, my love." He spoke in a low voice.

One hand released yours as he wiped the tears from your eyes again, tilting your gaze up to meet his fiercely passionate one.

"Allow me to make it up to you, love." He murmured in a voice so gentle the steady crackle of the fireplace almost drowned it out.

His gaze was heavy on your rapidly easing expression as he approached slowly and grazed his lips over yours faintly. The aching tenderness of his mouth, the smoky scent clinging to his clothes, the warmth of his body so close yet so far, everything about the moment was so overwhelming. A soft whimper escaped you as he coaxed you into a careful kiss, easing your sadness with every reassuring brush of his lips against yours.

In your desperation to prolong the feeling, your hands gripped his shirt tightly, wrinkling the fine material in your fists. With his gloved hand cradling your jaw, he tipped your head back just slightly, providing him a better angle to glide his hot tongue against your lips as he deepened the kiss.

His free hand came down to rest on your thigh, skimming over the shape of your leg beneath your dress in a way that made you tremble with barely repressed want. Diluc noticed the shiver that ran up your spine at that slightest touch, and with a low rumble from deep within his chest, his wandering hand groped more firmly at the plushness of your thighs and his tongue tangled with yours in a display of his own growing need.

Your heart was racing faster than you thought was possible, the sound of blood rushing in your ears all you could hear. No thoughts made their way past the overwhelming feelings he caused to blossom within you. Eager fingers found their way to his nape, tugging the hair tie from his hair and threading through the fiery red locks. Diluc let out a groan at the feeling, and in an instant, his arms were looping under your thighs, scooping you off the sofa easily.

"Apologies, my love, I had not realised just how long it had been." He murmured, pressing one last kiss to your lips before heading towards the stairs with you in his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist tightly.

"Allow me to make this right, yes?"

The heat in the bedroom was sweltering, radiating from where the both of you laid together for the first time in several days. Your clothes had been long since discarded, and your shivering body was coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

Diluc laid between your legs, sweat gluing a few red strands to his forehead in a way that was almost lewd on its own from your vantage point among the luscious pillows of his bed. Strong hands pinned your quivering thighs to the bed insistently, preventing you from closing them whilst his tongue explored your folds as though it were the first time he had ever done it.

Archons knows how many orgasms he had pulled from you so far; your throat ached with every keen and whimper you let out, and dull heat throbbed in your stomach with every dip of his tongue into your wet entrance as yet another high approached steadily.

Diluc's eyes were clouded with a lustful haze as he paid attention to every reaction you made and the lower portion of his face glimmered wetly with your slick, but he showed no signs of stopping yet. Even by tugging on his loose hair, you were unable to draw his lips away from your aching cunt- in fact, the action only spurred him on, drawing deep rumbles from his chest in response to the sharp sensation in his scalp.

"Luc, please…" you whined, though you weren't certain what it was that you were pleading for. The stimulation was too much, the thought of another orgasm overwhelming, but the idea of him retracting his tongue was even worse.

"Shhh…just one more, love." He mumbled huskily, his eyes slipping shut in contentment.

His lips lowered to your entrance, lapping up the essence of your arousal whilst his nose nudged against your clit, sending electric waves up your spine. Wetness soaked the sheets beneath your hips, and the fine silk was rumpled messily from your writhing.

Wet sounds filled the room as Diluc slurped obscenely on your pussy, every action he made undignified and animalistic with his need to taste you, to feel the way your walls clamped around his tongue as though desperate to keep him there forever.

He dragged the hot muscle of his tongue against your core slowly, swirling around your clit once, twice, then fusing his lips around the bud and sucking. Your back arched and your eyes clenched shut, a clamorous wail tearing through you at the same time as your pleasure peaked, every muscle in your body spasming in euphoria as another orgasm crashed over you. The whole room seemed to fade away, until all that was left was Diluc's mouth, working you determinedly through the peak of your pleasure.

The sensation was so intense, it took several seconds for you to come down. His lips withdrew, peppering light kisses along your inner thighs until your eyes had fluttered open again, searching for him blearily in the darkness.

He appeared almost smug, smiling contentedly as he kissed his way back up your body, lathing his tongue over marks that he had left on his way down. He worked slowly, his hands sliding up your sides and coming to fondle your breasts greedily, rolling your nipples between his fingers whilst he ran his sinful tongue over your damp skin.

By the time he reached your lips, you were whining and bucking against the mattress once again, still not quite satiated after all of the pleasure he had given you. Lying atop you like this, his cock pulsed with need between your bodies, and the slight twitch of him was all it took to get you going again.

"Do you think you can handle one more?" He murmured against your lips, his hips rocking against your stomach, staining your skin with pearls of precum.

"Yes, gods, yes. Please, Luc, need to feel you." Your words came out as desperate sobs, and he breathed a shaky exhale as he leaned his weight onto his elbows above your shaking body.

"Archons…" Diluc whispered, his head dipping into the crook of your neck to nibble softly at the skin there. "You are simply irresistible."

Quickly, he aligned himself with your entrance, running the warm head of his cock through your folds to collect the combination of your juices and his saliva, before pressing it against your tight hole with a groan.

The stretch of him, so thick and hard as he pushed his way into your cunt, was almost more than you could handle this soon after such an intense orgasm. His pelvis ground up against your clit when he bottomed out, stuffing you full with his aching cock whilst you cried out for him.

He held himself there for a few moments, short, gasping breaths leaving his parted lips as he steadied himself. The lushness of your walls wrapped around him was too delicious to be over so soon.

"I promise, I'll never leave you alone again." He whispered, fixing his gaze on your cock-drunk expression as he delivered one slow thrust into your heat.

"I'll keep you satisfied from now on, my love. Never going to let you go without my touch again. I'll dedicate my whole life to you, okay? You'll never be lonely again, I swear."

Diluc was babbling unconsciously with every thrust he gave, all sweet words and promises in a deep, velvety voice that pushed you further into those blissful feelings.

All you could do was moan and sob incoherently in response, tears of ecstasy wetting your lashes as the shivers running up and down your spine grew more and more violent, wracking through your body in tremorous waves in time with every wet slap of his hips against yours.

Strong hands found their way under your hips, lifting them off the mattress slightly so that he could press your thighs upwards and practically fold you in half against the mattress. The tip of his cock reached even deeper inside you in this new position, and your walls pulsed around him in response to the intense sensations.

"Archons, you feel too good…" He moaned, leaning down to lathe the sensitive skin of your neck in hot, sloppy kisses that were so unlike the tender way he usually kissed you. "Gonna cum for me again, love?"

Frantically, you nodded. The invisible string in your stomach tightened until your entire body felt like a piece of elastic ready to snap as his pace only grew more animalistic. White blind spots began to grow in your vision with every invasion of his thick length into your aching hole, and your symphony of moans were surely waking up the maids on the other side of the mansion by now.

"Gonna fill you up, my love. Gonna cum so deep, you'll always have me in you." Diluc growled. His pace was faltering, each drag of his cock inside you losing their rhythm but gaining strength in his wild desperation.

Your responding whine was music to his ears, and he panted hot breaths against the sweat-slick skin of your throat.

"Luc, 'm gonna cum-" Your words came out slurred, as though drunk on the pleasure. Even your eyes could hardly stay open, so overwhelmed with extraordinary pleasure that every muscle inn your body seemed to be clenched tight.

"Me too, fuck- cum for me, darling. Let me feel you, need to feel you." He groaned, sinking his teeth into the column of your throat. "Cum for me, and I'll give you everything."

That was all it took to send you crashing over the edge into impossible pleasure. Your back arched and a loud scream of ecstasy tore out of your throat. Wetness coated his stomach as you squirted with the force of it, finally pushing him over the edge until he was crashing down to his own climax. Diluc let out a loud moan at the same time as yours, and your synchronised cries of pleasure filled the once silent Winery with the sound of your devotion.

[pastanest]

A/N: shamelessly inspired by the legend that is Amanda Bynes cinematic masterpiece which, if you have not seen it, is too iconic for words and also @januaryembrs imagine Making Of A Man, so please read that one bc it is INCREDIBLE and is on my Jon Snow fic recs list for VERY good reason!!

warning: light reference to SA (reader does what we all wish we could’ve done tho fr and doesnt actually get SA’d, it’s just implied what could’ve happened)

Jon Snow x she/her!reader

part two can be found here

She’s The Man - Part One

The feeling caused by being effectively held in place by the shoulders of the men on either side of you is a discomfort that only a woman could truly understand, and that irony is not lost on you. It is a relief to know that none of the men around you can see through the shaggy short hair and into your mind, to hear such exposing thoughts. They cannot feel the way the cold air nips at the newly exposed skin at the back of your neck, having never had such little hair to shield yourself from the cold in all your life. They cannot see the way you pick at the nails that you were quick to rip off unevenly, out of fear of neat fingernails alluding to your femininity and ruining your rushed disguise before you have even arrived. It is a wonder they do not notice the way that your body jolts with every bump in the road below, far more than any of theirs do. Perhaps they think of you as a weak boy, which, while you will still be perceived as an easy target, is nothing compared to the terrifying reality of if they knew who - and what - you really are.

Thankfully, the journey between your home and the wall is not as long as it would be for others, the Northern blood in your veins a constant reminder of where you had come from, even if you would never be able to return there. However, the lack of time to mentally prepare yourself for the sight of such a place is something you are not grateful for. The wall towers higher than any structure that you have ever seen, part of you laboring under the misapprehension that it may even touch the darkening sky. If you are lucky enough to stand up there, you wonder if you will be able to touch the clouds, or the rays of the setting sun. 

The men that surround you say nothing as the gates to Castle Black open, welcoming you all to the home that you have chosen, but suspect many have not. Beyond the gate stands an enclosed realm that is more occupied by men than any you have seen, and that is truly saying something. Clutching the string of your bow at your front and checking its limbs at your back are still intact, you take a deep breath and rise from the cart with the rest of the men, having to jump to the ground rather than simply step down as they do. 

“We’ve got a little one on our hands now, boys!” 

A large man in an even larger black fur cloak and a particularly smug look on his aged face, sneers at you from a few feet away, bringing laughs from several other men. 

Wide eyes darting around your surroundings, you begin to consider that this may have been the worst mistake of your life thus far, until a familiar face appears in your line of sight. 

Him having not yet seen you, you allow yourself the innocent and undisturbed joy of watching him laugh with a small group of men that you do not recognise, feeling age old butterflies awaken from their slumber and burst to life within you at the sight of the smile you never thought you would be so lucky to see again, before a heavier-set man taps his shoulder and gestures to you. 

Jon Snow’s eyes meet yours from across the courtyard, and his smile falters, heart skipping a beat in his chest. He swears by the old Gods and the new that, for just a moment, he sees you standing there, with shorter hair and baggier clothes that don’t fit the memory of you that he holds so dearly, but the face the same, older than when he last saw it, but just as beautiful as he always remembered thinking you were, and seemingly, are. With a shake of his head, his mind clears, and he realizes that of course, it cannot be you, though he could also swear your twin brother had never looked so similar to you before.

Jon chuckles in disbelief as he approaches you and pulls you into a loose hug. While still recovering from seeing him after all this time - and here, of all places - you do not miss the opportunity to breathe in his familiar scent, feeling an odd sense of home as your face heats up. Pulling away from each other just enough to hold shoulders, Jon’s grin is unwavering.

“It is always a joy to see you, Darius, but, Seven Hells, what have you done to end up here?!”

Being referred to by your brother’s name is jarring, but you try your best to refrain from revealing that with the expression on your face. Unsurprisingly, being in the presence of Jon Snow makes it impossible for you to show anything but a smile.

“As it is to see you, Jon, and I will tell you later, I expect today is going to be-”

The same smug, older man that had made the comment at the expense of your stature earlier, interrupts you. “Oh, what a surprise, the mouse is friends with the bastard!”

Instinctively, a frown overtakes your face, one that Jon mistakenly recognises to belong to you and not your brother. Eyes not leaving Jon’s, you ask a silent question, and he shakes his head very slightly as you move to stand beside him. Apparently, this man is not one for you to snap at for referring to Jon as a bastard. Had Jon not shaken his head, you can’t begin to entertain the choice of profanities that you would have sent across the courtyard.

“Well, as is tradition with new friends of the bastard, show us what earns you a place at his side, little one!” The older man taunts, earning further laughs from the men that choose to follow him, against Jon. Naturally, you make a mental note of whose faces to avoid. 

A rusty sword is thrown at your feet, hitting the ground with a clang that makes your bones shudder. For a moment, all you can do is stare at it, until Jon clears his throat, glancing between you and the sword in confusion. Flustered, you bend down to pick it up, hoping you do so in a convincingly “manly” way, but regardless of that, the way in which you demonstrate having clearly never held a sword in your life immediately sends you plummeting in the social ranks.

“Gods, what a sorry state this one is!” The comment comes from one of the men that arrived with you, seemingly making an effort to join the wrong crowd, and that is the first of many final straws on the back of the amount of humiliation you can take in a day.

In no more than seven seconds, you drop the sword, march over to the pot of crooked, poorly made arrows that slump lamely against a wall, remove your bow from your back, grab an arrow, aim and fire, knocking the man’s hat clean from his head and pinning it to the wooden pillar behind him.

Silence falls upon the courtyard, but the grin on Jon Snow’s face in your peripheral vision tells you that you are far from having done something wrong. 

Kicking the pot of arrows over, you sigh, before turning back to the older man that had taunted you, daring to make a stand and earn an enemy on your first day. 

“Perhaps if you catered to different weapon talents, instead of rusty swords and arrows that a handless man could make better, your army wouldn't be in such a sorry state.” With that, you take a dramatic bow, earning applause from Jon and his friends, who are quick to surround you and congratulate you on your fantastic show as they usher you into the common room of Castle Black. 

Seating you at a table and clambering onto the seats around you, the men begin bombarding you with questions and compliments.

“The look on Ser Alliser’s face, I’ve never known anything like it! You’ve made more of a first impression than Jon!” A long haired, stubbly faced and slim man, who hurriedly introduces himself as Ed, gushes from your left. 

The heavier set man sitting opposite Ed, who is quick to tell you that his name is Sam, nods along with him. “To join us is to make enemies, but I dare say you would have been able to do that all on your own! And I mean that in a good sense.”

Jon chuckles from his place sitting opposite you. “Alright, lads, don't blow too much smoke up his arse.”

You beam at them. “No, no, please continue, this is doing wonders for my wall-bound ego!”

The band of new friends that you have made laugh at your response, until the quieter one sitting to the right of you, who Ed introduces as Pyp, speaks up. “Usually, we’d strongly advise against making a scene like that, but by already being friends with Jon, Ser Alliser would’ve hated you no matter what you did.”

You raise an eyebrow at this. “Why does Ser Alliser hate you?”

Jon meets your gaze and shrugs. “He has since I arrived, I’m not entirely sure why. Perhaps it’s my status versus his, or the fact I’m not as hopeless with a sword as he expected me to be.”

You sigh. “As useless as I am, you mean.”

Jon chuckles. “Your skill with a sword doesn't matter when you can wield a bow like that. When did your sister teach you?”

A warm smile blooms between your cheeks, having never expected Jon to remember the bow as your preferred weapon choice. “A few years ago, when I realized I wasn't getting any taller, or stronger.”

Jon smiles back at you, but doesn't laugh, not wanting to humor a joke about your stature like Ser Alliser did. “(Y/N) taught you well, how is she?”

And despite the circumstances, you find yourself grinning at him. “She is well, thank you for asking. She is the reason I’m here, actually.”

Ed interjects in the conversation that both you and Jon had forgotten was not just between the two of you, to enquire about how exactly the two of you know each other. 

It is no fanciful story - no matter how much the smiles on yours and Jon’s faces as you tell it may suggest otherwise - but a case of continued happenstance, in that Jon and his brother Robb often accompanied their father when he took short trips to other houses, and that on one of those trips, the boys bumped into you and your brother. Quite literally, you ran straight into Jon and fell backwards, landing on the muddy ground, smaller bow in one hand and an arrow in the other. The tattered nature of the dress that you wore told Jon that you were not highborn, but regardless, he was mortified to have knocked over a girl and hurried to bend down to help you to your feet. As soon as you were stood, you spun on your heel to aim and shoot an arrow, narrowly missing your brother’s shoe as he ran past you. From that moment on, the Stark boys begged their father to take them to play pretend battles with you and your brother, which went on for many years of your childhood, until Lady Catelynn forbade it, because it was not an activity for the heir to Winterfell, and because it made Jon Snow far too happy. As such, it has been years since Jon has seen either of you, enough time for your brother to have curiously grown to become more like you than Jon had ever anticipated he would. Never in his life had Jon seen a man he found to be so…pretty.

Sam gasps. “By the Gods, Jon, you never mentioned you had a girl!”

And Jon Snow’s face flushes deep crimson, horrified eyes looking to you for your reaction. “She was not my girl!”

His reaction makes you laugh, because oh yes, yes you were, he just didn’t know it. Hoping to convince him to carry on this topic of conversation, you try to respond in a way that a man would expect another man to. “Oh, please, speak freely, my sister is not here to witness such confessions, and it is not like I will be able to tell her!”

Ed nudges Jon. “Precisely! You clearly had a fondness for her, confess your sins to the sworn abstinent!” 

All of you share a laugh at that, and Jon sighs. “Aye, I did have a fondness for her, it’s true.” He looks at you, trying not to notice the way your eyes glaze over at his revelation. “You said that (Y/N) was your reason for being here, how?”

Rolling your eyes, you take a deep breath. “Some pompous prick with lands and a title tried to take her virtue.”

Sudden storm clouds rage behind Jon Snow’s frowning eyes, blood boiling in his veins, and fists clenching on top of the table. “If I ever find the filth that tried such a thing, you have my word, I’ll kill him.” He seethes, unable to merely comprehend the idea of someone trying to harm you.

His protective outburst is enough to make your heart flutter, but you hide it behind a small smile and a nod. “Thank you. She did get her own back, though.” Jon nods, encouraging you to continue, and you can't help the smug grin that plasters itself on your face. “She stabbed him in the cock the moment he got it out.”

Silence falls again, all three men’s jaws dropping and almost smacking against the table. 

“A common girl stabbing a Lord in the cock is enough for a death sentence, so I said I did it, and earnt myself a life sentence on watch, instead.” 

Sam speaks up first, wanting clarity on a detail of your story. “And the Lord, he allowed that?”

You shrug, sitting back. “A Lord would rather tell everyone a psychotic boy was sent to the wall for simply stabbing him than admit a common girl was killed for stabbing him in the cock when he tried to have his way with her.”

It takes the men a second to process your ‘crime’ and its sentence, before they erupt in cheers of victory in your name, save for Jon, whose gaze is fixed on the table, storm clouds not yet cleared. 

The rest of the evening passes in a blur that you had not at all anticipated for your first day. Ed, Pyp and Sam go out of their way to make you feel welcome, asking you all kinds of questions about where you came from, your favorite things to do, discussing what you all miss the most about home; it was time spent getting acquainted with your new friends, all the while your favorite memory of home sat opposite you. At most, he would smile at the things you said, but his eyes stayed fixed on the window for the majority of the evening, miles away with thoughts that you so desperately wished you could read.

As you finish your meals, you look around at your new friends. “What is the plan for tonight then, lads?”

Pyp gestures to himself and Ed. “We’re on watch.”

Sam sighs blissfully. “I will be sleeping soundly for as long as humanly possible.”

Chuckling, you look to your oldest friend. “Jon?”

Only at you calling his name does he return to himself and meet your gaze. “I’m not on watch either, and nor are you, none of the new men will be. Ser Alliser placed me in a particularly cold room, purposely, but there is a spare bed if you would like it.”

Nodding, you rise from the table and stretch out your limbs. “Off to bed it is, then. Lead the way, Lord Jon!”

That nickname catches him off guard, recognising it as something that only you used to call him, and smiling fondly, rather than reading into the fact that it was said by your brother.

Upon reaching your new accommodation, Jon opens the door and gestures for you to head in first, though he does not know exactly why, you are both men, after all; chivalrous gestures are not commonplace. Walking around you, Jon is quick to light the single candle in the room, its flame barely impacting the darkness that fills the rest of the room. 

When your footsteps stop in the middle of the room, you are certain you can hear the soft tiptap of claws against the stone floor, and then something is sniffing at your crotch. Gasping in surprise, Jon chuckles from behind you.

“Sorry, I should have mentioned-”

You interject. “You have a puppy!” 

Ghost, sensing Jon’s positive feelings towards you and logically concluding you are a friend, nuzzles at your hand in the dark. Jon is shocked to hear no fear in your voice at all when confronted by a large beast in the dark. Simply put, you are experiencing pure glee. 

Still, he frowns. “A direwolf.” He corrects you, but you are already crouching on the floor and feeling for Ghost’s ears to give the much needed scratches that you have discovered your new purpose in delivering for the rest of your life.

“Doesn’t matter how big, a puppy is still a puppy. And I love this puppy, and he loves me, don't you? Oh yes, yes you do, aren’t you the softest and loveliest boy in the whole world, hmm?” 

Apparently, Jon has completely lost you to his direwolf, who is lapping up the affection and the baby voice with which you are addressing him. He sighs in defeat.

“His name is Ghost.”

You gasp dramatically at this, scratching under the very large puppy’s chin. “Oh, Ghost, what a wonderful name! Such a strong and scary boy, aren’t you? Oh, I bet you are! The scariest brother on the wall from what I’ve heard!”

Jon cannot believe he is admitting this even inside his own head, but there is a small amount of jealousy swirling in his stomach, hearing the praise you are showering his direwolf in. 

“You weren’t exaggerating about how cold it is in here, Gods!” You laugh airly, rubbing your arms through your brother’s clothes and standing back up, continuing to rub Ghost’s head as he nudges your palm.

Jon sighs guiltily, it being too dark for you to see the expression on his face. “Sorry, I should have sent you to a warmer room than this.”

You shake your head frantically. “No, no, please, I’m grateful! I know you better than anybody else here, I will feel much safer sharing with you. And Ghost.”

Reaching you in two quick strides, Jon gingerly reaches for your shoulder through the darkness with one large hand. “I won’t let them harm you. Neither will Ghost.”

Nodding, you look up at him, wishing you could see into his eyes, this close. “Thank you, Jon.”

Dropping your shoulder, Jon makes his way over to his bed and begins to strip to his underclothes. 

Of course, you are temporarily blind in the one moment you have never been more desperate to witness a certain view.

Each of your steps in the general direction of your bed is slow and careful, guided mostly by Ghost who is still pressed against your side, until your boot hits a wooden leg of the bed, and you feel for the mattress, sitting down on it and breathing a sigh of relief. Knowing Jon cannot see you, you strip free of your oversized clothes, to your own underclothes beneath, feeling oddly intimate in a strange sort of way.

Once safely nestled under the furs and blankets of your bed, your body begins to regain its natural warmth. Ghost drops his head against your bed, sniffing against the furs dramatically.

Rolling your eyes, you shuffle until your back is pressed against the wall and pat the newly empty space beside you. “Come on then, Ghosty, up you get.”

With no further instruction needed, Ghost leaps onto the bed and begins to turn in circles, padding the space of the bed that he intends to occupy.

From the other side of the room, Jon laughs. “You are already spoiling that wolf far too much!”

“Nonsense!” You huff playfully, absentmindedly brushing through Ghost’s fur with your fingers while he settles himself beside you. Despite the fact you have not yet seen what this wolf looks like, you are all too aware of the fact that you would already give your life for him.

In the privacy of this room, shared by just the two of you, and in a space where neither of you can see the other, you decide to address what has been weighing on your mind.

“Jon?” You call out quietly, and he hums in response. “You were awfully quiet at dinner…I just wanted to ask if you were alright? I did not want to make a spectacle of your feelings in front of your friends, so thought it best not to ask until now. If you do not wish to tell me, then I understand, I just wanted you to know you can tell me, if you would like to.” Your words float in the space between your heads, from your heart to his, and he feels the weight of them.

“Thank you, that’s very kind. In truth, I was worrying after (Y/N), what had happened to her. Is she alright?” He asks, the thought of you being afraid making him physically nauseous, because he can't be there. 

“It was not easy, but she has recovered as well as she can. She has more of a nervousness towards men that she does not know, naturally, but aside from that, she is much the same. I’m sure that your concern for her would bring a smile to her.” Talking about yourself in the third person is not an easy feat, but you are getting the hang of it, slowly.

After a moment’s silence, Jon speaks up. “I wish I had been there.”

You raise an eyebrow. “When?”

Jon wipes his face with his hands. “Before, during, and after. I wish I’d seen more of you both, I wish I’d been there to help protect her from that, and help her feel safe again afterwards.”

Tears start to sting your eyes at his heartfelt confession and care for you. “As do I.”

To Jon, your response alludes to your brother wishing he had been there to rescue you, but to you, you are sharing Jon’s wish, that he had been there.

“I’m sorry, it must be more difficult for you, as her brother.” Jon apologizes.

“It is, but there is no more that I can do, especially now that I’m here. Even if I wasn’t, you would make more of a difference than I ever could.” You say, speaking words that you never thought you would have the chance to tell him to his face.

“How so?” Jon questions.

“She thinks of you often, she told me so. When it happened, she thought about how angry you would be, and that helped give her the strength to fight for herself. Nothing I did could compare to the mere thought of what Jon Snow would have done if he’d been there. That’s not to say you would have necessarily done more than I, but that it would mean more to her if that action came from you.” The confession is an honest one, feeling less daunting when viewed as someone else’s. 

Almost a minute of silence passes, and your mind spirals. Was that too much? Has he somehow pieced together that those words were yours, not your brother’s? Have you already ruined your new life?

And then, you hear laughter. So quiet at first, but quickly blossoming into a hearty, full laugh. 

“What?!” You are confused, but already chuckling with him.

“Well, had I known that, perhaps I would have reconsidered my joining the Night’s Watch!”

Now, you’re laughing too, the ridiculousness of it all exacerbated by the additional layer of diabolical coincidence that has led you here, to this bed, in a room with the man your heart has always yearned for, that you were so sure you would never see again. 

“She will be just as disappointed, I can assure you!” 

Jon sighs, heart swelling and dropping simultaneously at the hope and soul crushing reality of it being completely unrealistic all at once, wanting to shift the topic of conversation.

“What of you, did you leave a maiden behind?” 

An easy enough question, you think to yourself, but immediately begin to consider how to make the answer less dull and finite. “There was someone that I had my heart set on, and now I think I’ll dream of them, if nothing else.” 

Jon hums thoughtfully. “That’s quite romantic, perhaps I’ll do the same.” Realizing what he has said, he scrambles for a recovery statement. “My apologies, I did not intend to tell you I’d be…”

You muffle your giggle into your pillow before answering him. “Dreaming of my sister? You pervert!”

And then you’re laughing again, like the old friends that you are. If Jon only knew who you really were, this effortless flow of conversation and complete lack of awkwardness could be understood as chemistry.

“I suppose we’d best go to sleep. Thank you for making my first evening far better than I’d imagined it would be. Though I doubt my presence is any consolation to the truth of not being able to marry my sister by being here, I am glad that you are here.” There’s a playful, teasing tone to your voice and the chuckle Jon gives you is proof enough that he did not miss it. 

“Thank you, I am glad that you are here, too. Goodnight.”

Smiling to yourself, your eyes flutter closed. “Goodnight, Jon.”

The next morning, you awake to a large hand shaking your shoulder through the blankets that cover you, and your eyes snap open, an alarmed expression on your face that makes Jon smile guiltily as he retracts his hand. 

“We’re expected at training, but I thought I’d let you get as much sleep as possible on your first night. I’ll see you out there.” 

With a nod, Jon takes his leave, and you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. If you had not had the blankets firmly tucked beneath your chin, if your chest had been visible in the gap of your underclothes…your blood runs cold. For future reference, there is absolutely no way that you can sleep without more clothes on.

Rushing to get ready into the black clothes that Jon very kindly placed at the foot of your bed, without telling you, you flatten your disheveled hair as best as you can and make your way towards the door, only then acknowledging the large white direwolf that has been waiting there patiently for you.

Smiling at him, you scratch behind his ears. “Good morning, Ghosty. Now, you must swear to me that you won’t go telling Jon about what you may or may not have seen when I was getting dressed, alright?”

Ghost tilts his head to the side as he looks up at you.

With that, you nod at him. “Thank you, I take your word as an oath of sworn secrecy.”

The moment the Northern air hits you, your eyes are searching the courtyard for Jon, and you find him, his gaze seemingly focussed on the door he knew you would exit from, waiting for you amongst his friends. He waves you over with a kind smile that sends butterflies spiraling in your stomach again as you jog over to meet him, Ghost plodding along beside you.

Save for the odd sarcastic comment from Ser Alliser, the majority of the day is spent in good spirits with your newfound comrades. Sam clarifies that the older man patrolling the courtyard and checking the ability of the new men is Lord Commander Mormont, and he is seemingly a much nicer man, which keeps Ser Alliser reigned in. He trusts that Jon will train you effectively, so does not request you join a different group for training exercises, much to your relief. Unfortunately, training with Jon Snow does come with a price. Namely, the fact that you cannot focus on anything he says when he is demonstrating a particular offensive or defensive motion with a sword because you are far too distracted by how unbelievably handsome he looks, the way his dark curls bounce with every movement he makes, and the smile on his face when he watches you try to mimic what he showed you three seconds prior and you simply stand there, dumbfounded. And when he demonstrates how to hold a sword by wrapping his larger hands around yours? Gods be good, your hands have never shaken so much in your life. Of course, the kindhearted Jon Snow notices this.

“You’re trembling, are you cold? I can fetch you a thicker cloak.” He offers quietly, melting you beyond what you consider to be fair. 

“N-No, I’m alright, thank you, just…not used to holding something like this, worried I’ll hurt someone.” That was not entirely dishonest, but it is definitely not the largest portion of the truth.

The look in Jon’s eyes then was something that you struggled to place, because you are so sure that you recognise it from moments of your childhood, when you said things to Jon that were simply kind, and he heard them as the most profound statements of his life. Jon remembers it well, but both you and he are perplexed by him looking at your brother with such an expression. 

“The intention is to hurt someone with it, to protect yourself, if need be.” Jon says softly, though you can tell he is not paying much attention to his own words, too lost in your eyes to remember where the two of you are standing.

“I know, but I don’t want to hurt someone by accident, and with you standing so close, I am worried I will accidentally maim you…”

That not only brings a laugh from Jon, but Sam, Ed and Pyp, too, thinking your concern as very sweet, but knowing that Jon can easily block a poorly aimed swing if he has to. 

By the end of the day’s training, you are under the impression that you have made quite the improvement, to at least appearing as though you have held a sword once before, as opposed to the embarrassment you inflicted upon yourself yesterday when you held it like a hot poker. During supper, Jon informs you that he is on watch tonight and that you are welcome to join him, unless you would rather turn in for the night. While every muscle and bone in your body protests against the idea of anything other than rest after such rigorous physical activity - the likes of which you have never punished yourself with before - the chance to spend more time with Jon, and to see the world from what you believe to be the top of it, is too idyllic to miss. The giddy grin on your face as you frantically nod at his invitation is enough to make Sam chuckle.

“I’ve never known someone so excited to go up there, it’s actually quite frightening!” 

You shrug. “I’m sure it is, but I don’t doubt it’s beautiful, too.” 

Jon nods, smiling at you warmly. “It is, the world is so quiet from up there. You’ll see.”

At that, you’re grinning again. “I can’t wait!”

And your grin does not waver, not on the walk to the lift, and not by the time you’ve stepped inside it, either. In fact, when you and Jon are almost halfway up the wall, you are practically bouncing with excitement. The sadness of saying goodbye to Ghost as he left with Sam instead of accompanying you is already forgotten, replaced by a thousand questions of what you’ll see when you reach the top of the world. Standing at your side and looking down at you, Jon laughs quietly, but doesn’t say anything, not daring to interrupt the scene of your eyes darting through every visible gap in the lift to the rising world outside. He is certain he has never found another man as enchanting as he finds you. 

The lift stops at the top of the wall with a creak, and you jump out of your skin, purely from adrenaline, not fear, and the door cannot open quick enough. The gasp that escapes you the moment you can see a clear view from the top of the world, sends a warm cloud from your lips that disappears in an instant. Running to the closest end of the wall, you stop yourself at the edge and look down. Undeniably, there is a horrifying thought of what it would be like to fall from such a height, but most of all, you are in awe. Having always had an awareness of the world being so much bigger than you could ever comprehend, you never imagined that it would be this tall, it was not something that you were able to envision until this very moment. 

Jon is back at your side in an instant, reading your wide eyes and nodding in understanding. 

“It’s surreal, isn’t it?”

Looking up at the night sky, you laugh at yourself. “It is, but I was convinced I would be able to touch the clouds from here, so I can’t help being a little disappointed.” 

Jon laughs with you, shaking his head at how effortlessly you can make him laugh by being so sweet, so you. “Unfortunately, I don’t think you’re quite tall enough.”

Gasping for an entirely different reason, you elbow Jon in his side at his jab at your height, both of you laughing like school children, feeling an easiness that neither of you have felt in years, not since you last saw each other. Both of you know that it is not the same thing he felt with your brother, nor that your brother felt with him, but neither of you dare to acknowledge such a thought.

Tucking your cloak beneath you, you sit down on the edge and dangle your legs over it, adjusting yourself to the view. Until Jon lowers himself to sit beside you, shoulder to shoulder, and you turn to look at an even better view. The very best, one could argue. 

“I don’t mean to sound like a soppy git, but you being here really has turned this from a hellish life to one that I’m actually happy to live.” You tell him, honestly, and Jon gives you that same look again, reading your eyes and wondering how you could possibly say something so genuine and kind, sounding so familiar in a way that he can’t explain, but it hits his heart just like it always has when he’s known it comes from you.

“Thank you, I feel much the same. The friends I’ve found here have made everything more bearable, but you…a tether to the best parts of my life before it was this, it’s…nice, to have you around.” There’s a soft expression on his face as he watches you react to his words, face relaxing because you know that he understands exactly how you feel and reciprocates it. In one sense, at least. 

Sighing deeply, you look ahead and, without thinking too much about it, rest your head on Jon’s shoulder. A minute of comfortable silence passes, neither of you wanting to disturb such a pure and perfect moment; silent and at peace, on top of the world. The same feeling shared in your pounding hearts, same warm faces and bashful smiles. And then, you break the silence. 

“Soppy git.”

———————

taglist: @otteropera @neymarjrrwife @oliviabelova

[arthurjohn123]

Aphrodite's Testament

A fairytale

Once upon a time  a Prince was born in a faraway kingdom, whose beauty surpassed Aphrodite’s. This moment was nothing short of a miracle to Queen Marie and King Henry, as the two have prayed every night for this to happen. A priest told them to do this as their bloodline has been cursed with such hideousness people would faint from just getting a glimpse of them. This curse was implemented a decade ago by an envious witch who wished to look as beautiful as them. Distraught with such a predicament, they committed their everything to ensure their firstborn does not suffer such a fate. After many years of praying, wishing and longing for this very moment to happen, the gods decided to finally bestow them an offspring whose appearance was so unmatched even Narcissus would fall in love with him, and not his reflection. The moment he was born, the priest suggested the family follow his guidance as he will ensure the baby will stay beautiful forever, if not become even more handsome. Greedily and without thinking, they listened to his words no matter what, the world could burn for all they care, and they would still take the priest’s advice.

The Prince’s name is Ray, a boy whose presence reminded the kingdom of nothing but sunrays, bright and eye-catching. His gorgeous dark hair and jade green eyes have always been revered and recognised by the public wherever he went. Throughout his life, the royal family struggled to take him anywhere without people getting in the way of their carriage. They would scream and shout praises till their voices got hoarse, it was as if he was a spectacle of some kind. He didn’t do anything worthy of attention, nor could he really as he was just a toddler by then. Perhaps his appearance reminded many people of the paintings of his great grandparents, whose beauty was just as astonishing as his. However, the difference is that they won the genetic lottery, meanwhile Aphrodite graced Ray with such beauty that outshine her own. Hence everyone knew he was special, as they felt simply blessed just by looking at him unlike his parents, whose ugliness was always hidden behind curtains, fans and masks. His appearance was regarded as something holy to look at, and touch which has happened frequently. Peasants, merchants and nobles alike always wanted to take a closer look at him, claiming that their souls will be cleansed, and the amount of times these instances occurred only increased the older he got. They would mutter how soft his skin is, how unblemished it was and how he was a masterpiece of some kind. These words would echo in his mind from sunset till sunrise, leaving him exhausted. Thinking about anything but their slimy hands nauseated him so much that he would vomit and fall ill for days. 

The royal family did not enjoy others touching him but the moment they saw the consequences of that happening, they decided to immediately forbid anyone from touching him again lest they wanted to be impaled or put in jail for eternity. Little did they know, the crimes committed against him would only become worse and worse… People coming from all kinds of backgrounds would break into their castle and try to kidnap him. It did not matter how many guards they had outside of his bedroom and outside his window, these desperate and filthy people would always find a way to get their hands on little Ray. 

The amount of these occurrences would increase as he got older, and one of the worst ones happened when he was nine years old. While he can remember many of these instances like yesterday, where each one of them left him in cold sweat, there was one incident that stood out the most, it is the one that leaves his unblemished face pale as a ghost. It was the night of the King’s birthday, and he had invited all of his relatives and the elites, making the entire castle very crowded. So, to avoid all this the young Prince decided to excuse himself and go to bed early that evening which saddened many guests but they let him go anyway because they understood the importance of beauty sleep. Ray thought this night was gonna be mundane as many other previous nights excluding those times he almost got kidnapped. But little did the boy know, one of the male guests got a tad bit too attached to him and followed him all the way to his bedroom silently. This old man probably hid himself somewhere in his room unbeknownst to the boy’s knowledge, and watched the maid help him get undressed and then put his night clothes on. The stalker got to see everything he hid underneath those expensive garments he wore almost everyday, and they got a closer look at him the moment the maid left him unattended for the night. He moved closer to him, and simply admired him while he was asleep. Driven by a complete want for him, he laid beside him under the covers, stroked his hair and quietly muttered praises as if he was his mother. Slowly but surely, impure thoughts began to cloud his obsessive mind, and he removed his covers and started to touch him. This woke the boy up and before he could do or say anything he covered his mouth with his hand and continued to explore his undeveloped body. He wanted to kick and scream but he couldn’t, he was too weak and he felt like he had no control of his body, hence he remained completely paralysed below him. What shocked him the most was when he tore his nightgown off and spread his thin legs apart. It was very dark so he couldn’t see what the man was doing, but he recalls the sound of him undoing his belt and pulling his pants down. Suddenly, the old man stopped the moment his maid burst into the room, with a candle in her hand she yelled at the man to get off of the Prince. Everything happened so quickly, because the next second he saw the man being dragged out by the guards, half naked, kicking and screaming as if he threw a tantrum. After one of the guards slammed the door closed, the maid made her way over to him, and the moment she witnessed his torn up nightgown she told Ray he needed to see the priest immediately.

The journey to the priest was very short, and the Prince travelled to him in a carriage with his parents. Once they got there, it was as if the priest could read through Ray and could retell the parents all the details of what had happened to their beautiful son. The priest claimed the boy’s jade green eyes had gotten dull from trauma and facing something extremely sinful.

‘We must cleanse the Prince from the horror that he has witnessed. With Aphrodie’s help, maybe she will help him go back to the state of salvation and purity once more. He has become impure… And he has fallen victim to its consequences. If he does not become pure once more, his boyhood will be likened to a withered rose, impure, filthy, and worthless. We will have failed what Aphrodite has asked us to do, which is to protect him and his purity.’  The priest explained, agitated, and upset over the incident.

‘Then… Wh-what shall we do? You are our only hope because you’re the only one who can speak to the gods... Especially Aphrodite. She listens to no one but you, Sir.’ The king exclaimed, whilst holding his wife who became dizzy and almost delirious over the horrific situation their son has been through. Her husband used his free hand to dab a cloth on her damp forehead gently, to keep her cool as he was worried this might happen, and he was nothing short of correct.

‘Build Ray a tower, so high that it touches the clouds, it is only then Aphrodite might forgive us for our shameful mistakes. His beauty needs to remain untouched, even by the Prince himself as he cannot be allowed to get dirty ever again. Lust is the most dangerous sin and we cannot have him fall in love with his own reflection, like Narcissus did. Therefore, your highness, we must ban mirrors and anything too shiny from coming into the tower.’

From then onwards, the boy lived above the clouds for many years, alone and protected from anything that could further sully his purity. Everyone but Ray knew how defiled he had become after that night both physically and mentally. Hence, they believed Aphrodite’s idea of retribution was to keep him as sinless and pure as a newborn, if not more, especially for his potential wives. Letter after letter, was sent from every corner of the world, where beggars, commoners, and royalties alike have asked his parents to wed off their daughters to him. By the end of the year, the amount of letters would brim the royal family’s ballroom, which was one of the grandest rooms to be in. 

It seems that the older he got, the higher the number of proposals would be sent every year. Even so, nobody dared to pay him a visit ever since the incident, and thus the Prince came to live in isolation for many years to come. This left the world a big mystery, as almost nobody but his closest knew how beautiful he had become over time. 

[dickwheelie]

okok #10 for jonmartin if it's still on the table

#10 - recognising the other’s voice in a crowded room place

spoilers for mag 200!

____________

They wind up alone. After all that, they wind up alone.

Jon wakes up in a hospital and Martin is nowhere in sight. He's told by the paramedics that he was found alone with a knife wound in his chest and that he's lucky to be alive. There is no record of someone who could be Martin anywhere in the hospital.

Martin, meanwhile, wakes up in the basement of a parking garage in central London with a few bruises and Jon's blood coating his shirt.

Neither of them can be sure the other is alive, or if they made it to this other place at all. Maybe, they both think, he got left behind. But no, I was holding him so tightly. Did I let go? Did I let--

I have to find him.

They do their best, but there are no records, no birth certificates, no social media accounts. They're brand new to this world and really they shouldn't exist here at all. The one thing that keeps them from despairing is that there are no death certificates, either.

Neither of them leave London. They know, somehow, that if they ever find the other, it'll be there. It was one of the only things they bonded over, in those early days; that for better or worse, they were staying in London. They loved it and they hated it and they toasted their mugs of tea to never leaving it.

So they stay in London. They lie and steal and find places to live, and they keep looking.

Jon makes regular trips to Stockwell, where Martin's flat used to be, and although his old building doesn't exist in this reality Jon walks around the area for hours. He goes to the curry takeaway downtown where Martin liked to bring Jon for lunch, which strangely enough still exists but has changed, somehow; the colors are wrong and the smell is different. And Martin is not there.

Martin goes to Jon's old flat and waits by the entrance until he can convince someone to buzz him in, but when he knocks on the door someone else answers and he can see over their shoulder that the flat is not Jon's, has never been Jon's, in this version of London. There are no cardigans draped haphazardly over an overstuffed sofa, no meticulously neat rack of shoes by the door, no stacks of books in the corners of the room. Jon is not there.

They walk around the city at all hours, in arbitrary, circuitous paths, hoping against hope that on the next corner they turn they'll find the other standing there, waiting for them. As they go about their day they watch passing strangers' faces, looking for pairs of round glasses or a smattering of scars. Sometimes on crowded streets they think, for just a moment, that they've caught sight of the other, and hope burns in their chest as they hurry to get closer, only to find that they were mistaken. Those are the worst days.

One day, Jon is wandering listlessly through the crowds at Piccadilly Circus when he catches sight of a blue jumper and dark curly hair, and his heart skips a beat, as it always does. He pushes himself shamelessly through the crowd, until his hand is on the man's shoulder, and he calls out, "Martin!"

But the man turns around and it isn't him, of course, it isn't him, and Jon doesn't even bother sticking around to apologize or explain himself, just turns and disappears into the crowd again, trying not to let himself cry. Every time was worse than the time before, every time was just another reminder that he was alone, that he didn't know if Martin was alive or dead, that he didn't know if it had all been for nothing, after all--

Across the square, Martin hears something. Amidst the din of the crowd, so faint it might have been his imagination, he thinks he hears someone call his name. But it isn't just his name that makes the breath go out of his lungs, or sets his heart hammering, or sharpens his senses to every single face and sound around him.

"Martin!"

He hasn't heard his name said like that in months. Part of him never expected to hear it ever again. It sounds so at home in Jon's voice, in that expectant, excited tone, a little breathless, utterly loving.

Of course, he answers.

"Jon!" he cries out, at the top of his lungs, needing to be heard over the din. He casts around the crowd, searching every face, but none of them are Jon's. "Jon!" he cries again, bellowing now, pushing himself through the crowd, searching, listening, for any kind of reply--

Jon stops right in the middle of a crosswalk, and spins around towards the direction of the shout. It's him, he knows at once, the high, slightly panicked tone, mixed with worry and frustration and love, and oh, he's missed that voice.

He hears his name again, even louder this time, carrying over the noise of the crowd and Jon wants to laugh and possibly cry, because of course, of course it would be his Martin who found him.

"Martin!" he calls back, as he heads in the direction of his voice--

And Martin hears him, and shoves his way through the crowd, heart in his throat--

And Jon pushes through a wall of people and nearly trips and falls, but he catches himself and when he looks up, oh, there he is at last, with his burgundy jumper and his dark, kind eyes--

And Martin is staring at a shock of grey hair and pock-marked scars and the most beautiful smile he's ever seen--

"Martin!"

"Jon!"

And they collide, in a blur of kisses and tears and gravity, and there will be time for more words later, but for now all they need are their names, and the voices they had thought they'd lost.

[getouswh0re]

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

genre: yandere, unhealthy relationships, mentions of violence, blood & gore, mass murdering, obsession, slight manga spoilers

synopsis: he would tear the entire world apart with his own hands, just to keep you by his side evermore.

****************************************************

Love is a lethal bliss.

Bearing semblance to momentary sweetness, it warms the cockles of your heart; yet before one could even savour it for long, in its honey-like aftertaste is a deadly poison — seeping through the branching veins and killing every cell of the living host within its reach. Soundlessly, life is sucked out as one discovers themselves teetering on a tightrope of death.

i) The ambience of the atmosphere between you and Gojo is silent, deadly — akin to the calming weather before a raging storm. As the two of you stand at opposite ends of the living room, eyes refusing to meet with the sorcerer’s as an expanse of sky blue smoulders holes into your soul. Feeling your limbs trembling from the intensity of his stare, cat got your tongue. The words you’ve meant to say are stuck at the back of your throat as the taller male shifts a step forward, and you unconsciously leaning back against the wall.

“Do we have to do this love?” You cringe at the feigned pain interlaced in your ex’s tone. “You know you don’t have to do this. This is painful for both you and I, and knowing how much you love me, you certainly don’t want to put both of us through all of this. Don’t you?”

You bite your lip, eyes downcast. 

You wish all of this isn’t necessary, that everything that has happened is nothing more than your imagination regarding the red flags displayed before your periphery. Still, you have to do it having mulled over it for a while. It is about time that all of this come to an end. 

Ever since a certain man called Gojo Satoru meandered into your life, everything changed as your feelings for the male blossomed, like fresh buds on the bare branches with remnants of snow thawing into tinges of spring. It didn’t take long for the two of you to reciprocate one another’s feelings, yet cracks gradually surface on what seemed like an all-too-perfect fairy tale, breaking the crystal ball of illusion that you had been trapped in throughout all these months. 

For as long as you could remember, Gojo has been acting out of character; sure enough he retains his childish personality and insufferable god complex, yet there are times when you could barely recognise him. On occasions he would whine for hours, desperate to gain your attention, and there were moments when he’d follow wherever you went. Initially dismissing his clinginess as his way of displaying affection, you didn’t think much about it. That was until his demeanour underwent a 180 degree shift; being overbearing was one thing, yet the sorcerer had the audacity to dictate your life and your social circle, stepping his foot way past the boundaries that even you thought was too much. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t give Gojo an opportunity to change for the better. You did; it was him who failed to reflect on his own mistakes, to take things for granted without realising he had been in the wrong all along. With those alarming signs of the relationship spiralling into a toxic one, it occurred to you that you should end things fast before circumstances aggravated. 

Love is a beautiful pain.

To relish its fleeting vestiges between their fingertips, one must endure the torment of its thorns. Not everyone has the courage to sacrifice their sanity for something so transient, but one — or maybe few, who are more than willing to pay for their price, would do anything to hold onto such evanescent reminisces close to their heart.

ii) “Come on y/n. You know you don’t want to break up with me, stop lying to your heart.” 

As if his saccharine smile isn’t enough to make bile surge up your throat, the lovelorn white-haired man stares at you with such adoration, making you revolted than ever; before you could even blink, he is already inches away, bringing up his slender fingers and caressing your cheeks with utter delicacy. 

“From the moment we met, it’s like the red strings of fate intertwining, akin to two worlds colliding.”

Feeling his breath tickling your frigid neck, goosebumps laminate your skin as you shudder underneath his lasting touches.

“Your heart belongs to me, and mine yours. It’s like the universe wants the two of us to be together — forever. Just stop denying your feelings, okay? I can hear your heartbeat ... it’s beating crazy, just for me.” 

“Gojo, you need to stop all of this —“

“Oh honey, don’t say that ... I know the look in those eyes.” He presses on, his insufferable ego refusing to give in. “You might be pushing me away, but your body does the exact opposite. You’re still in love with me. You care for me, I know you do.”

Perhaps that is what makes terrifying about the sorcerer. Wearing his usual smile on a deceptively charming face, his true thoughts are inscrutable beneath the unfazed facade; worst of all, you never know what would drive him off the edge, not until you experience triggering a ticking time bomb by accident.

“Gojo, hear me out.” You push the towering male away, determined than ever to cut ties with him for the sake of your own safety. “What you do is not love anymore. It’s ... obsession! And it’s suffocating me! If you truly cared about me you would’ve respected my wishes and opinions — but you didn’t. No matter how much you love someone, this is far beyond acceptable. I ... we need to break up, for the sake of both of us.”

Stunned, the remnants of hope flicker in the sorcerer’s azure eyes before dissipating into darkness, along with his despondent heart that has plummeted into abysmal depths of a bottomless void. Hands retracting from your skin, you heave out a sigh of relief when spine-chilling chortles echo from Gojo’s throat.

“You think that’s it? That I’ll let you go?” The crazed glint in his burning stare convinces you even more that breaking up with this delusional man is the only option to save yourself. Slowly backing towards the door, you have prepared yourself for the worst, making a potential run with a bag filled with your valuables.

“You cannot run away from me y/n! You know you can never escape from me. I will flip the world upside down to find you — and hunt you down! Want me to prove that? I will tear the entire world apart by my hands, just so that you won’t run away from me anymore!”

You finally make your run, sprinting out of your shared apartment as fast as you could whilst ignoring his shrilling screams, deciding to leave everything behind for good.

Love is an unprecedented enigma.

Like a never-ending Möbius strip, the red strings of fate intertwines people's fates — yet at the same time, it looms over everyone's lives like a doom of death, mercilessly tearing loved ones or those held dear to their hearts apart within the blink of an eye. Callous as it seems, it reminds people how minuscule acts of gratitude allow them to appreciate the present before they lament or carry their regrets later on in life. Unfortunately, with the complexity of destiny, nobody could ever foresee when karma would dawn upon their heads. Not even you.

Little would you know that doomsday would be awaiting you so soon.

iii) For what feels like going through hell and back, you finally manage to rid yourself out of the psychotic sorcerer's hands and his devious manipulation. For what it’s worth, there is no guarantee about your life returning to normal. Knowing that it is nearly impossible to escape from Gojo (knowing that his sixth eyes can instantly locate where you are), you eventually make the decision of moving away with a heavy heart, considering that it would be what it’s best to solve your issues with your controlling ex. 

Having settled the documents and errands, all that’s left is for you to leave the place filled with nothing other than sad memories. As if it seems like a fresh start is extending its outstretched hands towards you, freedom is just within hand’s reach.

Not until all hell breaks loose on October 31st — the day of your departure. 

Copper tinges beckon indigo skies at twilight, remnants of the setting sun shining through the windows as you take a last, rueful look at the apartment you’ve resided most of your life before grabbing your belongings and heading towards the train station. With the day being Halloween, it isn’t surprising at all that the streets would be crowded, flooded with jovial citizens who want to enjoy themselves during the spooky season. All you have to do is make your way onto the designated train. 

Yet that never happened, because havoc descends among the living like a catastrophic plague. 

Just as you writhe your way through the streets and making your way towards the train station, screams erupt when a massive quake demolish the surrounding buildings into shambles, tearing the festive merriment in the atmosphere apart as people turn and run in all directions without warning — leaving you extremely perplexed about the current state of Shibuya. Horror is evident in every onlooker’s eyes whilst they dash for shelter; the city is in absolute chaos — danger looming, asphalt pavements ensanguined with blood, distressed cries resonating into the night. 

“Hey!” You call out, grabbing onto a random passerby. “What the hell happened?” 

“Danger ... curses ... sorcerer —“

Your blood run cold upon the mentioning, and it didn’t take long for you to figure out the entire situation and who has been responsible. In hindsight, you should’ve had followed the rest and ran away from the scene immediately, but you don’t — standing there amongst the quiet streets in utter terror. And before you could even lift your legs and sprint for your life, there he is, stained from head to toe in blood — an inebriated stare full of nothing but infatuation for you. 

“Honey! There you are ...” Skipping over mountains of corpses humming a joyful tune, Gojo happily pulls you into his chest, nestling his face against your squirming shoulders, his grip a vice against your futile efforts of struggling to break free. “I was so worried about you ever since you left! I ... I feel like my world is falling apart, and I just cannot live without you you know!” 

“Get. The. Hell. Off. Me!” 

The sorcerer chortles at your demand, ignoring your protests as he hugs you closer to his throbbing heart. 

“Darling ... we could’ve been so happy together. Yet you have to do all of this. For what? If you had given me your heart and soul, none of this would’ve happened —“

“Oh, so this is my fucking problem now?” You hiss, shoving the taller male off. “You really are crazy — Gojo Satoru. But I never regret the decision I’ve made, and I will do it again and again if I need to!” 

That is when he activates his domain expansion. 

All of your sudden, your mind is a blank — staring into the sorcerer’s cerulean eyes as it overwhelms you like a raging hurricane, sucking you deeper and deeper until your entirety sinks into his infinite void. For once you finally fear the strongest man on earth — of the dangers he possesses and what would’ve happened had he decided to break your mind the hard way. 

“To be honest, I don’t care ~” Silent tears roll down your cheeks once you recognise the drop in the man’s usual carefree tone, feeling the remnants of sanity being ruthlessly stripped away from you as you fall limp in Gojo’s loving arms. 

“The seas can rage, the heavens will rumble. But no matter what happens, I’m never going to let any of this take you away from me — for you and I are the honoured ones, destined to be together ...” 

With his voice dwindling to a hushed whisper, the sorcerer slips a shimmering ring onto your finger, declaring in utmost adoration his vows of undying love. 

“In time and evermore.”

[alicanta77]

NCT Dream Reaction: Realising they’re falling in love with you

Mark:

literally malfunctions when he realises

can’t look you in the eye for a week while he figures out if this is real or not

just wouldn’t know what to say so he avoids you slightly

then you walk into the practice room, armed with food and you make eye contact

he watches as you smile at him and when he can’t stop himself from smiling back, he just stops in his tracks

‘oh shit... this is real’

everybody somehow melted away into the background and it was as if you were all that mark could see

greets you with a hug and is very aware of how hard his heart is beating

immediately offers to carry the food for you and hands it out to the other members

finds himself drawn towards you

literally drawn towards you

like subconsciously sits next to you and finds himself always standing near you

this does not go unnoticed by the boys who definitely question him about it and when mark says he doesn’t realise he was doing it

the teasing begins all of them screaming about how mark was in love

but for once, mark didn’t mind

his was completely in love with you and nothing could take that away from him or wipe the smile off his face

Renjun:

actually recognises when he’s falling for you so he’s less surprised by it

it doesn’t suddenly hit him one day that he fell for you

in fact fell is the wrong word

renjun wouldn’t say he fell for you, that’s too abrupt and harsh

he more drifted like a leaf carried by the gentle summer breeze

and he just let himself

everyday he felt himself just sinking further and further into the feeling of loving you

and just allowed himself to be submerged in his love for you

it was only when he really thought about it one day that he realised just how deeply in love with you he was

he was talking to jaemin about you and it was like his eyes were suddenly opened

“i- i just can’t imagine ever not feeling this way about them...”

jaemin just stared at his friend's blatant honestly

“you really love them don’t you?”

“i really do”

finds that you add more colour to his life

anytime you’re around the world around him, the flowers are more vibrant, the sun shines bright and the air is purer

you add goodness to his life

and renjun knows that he would do anything to keep you in his life for as long as he can

Jeno:

something about realising this almost comforts him

i mean

don’t get me wrong, he still freaks out slightly

but he’s more relieved he knows

‘ahhhhhh that’s what it is i love them’

‘OH MY GOD I LOVE THEM?!?!?!?!’

whirls around to look at you and sees you laughing with renjun in the corner of the room

and just melts into a smile of his own as he sinks back into his chair with one comforting thought

‘yeah.... i love them’

relaxes slightly in just knowing that he loves you

like now he knows exactly what he’s feeling rather than getting confused as to why it’s only your opinion that really matters to him

smiles at you 24/7

literally he is just always smiling around you

and always laughs or giggles when you do

that’s what gives it away to the other boys who went nuts when they figured it out

they try to convince him to tell you but jeno brushes them off

he will one day but for now, he’s happy where he is

he gets to love you, and that alone makes him the luckiest person alive

Donghyuck:

this boy would absolutely freeze when it clicked

becomes the human embodiment of the shocked Pikachu emoji

he’s spoken to johnny about you and johnny told him that he was probably in love

and he’d always brushed it off, thinking there was no way he’d fallen that hard

but he’d never really realised it until this very moment

you’ve got no makeup on, you’re wearing an oversized shirt and baggy trouser and to hyuck you’ve never looked more beautiful

one look at you and his mind just went

‘i love you’

he just stares at you while his mind’s running at a million miles a second

trying to process all this new information and what to do with it

the he realises you’re looking at him with a concerned look

“you okay hyuck?”

and he just melts into the softest smile ever

“i’ve never been better.”

and he really means it

is still teasing with you, but almost in a more complimentary way

and becomes a bit more affectionate with you

that you barely notice cause this boy is made of cuddles

but he just loves being near you and holding you

and he never wants to let you go

Jaemin:

for as romantic and loving as jaemin is

i don’t think he really clicked that he loved you for a while

he’s used to being caring and loving for pretty much everyone

so doesn’t notice when he stops doing it for you out of the kindness of his heart and does it because he cares for you more than you know

it was only when jeno turned around one day and asked him about it that it sank in for jaemin

“so how long have you actually been in love with yn for?”

“huh? i’m not- oh... i guess longer than i can remember...”

the next time he looks at you he almost kicks himself for not realising it earlier

how could he not know, i mean its YOU FOR GODS SAKE

as soon as he realises he becomes very aware of how much more he loves you each day

and actually enjoys the feeling

likes the butterflies he always gets in his chest when you hug him or grab his hand

or the way he can’t stop himself from smiling every time you laugh

to him loving you reminds him that he has something so important to him that he would do anything to protect

treasures every moment that he gets to share with the person he loves and is always thinking about when he can see you next

Chenle:

is in DENIAL

is the only other one who notices when he starts to fall for you

recognises pretty quickly that this isn’t how he normally feels about friends and puts two and two together

however even as he’s falling for you

he keeps telling himself that he’ll be fine and it’s just a crush and nothing to worry about

yet is proven drastically when you call him, almost in tears after literally the worst day ever

everything had gone wrong and chenle immediately told you to come around to his

he literally prepared everything: he drew a bath, gave you a hoodie of his to wear, rented your favourite movie, got your favourite takeout and got flowers delivered to your house for the next day

does literally everything he can to make you happy again

and when this gets back to jisung, he literally just raises an eyebrow at his friend and chenle knows he’s screwed

initially doesn’t really know how he should feel about it

this is all new to him and his job is hard, he knew management wouldn’t be okay with it, not to mention some fans reactions

but still, chenle couldn’t stop himself from being drawn to you

and he couldn’t help how addictive it felt to be in love with you

and he decided that maybe you were worth any risk he may have to take

Jisung:

wouldn’t be as nervous or panic filled as some of the other members

but would be a LOT more confused

he wouldn’t really realise that what he was feeling was love

he just thought that you were the most amazing person on the planet and he was lucky to be able to spend any time with you

it ends up being jaemin and renjun who stage in intervention for the boy

renjun talking some sense into him and jaemin making him watch about 50000 dramas to try and figure it out

if that doesn’t work then they may just tell him outright

and watch as he just malfunctions while he tries to figure it out

“love? this is love?”

“jisung do you feel about us the same way you feel about y/n?”

“oh my god no! i love y/n in a completely different way to you. oh...”

now he starts to get scared about it

cause he doesn’t know what’s going on or what’s going to happen next

doesn’t know what this means for him or how to stop this

but most of all, is scared of the fact that he doesn’t want to stop all this

he doesn’t want any of it to ever stop

however, the only that doesn’t scare him

is that it’s all happening with you

[taxolotl]

until we meet again (if we ever do)

During his time in university, George keeps a photo of Dream in his wallet.

It’s arguably -no, definitely- the worst picture of Dream he has taken. Dream was laughing because the Polaroid was taken in the midst of laughter, the evidence of his mirth clear in the blurry, indecipherable picture. George could barely make out the green-and-red stripes on Dream’s tail in the Polaroid, let alone his face. Dream haunts him every day, regardless, so why does the clarity of it matter? After all, Dream is forever stamped, carved, printed in his mind. George won’t ever forget Dream.

A few months later, when George wakes up, he feels like he’s lost something. When he sits up in his bed he’s missing something, still in the in-between state of consciousness and dreamland. George pushes it to the back of his mind because, well, he’s got morning classes and he can’t afford to be late- until he’s staring down at the sink and thinks, rather belatedly, ‘oh right, Dream.’ Throwing down his towel in his haste, George retrieves his wallet and pulls out his picture of dream- the one that’s more blurry strokes of ink than image -and almost misses his compsci class trying to remember whether Dream’s scales were light green or yellow- curse the bright colour in the image.

He still hasn’t forgotten Dream, George tells himself. He was just- tired. That’s what it was. Fatigue. It’s nothing, just a reminder to not pull so  many all-nighters.

Day by day, little details of dream escapes George’s faulty memory- the colour of his eyes, the shape of his fins, how he moves, what he sounds like, how he laughs -until all that is left of Dream is a mop of unkempt blond hair and a wheeze-laugh. He isn’t fooling anyone, and the photo in George’s wallet sees the light of day less and less. 

When George collects his things, preparing to move back to Florida, he finds an album’s worth of pictures, ‘idiot’ written on the title line in a messy, childlike scrawl. George brushes dust off the album- Christ, it must’ve been some time since he last opened this -and pries it open. Its spine creaks with years of neglect, and George stares at pages upon pages of a stranger, with green-red fins and a sunlit smile.

It takes him several moments to recognise that this is Dream, his fairytale, and George is ashamed to say that he has forgotten a time when the distinct lack of fish tanks in his apartment made him ache, when yellow and grey used to look like fins fluttering amongst the waves, when somebody, anybody with blond hair that caught fire in the sun would make him turn and stare and hope.

But surely he’s not the only one? Surely Dream has moved on, packed his metaphorical bags and left their little town in coastal Florida, found his family and settled down with them somewhere in the Pacific. Time goes by, and people change, and Dream and George forget each other.

Somewhere down the line, their wait for me has turned into a farewell.

hi zin!! heard it was our blog-anniv so here you go! I originally planned to send this to you sometime later, but- well. anyways, congrats on the dreamfanart rt & likes (wanted to send a nice message for you when you posted the suit art but tumblr decided to die on me :/), and have a nice day! drink some water

[ncitygirls]

pink - mark x gn reader

fluff, smut, cw: submissive!mark, 2k

The concept of colour is an intriguing one. Much like seeing, seeing itself is intriguing. Intriguing as well is the notion that seeing is believing when the blind trust so fiercely. They must trust the yellow of the sun resembles the middle of daisies, and runny yolk. They must trust the red of a ruby resembles that of flowing blood. They must trust that at any given time, the blue painting the skies can resemble that of bluebells, blueberries, and all blue things.

The concept of colour is not an admissible one. It is convoluted and complex. The pink of a rose, of a poked eye, of a healing wound, of a stained linen. They all contain a bounty of hues; some dimmer, paler, or truer than others. They all carry their own meaning, things we assign and ascribe to an item; be it clothing, furniture, text. The point to all this is, you do not think you will ever be able to truly explain how perfect the pink that colours Mark’s lips is. You try every morning you are fortunate to wake beside him - when you are first to wake that is. You peel open your eyes one by one, blinking away sleep and tears from the strobes scorching your corneas, falling victim to the allure of sunlight that lures you from your dreams, only to wake to another.

Pink. It is too simple a word to describe the creases in his lips that sit a couple shades darker, not enough to call magenta nor red. Every morning, you ache to run your fingers along the ridges, to rouse him from sleep, punish him like the rising sun did you. You never do. You lay there, watching as silent breaths cause the rise and fall of your lover’s chest, perturbed by the riddle that curses you every other morning.

How does one describe the indescribable?

It is your job no? To spread word of such wonder. A man who proves the existence of a higher power. A man whose face cannot be a product of the algorithms of colliding comets, nor of destiny. Hands of an omniscient being carved this face, moulded him into the wonder that you wake to every morning. That pink is not just pink. It is a perfect combination of the richest red and a waxen white. God needn’t have spent long, given his almightiness, but he did spend more time than on others. For that reason you think it selfish to waste this time, to roll out of bed and busy yourself with the trivial, menial tasks of readying for work. No, you must solve this riddle. You must find a way to proclaim what you have thought since the very first moment you laid eyes on Mark Lee.

“How are you real?”

One glance and he knew you hadn’t meant to ask it aloud. It is a regular action you do in regards to him; thanking God for the blessing that was Mark Lee’s creation. It occurs at all hours of the day, both verbal and non verbal, physical and non-physical alike. Whether it be the sudden airiness in your laughter, or twirling strands of his hair betwixt your fingers. Every time your eyes settle on his face, your senses heighten while your sense diminishes.

“Morning, angel,” he mumbles, tugging you from your angelic pose on his chest and pulling your lips to his. He offers you just a press, but should it be your last, it would still be enough. Mornings spent in his company always make for an easier start, one full of wistful goodbyes but wishful hellos. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” your lips fall to his toned pec, offering scattered pecks. “Did you?”

Mark hums groggily, head falling to his pillow, failing to follow your sudden flurry of kisses. He finds the energy to speak just as your lips closed around his hardened nipple, as you begin to suck ever so slightly. His hands find your hips, clinging onto your frame as you kiss a path down his chest, marking his skin on your descent. “It’s almost eight,” he regrets to inform you, wishing nothing more than to enjoy this extended dream. “Won’t you be late?”

You show no signs of stopping, journeying south at a most leisurely speed. He relinquishes his hold on you, instead finding purchase in the bed linens, his fingers clasping around the duck down feathers. When your lips suddenly leave him, Mark fears the worst, that his reminder had a delayed effect. That is reluctant warning, seemingly good deed is now working against him. He soon finds his concerns were in vain as your lips close around the clothed head of his cock, sucking long and hard on the darkened material. His hips rise toward your mouth, chasing the stimulation you offer up to the deity beneath you, the one you call Mark. The one you call yours.

Your fingers grip his waistband, slowly lowering the material to the tops of his calves. His hot length meets the cool air with a hiss, his jaw tightening as you offer a languid tug from his base to his tip. A strangled moan fills the air, coating either end of your name. As you slowly pump him within your closed fist, you admire how the morning light always caught the beautiful tone of his arms, the shadows casting over his chest. He is more firm beneath your palm, more concrete, more real. When he casts his gaze toward you finally, finding some room for restraint within your steady pace, he allows himself to admire the gentle knit of your brows, the smirk upturning your lips as his breathing changes when you tighten your fist. He gasps when your eyes fly back up to his, your fist stilled at the base of his abdomen, a silent question in your eyes, a small lick at your lips.

He nods, watching you lower your weight, resting on his tensed thighs. He is breathless, eyes stuck on the plumpness of your lips, your pink tongue sweeping over your bottom one, teeth catching the skin as you run your closed fist over his cock once more, gripping tighter as he mewls.

Words escape him as he offers up devout concentration to his breathing, praying he does not crumble under the warmth of your touch and sweetness in your eyes. His eyes squeeze shut when you thumb his slit, a hard shudder passing through his bones, his hips bucking in time with your closed fist. Mark whines beneath you, the patience he forces is admirable, his whitened knuckles gleam as they blend in with the cloud of sheets. And still you wait, feeling his skin burn as his precum gathers in your palm, squelching in the air.

“Minhyung,” you breathe suddenly, fearful you might shatter the moment. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,’ he chokes out in response. ‘I want you, please.’

You chortle at his sweet plea, capturing the skin of his thigh in a slow kiss as you pump him harder, puckering your lips along the skin at his base as his thrusts start to increase. “Slow down for me,” you whisper. Mark loves what you are doing, reducing him to the shell of himself as you lure his first orgasm of the day from him. He grips your hand then, ready to chase a release he knows you will not give him.

“Please,” he begs softly, skin a flaming pink, lined by the morning light and in a light dew.

Pressing a final, fleeting kiss to his tip he wishes to chase, you release him, drawing his brows together as you slow down before climbing off of his lap. He frowns as you kneel beside the bed before patting his shin, “come ‘ere.”

He bites his tongue, stuffing it in his cheek, “I know you’re teasing me.”

“No,” you laugh, “you’re just impatient,” you coo, watching as he follows your instruction anyway, shuffling to the edge of the bed. You tug his pants down to his ankles before you are hovering over his cock, admiring the gleam as the light reflects off his slick head. He sighs as you do, your breath cooling his angry tip, a twitch running through his cock as you just hover. He almost whines again when you pucker around his slit, the tip of your tongue passing over it ever so slightly.

His sweet moans fill the air, his breaths laboured as you tease him, lapping at his shaft as he toys with your hair, moving it aside so he can see you. He watches you take him, burying his lithe cock between the hot confines of your mouth before sucking around him, humming as he mewls beneath you. He assigns no time to keeping himself together, instead admiring how quickly you render him powerless. How you swirl your tongue around him, pump him as you suckle on his head, swallowing around him. He is completely at your mercy, his cum threatening to pour down your throat as you push on his abdomen, sending his back into the mattress. He huffs as he falls, sighing as his stolen release is remedied by your cool, slick coated finger prodding at his puckered hole.

His moans are unintelligible, garbled mumbles filling the air as you glide your finger into his ass, curling ever so slightly as you pump the digit. “I think I-,” he starts, unsure how, or just unable to finish.

“It’s okay, Mark,” you breathe on his cock, curling your finger harder with every suck you offer his leaking tip. “It’s okay, you can come.”

“Fuck- I’m-” his voice escapes him before he can help it, the mere thought of it forcing you to suck harder. His release tears through him like molten iron, encrusting his every nerve, setting him alight. His cum coats your throat as he bucks into your mouth, your name barely comprehensible as it pours from his lips. It is pleading, prayer like, something you repel. It was Mark who was God like. Mark who was heavenly.

He humps up into your mouth while grinding down on your finger, milking himself, using you, silently forbidding himself to succumb to the oversensitivity of his orgasm. He clings onto the nape of your neck, lodging his tip in the back of your throat while chasing the finger pressed beautifully to his prostate as his mind and body struggle to process the endless limits of his pleasure, though the two can agree it rests in your hands.

When he is somewhat present, Mark quickly recognises your figure lying by his side, your unsoiled hand massaging the expanse of his chest. He gazes up at you with fatigue in his eyes, and a sickly adoration. And something else he thinks he is ready to name.

“Y/N?” Mark calls, still a little breathless, failing to notice the way your eyes catch the time. “I think I-”

“Shit, it’s past nine! Mark, I have to go.”

You disappear down the hall, your presence made known only by a flurry of rushed sounds before you return in the peachy pink shirt you left behind last time. He can’t figure out how it looks better on you every time he sees it. Much like the pink of your lips when circling his cock or the more innocent pink lining your tired eyes. Even the pink hearts that fly around your head as he watches you rush around the room, glancing at him every so often, laughing to find him still watching you. Each time you do, he sees that nothing beats the colour of the red raw love he feels for you. Mark hopes to tell you this some other beautiful morning. For now, he smiles against your lips as you bids him farewell before letting him return to his slumber.

He dreams only of you.

[honey-sweeeet]

the death of you and me; erwin smith

(cross posted from my ao3)

dying alongside someone you love isn’t the worst feeling in the world

cw: major character death / general angst

word count: 1.5k

"I said advance, god damnit!" Erwin screamed, thrashing around. His hard grimace did not waver even as the titan's jaw tightened around his upper arm. Something within you knows he won't get back up from that. And you realise that the last ever time you'll see Erwin is not when he tells you he loves you, but still commanding even until his death throes begin.

Angry, or simply just empty, you continue forward. What else do you do, when ordered by a dying man? You follow his orders for the sake of your own guilt. And for you, there is no distance you would not travel and no task you would not carry out if he asked it of you.

The jaw titan looks so demure, so tiny on the back of the armoured titan as it charges across the countryside. Somewhere in there is the target, Eren Jaeger. Somewhere in there are the cadets that betrayed humanity, and somewhere in there is the one that so many of your loved ones have laid down their lives for the sake of protecting. You barely register that you are moving until you're almost upon the target. Swinging high into the air, it's so quiet for a moment. So slow and so gentle up there.

There is no blood.

You reach the target, unsure if the tears in your eyes are from the wind or from your own anger. But they cloud your vision for a second or two when you swing your swords back, attempting to remove the jaw from the collosal's shoulders.

There is blood. And it is your own.

The jaw, Ymir, has struck you. And there is nothing you can do about it. You are flying once more, only this time it is not peaceful. It is not quiet, and there is blood. It is your own, pouring out of your chest. It does not hurt, and you find that strange. But you do not even try to protect yourself from the landing. You simply let your body crash and roll, for you feel so heavy. You don't want to move, and you most likely couldn't.

The ground rushes up to meet you, and that doesn't hurt either. Your body is rejecting the pain, or simply you are refusing to acknowledge it as you lay in the dusty grass. You let your hands stroke over the crisp blades of grass, and you wonder when it last rained.

It still does not hurt, even as your breathing becomes shallow and your limbs limp. You simply stare at the sky until the birds form patterns.

It burns, so much. But with every single heart beat, it hurts a little bit less. As the world around you spins, and dust flies into the air. As titans thunder around the countryside you simply lie there, watching. Your world is imploding right in front of your eyes. You try to not think about the children being torn apart, screaming for their parents. You don't want to listen to your comrades fall one by one, you don't want to listen to it anymore. You've had a lifetime of that - but the world is not so kind as to give you the peace of death without a final torturous struggle.

You vaguely register your name being called, but it sounds so far away you aren't even sure it's not just in your own head. Maybe you're finally letting go, slipping away quietly. If not for the pain you'd be able to say you died quietly, peacefully, staring at the sky. But the tears gathering in your eyes were the harsh reminder that you had to struggle for your last moments. You will die alone, and nobody will find your body.

He limps, stumbling to his knees every so often. His head is swimming with pain but he continues walking. And he continues yelling. He steps over the bodies of comrades that less than an hour ago were laughing. Some of them he doesn't even recognise the faces of, simply because they're too bloody. Or simply because they're not the person he's looking for.

"I found you," He grunts, staggering towards you. Moving like a puppet, your motions are jerky. You turn to him, reaching a limp hand out before letting it drop unceremoniously against your stomach.

"What did we accomplish?" You ask, eyes glassy as you stare at the cloudy sky.

"Absolutely nothing." Erwin gasps, finally dropping to his knees in front of you. Some of his blood falls onto your face, but you don't even have the strength to wipe it away. You roll your head to the side, and for a fleeting second his hand quickly wipes your eyes. Tears mingle with blood below your eyes, staining your cheeks a rosy red. Maybe someone would find you and think you died happy, blushing. Not covered in blood that you didn't even know who it belonged to.

Delirious, anxious laughter bubbles up from inside you. You lie staring at the clouds floating overhead, hands calmly laid over your eviscerated abdomen. Tears flow and you don't know if they're from fear, sadness or happiness. But they do not stop, much like the slow trickle of blood from your wounds.

"I don't want to die." You admit, turning your heavy eyes to glance at Erwin. He's laid out on his back beside you, his own blood staining the grass below. He takes your hand, slick with blood.

"I know," He replies, staring at the sky.

"But it hurts so much." You add, a wild sob breaking out. Everything burns, and you ache in both body and soul. Your mind is tired and every heartbeat shakes your frail body. You're not an idiot. You know there isn't much time left, no matter how hard you lie to yourself.

"Just close your eyes, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." He cries quietly, not even bothering to hide his own misery. Even if he does survive, he doesn't want to live anymore. Nothing can erase this memory from his soul. You will eventually fade from his memory, and when he forgets your face he will only be left with empty pain. There is nothing to replace what he has lost, and for that he wants to die beside you. For all he has done for the sake of humanity, he finds himself lying there willing to let humanity burn if it means you will stand up again.

But no amount of sacrifice can replace parts of his soul.

"I love you." He whispers, gripping your hand tighter. Your grasp shifts from the pooled blood and Erwin knows you're far away before you even stop breathing. Simply because your hand does not squeeze his in return, all of your energy is going into the shallow rise and fall of your chest. That same chest he laid his head against, sleeping soundly in your barracks. The solid, study ribs that now seem like they're made out of paper with the way they curve inwards.

When they stop moving, and he hears the last of your choking sounds, your head drops to the side. You are not in there anymore, there is nobody behind the eyes. But he does not let go of your hand. He does not even know if you heard him.

He screams, and nobody will hear him. Nobody can distinguish his voice from those of the dying screams of human and horse all around. But his is filled with enough rage to burn entire worlds. Rage to tear down mountains and pull the skies down. He cries, and never lets go of your hand. It is frail, and he cannot feel a pulse in it anymore. But he does not let go, he lies there, watching the birds take flight from the tree line - and he wishes for death. He wants it to take him. But it takes several more minutes for him to bleed out, it takes several minutes of screaming and sobbing before his vision goes hazy and his head feels light. It takes minutes of lying beside your corpse before he can turn to face your empty eyes and stare into them for the rest of eternity.

If he was even conscious in his last moments, he would register that the last thing he saw was your eyes. But he wasn't conscious.

//

When Levi finds you hours later, as the field is being cleared, he drapes a single cloak over the two of you. Nobody disturbs your position - they quietly drag you back to the wagon, your fingers tightly gripping each other as rigor mortis sets in.

"So he was human after all," Levi sighs, pulling up his hood and watching the rain start to fall.

[sequinsmile-x]

Riptide

A love story told from two perspectives. One after it is has ended, and the other just as it begins.

Chapter 1: The Beginning 

Words: 3.8k 

Rating: Mature. Major Character Death.

You can either read over on a03, or below the cut. 

I would love to know what you think. 

“I have loved with the breadth of the ocean, and lost with the grief of rainfall.” - Angie Weiland-Crosby ___________________

October 2025

His wake is in the house they shared together. People she both recognised and didn’t mill through their home, giving her and Jack their condolences as they passed by.

Emily’s grief felt oppressive, like she was drowning in it. Every breath she heaved in through her lungs burned in her chest. Hollowing out the place where his love used to live.

She had been through a lot in her life. Her childhood was snatched away from her at 15 in a small clinic in Rome. Ian Doyle had torn through her life twice, leaving disaster behind him both times. The ruins of her life his personal victory, even in his death.

But this, losing Aaron, was by far the worst thing she had experienced. Since the moment she was told he was dead she had struggled to comprehend it, only really believing it when she was taken to see his body. Emily felt numb. She knew she was pushing everyone away but she couldn’t help it. The solitude of her grief helped her just about cope enough to get up in the morning.

“Emily?”

She turns to see JJ standing at the door of Aaron’s home office, having clearly sought her out. Emily would place money on the fact the team was taking it in turns to check on her. Their own grief for Aaron outweighed by concern for her.

“I’m hiding from my mother.” Emily explains from where she is sitting on the couch. “She has no tact and I can’t cope with her today of all days.”

JJ sits next to her and places her hand on Emily’s. She runs a thumb over her knuckles. A gesture Emily thinks is supposed to be comforting, but she can barely feel it. The numbness she has felt the last couple of weeks ever present. Like she was watching life from behind glass, all of her senses muted and warped by grief.

“Em-”

“Don’t ask me if I’m ok. Or say anything kind.” She pulls her hand from under JJ’s and stands, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Trying desperately to hold herself together, but feeling like she could fall apart any minute. “I don’t think I can take it.”

JJ stands too but keeps a good distance from her friend, respecting the boundaries Emily had put firmly in place the morning after everything changed. “He wouldn’t want this for you, he’d be worried.”

Emily scoffs, but tears fall onto her cheeks anyway. She furiously wipes them away with the heel of her hand. “I wish people would stop saying that.”

JJ’s face crumbles, barely restrained emotion on her own face. “He loved you Emily. You were going to-”

“JJ. I really don’t need you to explain my relationship to me.” Emily says harshly, bitter words falling past her lips to stop her from breaking down. She felt like she hadn’t stopped crying in days. “I have to go check on Jack.”

“Em-”

“He lost his father. The only parent he had left. He’s what’s important right now, everything else can wait.” She turns to leave, hand hovering over the door handle to lead her out of his office and she hesitates to turn back around to look at her friend. “I love Aaron, JJ.” The use of the present tense wasn’t lost on either of them. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone. And he’s gone. I’m never going to get him back and you need to let me deal with that in my way. Okay?”

She leaves the office before JJ can respond. She walks through the hallway of the house she and Aaron had bought together, a photo on the wall making her stop in her tracks. Penelope had taken it on a night out with the team not long after Emily and Aaron first got together. She had just been injured on a case, her shoulder still sore from where she’d been stabbed. Aaron was still fussing, not drinking so he could take her home whenever she was done. He had pulled her onto his lap, his broad chest protecting her shoulder from being jostled by anyone. Occasional whispers in her ear asking how she was slowly driving her crazy. Penelope snapped the photo as she turned her head to admonish him, a loving look on her face.

The squeal that came out of her friend after she took it still echoed around Emily’s head 4 years later. Penelope had passed her phone over, showing them the photo of them looking at each other like no one else existed.

She’s always loved that photo. She had sent it to her own phone immediately and had it printed. Now it made her heart clench in her chest, wishing she could see him again. Their home now felt like a museum of memories, their life together a snapshot in time that would never have been enough, even if they had grown old together. In the two weeks since he had died every part of her wanted to run, to get out and leave this all behind.

She stays despite everything in her screaming to leave. To get out of the house they shared, the city that reminded her of him at every turn. She wants to be somewhere he never had been, in the futile hope that she would one day be able to breathe without it being painful, without her lungs constricting like she was underwater.

She stays. She knows from experience that running away won’t fix anything, that she would just take memories of him anywhere she went. Carried on her skin like tattoos of his affection, etched permanently onto her. And in her worst moments, when having been loved by him felt more like a curse than the blessing it was when he was alive, she wishes she could hate him for it.

Jack is standing with Jessica in the living room. Emily is reminded of watching Aaron and Jack together at Haley’s funeral so many years ago. It was hard to believe that the little boy was now the young man in front of her, back in town from college and clearly wanting to be anywhere else.

He looks so much like Aaron that it steals her breath away.

“Jack.” She says gently as she approaches, a tight smile on her face. Both Jack and Jessica turn to look at her. “I’d ask how you are doing but that’s a stupid question.”

The 20 year old nods at her. “It’s weird. Knowing he’s gone forever.” Jack replies, clearing his throat. “It feels final now.”

Emily agrees, her fingers digging into the skin around her thumbnails. “Where are you staying tonight? You can stay here if you want. Your room is still set up.”

“I’m going to stay with Aunt Jessie.” He says tilting his head towards his aunt. “Thanks, though.” He adds as an afterthought. “Excuse me.” He walks off, having spotted Henry in the corner, and Emily sighs as he goes.

Her relationship with Jack had always been good, but since Aaron’s death it had been difficult. Tense in a way that tore through her. Their mutual love for Aaron was no longer the thing that was the foundation for Emily and Jack’s relationship.

It was that they both believed his death was her fault.

“Emily.” Jessica puts her hand on her arm and squeezes it. “He’ll come around. You know he doesn’t actually think-”

“Thanks, Jess.” She cuts the other woman off, not wanting to hear anything else. She walks off again, desperate for a moment alone.

JJ seeks her out again once most people have left. The team helps tidy up, removing all traces of the wake from her house before they leave. JJ has a plate of food in her hands that was clearly intended for Emily. She places it in front of her on the coffee table and sits next to her.

“I’m not hungry, JJ.”

“Em, please.” She says, worry laced through her voice. “You have to eat something. He wouldn’t-”

“JJ stop.” Emily shouts, finally at her wits end. “Aaron is dead. He’s dead. So it doesn’t really matter what he would want, does it?” She curses under her breath as tears spring to her eyes, and she wipes them furiously away from her cheeks as they fall. She’s aware of the rest of the team around them, stopping their individual tasks and desperately pretending they weren’t listening in.

“Emily-”

“Do you know what I keep thinking about?” She asks, interrupting any more platitudes JJ may have that she simply cannot bear to listen to, she watches as her friend shakes her head. “I keep thinking about when I died. There was nothing. It was dark, and empty. Just nothing.” Emily’s chin wobbles as she tries to keep the emotion in, failing as her next words choke out around a sob. “And I lay there at night, on his side of the bed, and hope it’s different for him.”

This time she doesn’t shy away from JJ’s touch, and allows herself to be pulled into a hug she cannot bring herself to return. ___________________________

Once everyone has gone she lays in bed, on his side, and stares at the ceiling. She is wearing one of his shirts and wonders when all of his clothes will stop smelling like him, when she will lose the last trace she has of him.

Emily closes her eyes, both wanting sleep to come and for it to evade her. Aaron was always in her dreams, mostly good ones. Memories of their lazy mornings in bed together played out during the night in her head. The sound of his laugh as he trailed his fingers down her spine to wake her slowly, his enjoyment at her inability to function first thing in the morning never ending.

The dreams were a blessing. A reminder that it had been real, that she’d had him. They were also a curse. She’d wake with the ghost of his touch on her skin, and for a blissful moment she’d forget he was dead. She’d half expect to see him standing at their bedroom door, coffee in hand with a smile on his face.

Then she would remember, and it was always too much to bear. ___________________________

It’s Dave that comes over. Letting himself into the house with the spare key Aaron had given him, claiming that he felt better knowing other people that they trusted had access to their home in case of an emergency. Emily knew it was a lingering fear he had from when Foyet had broken into his apartment, those memories still sharp in his mind until the day he had died.

A small knock on the bedroom door announces Dave’s arrival a mere second before he opens it. She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t tear her gaze from the dress hanging on the door of the closet. She's sitting on the floor, back pressed up against the side of the bed. Her knees are against her chest, her arms wrapped around them like she was physically holding herself together.

“Did you draw the short straw today, Dave?” She sniffs, wipes her hand across her face to wipe off what felt like ever present tears. “You guys don’t need to check up on me. I’m fine.”

Dave sighs and sits next to her, groaning as he joins her on the floor, his body protesting the movement. “You’re not fine, bella.” He says simply. “And the others don’t know I’m here.”

She can sense his want to help her, sees his fingers twitch out of the corner of her eye as he seemingly tries to figure out if she wants to be touched or not. In the end he settles for leaning against the bed with her, a distance between them just small enough that she can feel his presence. Emily leans her chin on her knees, eyes still fixed on the white dress infront of her.

The dress that, if things had been different, if she hadn’t lost him, she should have worn today. She remembers teasing Aaron about it, telling him just enough about how it fastened up her back, how careful he’d have to be when he took it off to not break any of the delicate buttons.

She fiddles with her engagement ring before she opens her clenched fist to reveal two matching wedding bands in the palm of her hand. The rings they would never get to wear.

“It’s meant to be my wedding day, Dave.” She says, voice breaking around the words that didn’t need to be said. “And he’s not here, he never will be.” ___________________________

June 2021

When Aaron first moves back to Virginia it feels strange, like he was stepping back in time. The first thing he thought of was the team, of her. Once he no longer had to hide his identity he could have reached out. He almost had more than once, this thumb hovering over Emily’s name in his contacts, but he always stopped himself. Unsure what to say, thinking whatever they could have been had passed them by in a flurry of tragic circumstance and bad timing.

He’s back for two weeks when he sees her, and she’s somehow more beautiful than ever. He calls her the next day. ___________________________

Emily shouts at him. A lot. Years of pent up anger and worry spilling out over the phone when she answers, mixed with curse words and sighs in a way that was just so *her* it makes him laugh.

“And what is so fucking funny, Aaron?”

He clears his throat, tries to smother another laugh but doesn’t quite manage it. “Nothing, Emily. I just...I missed you.”

“Well.” She replies. “Whose fault is that.” There’s a pause, and it is just long enough that he thinks she’s going to hang up, leaving their interaction there. Aaron is about to speak and give her an excuse when he hears her sigh. “I missed you too.”

A spark of hope flares in his chest, something he hasn’t felt in a long time. “How about I take you to dinner? My treat. You can yell at me in person.”

Emily laughs at that, and he can picture how her eyes would crinkle with it. She was always so damn beautiful when she smiled. “That does sound appealing.”

“Tomorrow? If you don’t get caught with a case?”

She pauses, and he would bet his life savings if he could see her that she was biting her lip. “Tomorrow.” ___________________________

When she doesn’t get a case, and confirms that she will meet him at the restaurant he suggested, Aaron tries not to overthink it. He tries not to get carried away and think that this could be their chance, that the universe was finally aligning for them.

Emily tells him about her relationship with Andrew, how it had come to an end. Both of them were too set in their ways to truly make room for each other in their lives. He tells her about Jack, how he cannot believe his son is a teenager. The years had slipped by in a way that made him reflective, and she teases him out of his melancholy by telling him stories about the team. Aaron didn’t realise how much time had passed until the waitress came over and gently told them they needed to close the restaurant. Emily exchanges a sheepish look with him when they realise they are the last ones there.

She refuses his offer of walking her home, claiming it was pointless since she lived so far away and that she’d be fine in a cab. He gets a text from her when he gets home himself, an offer of another meal soon, insisting that she pays next time.

For their third date, because that was how he now exclusively thought of their dinners, if only in his head, he purposely choses somewhere near hers so he can walk her home. She narrows her eyes at him as he suggests it, having figured out his game but she allows him to play it anyway.

During the three block walk to her place she slips her hand into his. He turned to look at her but she was pointedly looking ahead, avoiding his gaze. That’s when Aaron realises she wants this as much as he does, and is just as worried about it as he is, what it could do to both of them. Neither of them would ever admit it, but they were both fragile when it came to love. Damage as clear as the scars they both bore on their bodies.

He stops them in the street, now half a block from her building, and stands in front of her, still holding onto her hand. He uses his spare hand to cup her cheek, to make her look at him. She licks her lips, her eyes now staring right into his.

He’d always thought her eyes were beautiful.

Aaron closes the gap between them and presses his lips to hers. She responds almost immediately, tearing her hand out of his so she can cup the back of his head and pull him closer.

It’s years of waiting, of hoping, coming together in a perfect moment. Her hands are in his hair, and his are on her back, pulling her closer as he tastes the dessert they shared on her tongue.

She pulls back, and rests her forehead against his, a laugh escaping her lips before she presses them against his again.

“We should have been doing this for years.” She murmurs against his lips, her hand stroking the back of his head . He mumbles his agreement before kissing her again, unable to help himself now the dam was broken. She suddenly pulls away, lips swollen as she looks at him, seemingly remembering that they were standing in the street still. “Come on, let's go.”

Aaron smiles at her as she tugs his hand, determined to lead him down the street. “Where are we going?”

“To mine.” She says simply, groaning when he comes to a stop, easily stopping her from walking any further. He places a hand on her hip, pulling her closer to him again.

“Em-”

“Don’t ask me if I'm sure.” She says, bringing a hand to his cheek and smiling at him, “We’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

That night they lay in her bed, in tangled sheets, fingers trailing over scars they’d both imagined for years. They are reverent with each other, acting as if they are both made of something precious. He laces his fingers through hers as he enters her for the first time, her broken gasp in his ear almost too much for him. When she breaks around him and he follows her over the edge he whispers words of praise into her skin, tells her how perfect she is to him, and he hears her repeating it back to him as her lips press to the scar closest to the top of his chest.

Aaron thinks she has never looked so beautiful as she did when she was curled up against him in her bed, hair in disarray and a sleepy smile on her face. When he tells her as much she scrunches her nose at him and tells him he’s ridiculous, a hand sliding up his chest as he pulls her in and kisses her again.

He stops himself from telling her he loves her that night as she falls asleep in his arms. The promise of their next date being breakfast the following morning dying on her lips as she is lulled into sleep. ___________________________

Emily gets hurt on a case a month later, and it’s bad enough that she ends up in hospital. Dave calls him, and Aaron isn’t even sure how he knew to do so until he says Emily asked for him.

The case was mercifully close by, Aaron jumping in his car to do the two hour drive as soon as he’s off the phone with Dave. A note left for Jack saying what had happened, and a call to Jessica to ask her to look after the teenager that night.

He makes it to the hospital in 80 minutes. A vaguely amused looking Dave meets him at the front desk and tells him that she is fine, that she lost a fair amount of blood to the unsub’s knife and that they were keeping her in for observation overnight.

Aaron doesn’t believe him until he sets eyes on her himself, the door to her room clicking closed behind him. He briefly thinks about the team standing outside her room, the confusion on their faces at him being there, at what he was sure was fear on his face.

“Em, sweetheart.” The nickname slips out before he realises what he is saying, the first time he’s said it, and it makes her eyes brighten at him.

“Hi Aaron.” She tries to smile at him, but the pain lacing through her arm and shoulder means it doesn’t go far. She swallows against her dry throat and she holds out her good hand to him which he eagerly takes, any concerns about the team disappearing as quickly as they had appeared. “It looks worse than it is.”

He raises an eyebrow at her before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Me too.” She smiles up at him. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, Em.” Aaron smiles when she fails to suppress a yawn. “You should get some sleep.”

Emily frowns at him. “You only just got here.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” He runs his hand over her forehead, pushing her hair out of the way. He can’t help but smile when her eyes flutter shut at the first touch of his skin to hers. He keeps the movement across her skin going, watching as her breathing evens out.

“I think I love you.” He whispers, sure she was fast asleep, lulled into unconsciousness by his thumb stroking over her forehead.

She laughs weakly and opens her eyes. “Oh, well I know I love you.”

Aaron leans down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “I love you.” Another kiss. “Now get some sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She closes her eyes, the painkillers in her system making her tired. “I hope you’ll always be there.”

Aaron smiles at the admission, something she would never have said out loud in normal circumstances. He runs his thumb over her forehead again.

“I’ll always be here, I promise.”

(It’s the only promise he ever breaks.)

[sinkix]

Haikyuu!!│Obsessive/Yandere HC’s │

Warning - Contains dark themes, mentions of emotional and physical abuse & sexually suggestive/explicit (18+) content, reader’s discretion is advised.

Characters - Hinata, Kuroo, Daichi, Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, Oikawa, Bokuto, Tendou & Kageyama.

Important Note: This is in no way romanticising or normalising toxic/abusive behaviour, you should not do as such as this is incredibly dangerous and unhealthy. If you identify any of these in your own relationships please seek help from a member of authority, counsellor or someone who can remove you from and aid in your recovery from the situation. This is a great contrast from all my other work on here so please read with caution. Stay safe <3

Hinata - The Hell-bent Visionary

Danger level: 6.5/10

So you’ve caught the eye of Karasuno’s ray of sunshine?

Bask in it’s warmth while you can, for the sun sets and leaves a chilling dark in it’s wake.

When he becomes focused on something, it’s hard to break the dedication he has. It’s unyielding, firm and persistent. Once you light a fire in him, it’s near impossible to put out.

And you didn’t just spark a flame, you formed a whole inferno.

Blowing up your phone with texts, calls and the tapping of rocks against your bedroom’s glass from late night visits to your doorstep. Greeted with the sickening scent of blood-red roses filling your nose at a reminder of how firmly he has you in his hold that will never falter. The lingering scratch marks adorning the window panes that you could have sworn were not there the night before.

 He can’t get enough of you, and the more time he spends with you, the more addictive your presence becomes.

He’s hooked, reaching the point of rivalling his sporting passion.

He learns to balance the two equally, and any second that isn’t spent practising, he is by your side or doing everything in his power to be.

It’s tunnel vision. All he sees is you, and the ball, nothing else matters. Relentlessly chasing for both long after his lungs tire and legs give out.

 He is a dark, unwavering force of nature, itching to monopolise you and eradicate any threat on what belongs to him. Yet around everyone else, he's a bundle of lovable sunshine who wouldn't dare hurt a fly, and while he doesn't show an outright aggressive nature, you know there's something sinister lurking underneath that might one day snap. 

It’s his stare that haunts you the most.

That ominous, chilling stare which pierces through your heart and impales it on a stick, out on display for him to marvel at in all it’s vulnerable beauty. The level of intensity and sheer devotion glinting in his eyes is nothing short of haunting.

Luckily for you, Hinata will not cause physical harm, but it’s his presence and ‘Jekyll & Hyde’ nature which will slowly but surely chip away at you until your sanity is reduced to dust. The worst part? Since he is loved by everyone, no one sees the twisted side you do, and as a result left permanently in a state of self-doubt and second guessing. Your mind will eventually spiral into a descent to madness until your right where he wants you.

Be careful, for even the sun’s light burns out eventually. And when it does, you’ll be swallowed by the darkness.

Kuroo - The Devil’s Reciprocal

Danger level: 9/10

Ahhh, the bad boy who smells of cigarettes and sex, the one who lurks in bars long after midnight eyeing up his prey. This man gives Satan a run for his money. I hope you’re prepared. What did you do to catch his eye, anyway? 

Whatever it was, it’s doomed you to an eternity in hell on earth.

Or heaven, if you’re a glass half full kind of person.

Kuroo drew you in like a moth to a flame, you knew he had no glinting halo, but that was his appeal.

 He was the incarnation of everything your parents warned you about, and you couldn’t get enough of it. 

Hell, you still can’t. But that doesn’t minimise the damage done to you every second he turns the light on, reeling you in once again, further and further until there’s no escape, utterly blinded by his deceiving tactics.

He has many admirers, you know. So in his eyes he feels you should be privileged to be given so much of his attention, that once received would leave any sane person running.

Unfortunately, you don’t seem to be sane enough, and he recognises this. He knows he’s got you hooked on his every word, dragging out the syllables like a lullaby that leave you entranced and begging for more.

 What can I say? The man has a way with words, and you’re totally enthralled by every sentence. 

Kuroo recklessly waves his charm like a gun, never a moment of hesitation to utilise it in order to get what he wants. 

And he always gets what he wants. 

It’s so dangerous it will leave you down on your knees in an act of submission and prepared to do anything to please him. The tip of the pistol aimed at your temple as if daring your defiance.

He revels in seeing that doe-eyed expression, fully aware of how much control he holds over every cell in your body. All of them scream out for him, for Kuroo. To kiss you, touch you and whisper sweet-nothings into your ear that linger with his hot breath scathing your neck, burning his scent into your memory until it’s one you’ll never forget. 

With all that temptation comes  consequence though, because once you give in, you’ll face the sadists horns that lurk underneath. 

Intertwining your bodies and tracing a switchblade across your jugular, he’ll stretch his lips into a wide, cunning grin, slamming into you and rutting his hips until they connect with yours. Throwing your head back in ecstasy, your whine will be stifled and cut short by the piercing slit of a blade shallowly opening the skin of your throat, the sharp sting lingering as his tongue deepens the incision with delight.

He is incredibly possessive, so anyone he deems a threat will be mercilessly eradicated, soon to be forgotten though. He will never allow your thoughts to be consumed by anything but him. 

Grinding his body against yours, the husky murmuring of pillow talk he is all too skilled at will leaves your knees trembling and buckling before him, with the one question he will only ever accept one answer to.

“Tell me sweetheart, who do you belong to...?”

Shuffling the cards and dragging cigar smoke across his lips, he’ll sip that glass of gin snidely and lock you in place with his smouldering gaze. Forever a reminder there’s no escape from his enslaving curse.

Daichi - The Despotic Protector

Danger level: 6/10

Karasuno’s father figure and reliable captain rolled into one. I hope you’re prepared for a lifetime of suffocation, because he’s never letting you go.

He takes on an almost a parental role in the relationship, and a toxic one.

Controlling, overbearing and monitoring your every move. He will never allow you to do anything without his permission out of fear for your safety.

I mean, what if something happens to you while you’re not within his peripherals? 

That’s a thought he simply couldn’t bear.

He’ll lock you in the confines of his home if he has to. But don’t get mad sweetheart, it’s because he cares for you.

Soon enough Daichi will have isolated you from the world, never seeing the shining of sunlight unless your arm is looped around his in a crushing hold. 

Friends? You can forget them, he made sure to steer you far, far away from those. He just can’t risk them laying a finger on you or putting you in harms way, he would never forgive them.

Daichi desperately tries to convince you he has your best interests at heart, and unluckily for you, you fall right into his trap.

Your whole life is consumed by him, and only him. Watching the clock tick by aimlessly until you hear his footsteps up the driveway, scurrying to the door to greet him like an obedient dog upon his arrival.

Pulling you into a loving hug that threatens to squeeze the life out of you, you can’t help but let your mind roam and ponder the question lurking at the back of your thoughts.

Has he ever killed with these hands?

They seem too crushing. Like a brute, inhuman force. You can picture his fingers wrapped around someone’s throat and draining them of oxygen almost too easily.

Little did you know, your hypothesis was painfully accurate. 

An old childhood friend of yours, currently 6 feet under in the yard. Your bare feet trampling over his grave and none the wiser every time he allows you to set foot in the garden.

You’ll never know, though. It’s not like you can check your phone without his permission anyway, he’s already blocked their contact.

Days, weeks, months pass by of his constant monitoring and controlling behaviour. The CCTV’s scattered in every corner of the house, the social deprivation and loneliness that creeps in every time he’s not there as you roam the barren household, the purple finger marks roping your wrists from when he kept you in a paralysing grip,daring your disobedience.

and you can’t help but wonder,

Maybe the person you needed protecting from was him.

Tsukishima - The Mendacious Manipulator

Danger level: 8.5/10

How unlucky you are to be paired with this mentally destroying sadist. 

At first Tsukishima’s wit, sarcasm and clever quips were what allured you, never did you think they would be used against you. Wielded like a weapon with a blade sharp enough to slice you in two.

And I’m warning you, every cut hurts.

There’s no escaping from it, a string of degrading remarks whispered cruelly in your ear while holding hands in public, appearing to be a cute and affectionate couple, but a sinister secret lurks underneath that only you know of.

He’ll treat you like a dog, expecting you to be at his every beck and call, serving on your knees with a painted smile that’s woefully forced on with every ounce of strength you have left.

You are his puppet, his useless little play thing that he makes painfully aware of how disposable they truly are.

And don’t take him for a fool, he will discard you if he sees fit.

Unmerciful, cruel, snide, are the some of many words that can describe Tsukishima, and as you’ll soon find out none of them are pleasant.

He will craftily make you open up to him. Revealing your deepest insecurities,traumas and troubles then sheath it like a sword to your neck, holding you hostage to your own weaknesses in order to gain that empowering sense of control he oh-so revels in. Endlessly striving to achieve his selfish, favourable outcome. 

This Yandere is one of most intelligent of the bunch, and unfortunately for you, does not use his intelligence for charitable or good-natured purposes.

He knows exactly what to say to leave you curled up in a ball, tears streaming and wracked in emotional agony as you plead for forgiveness on something that isn’t even your fault. He knows this, but finds it comical and all too amusing to see you so broken over something when you weren’t the one to blame. He gets off to your mental anguish.

You’ll be left stumbling the streets at 2 in the morning, contemplating your life and everything as you know it, he will warp your perception of the world until he is the only one you can crawl to. After all, it’s your fault, right? He’s the only one who could tolerate you, everyone else abandoned you because you were so insufferable.

...is what he’ll have you believe. In reality, Tsukishima was pulling strings behind the scenes to ensure you would distance yourself from friends and family, resulting in them doing the same. Wrapping you around his finger and twisting your behaviour into one that’s volatile and unapproachable, until you’re left totally alone.

You’ll never know though.

That mental fortitude will soon shatter, and when it does, he’ll cackle at it’s pathetic remains.

Yamaguchi  - The Diffident Vampire

Danger level: 5/10

I’m sad to say, but your tween Twilight fantasies will be crushed when you stumble upon this mess of a monster.

I don’t mean to say he’s a literal vampire, but you’ll understand the use of this metaphor once we delve into some of his tendencies.

He is incredibly insecure, the walking embodiment of the very word.

Now that isn’t the reason you should be warded off, everyone has self-esteem issues. However, this trait of his plays a huge part in siphoning the life out of you.

He captured your heart with his soft and sympathetic nature, easily startled and somewhat skittish.

You didn’t see what was below the iceberg however, and once you did, he sank his teeth in and began to suck before you could escape, draining you dry until you have no more left to give. Nothing to spare until he is licking his lips in satisfaction, swelled with the abundance at the emotional dependency he has built up on you.

He needs reassurance like a life line, and while some might find this endearing at first, it undoubtedly becomes highly toxic and emotionally exhausting.  

Yamaguchi is incredibly volatile with his sensitivity, you have to watch your words and be sure he doesn’t misinterpret them and become dejected. He will read into everything you say and question every little detail. 

This is one of those Yandere’s that wouldn't do it intentionally I don’t think, but by the time he catches himself it’s too late, he’s in far too deep to stop and I don’t think he ever will once he realises how addicted he is to you, your words boosting his sense of worth and being the only form of confidence he’s ever felt in his life.

It’s quite sad, really. 

Don’t pity him too much, though. That’s the trap. That’s how reels you in until the teeth marks adorning your neck are a harsh reminder that you are nothing more than food for his ego.

If you ever think about leaving, he will have no qualms grovelling at your knees, razor to his wrists and begging you to stay. A cruel memoire at what keeps you tied here in the first place.

Pity.

Care.

The mutual empathy you saw in him that drew you in was now broken and one-sided, his selfishness far outweighing this trait of his and becoming your death-sentence. 

The marks will never fade. One day you’ll collapse to your knees and cave, but he won’t stop until he has bled you bare.

Oikawa - The Venusian’s Nightmare.

Danger level: 8/10

Oh charming Oikawa. The pretty boy with enough carnal seduction to rival his greek goddess counterpart. Hair smooth as silk, eyes glinting with mischief and a smirk that could bow you down on all fours. He has everything, or so it seems.

Sanity isn’t one of them.

He is VERY demanding when he craves your attention, which let’s face it is pretty often. If he doesn’t get it? Definition of a nightmarish brat.

He will whine, complain, blow up your phone. Still not available?

He’ll simply disappear.

For how long? Who really knows. He likes the thought of you on edge and anticipating his return, thoughts of him plaguing your mind to the point you question if you’re the one who’s obsessed.

Don’t worry though, when he returns he has enough sensual suave to make you forgive him ten times over.

You may think his bratty and sulking nature is the worst of it.

Oh how wrong you are.

Push him to his limits or the closest thing to it and you’ll face a cut-throat, teasing sadist who will tie you to the bed with a sickening sparkle in his eyes, marvelling at your skin jaggedly sliced open like a sheet of paper, tracing the wounds with his tongue and lapping up the blood before pulling you into a heated kiss which seems almost loving, if it weren’t for the metallic taste intertwining your tongues as a harsh reminder that you’re not here by choice.

He is definitely the type to mock you and howl with laughter as your body spams and writhes in pain, degrading you with the most vile remarks till tears spill from your eyes.

“Awh poor (Y/N)-chan, crying like a baby. Can’t handle the pain? What a pathetic little whore. Maybe if you beg enough, I’ll ease up the pressure~”

Sometimes he’ll leave you there wrist-bound to the bed post for hours, coming back in occasionally until your level of pleading satisfies him. 

His change in treatment is paradoxical in the aftermath, he will release you from your restrains and rub your skin with such tender care, it’s agonisingly deceiving.

One of the most dangerous things about him is his intuition, it’s damn near supernatural and makes for a natural born lie detector. Oikawa will sense the slightest shift in your mood, tone and body language. He knows you like the back of his hand, making it all the more unnerving to be in his presence.

This can be a positive if he is looking to fill you with ecstasy, since he knows every sweet spot, curl of his fingers and words to whisper that leave you trembling in mind-numbing pleasure.

Though you know once coming down from your high, your moments of heaven will slip through your fingers before crashing back down to reality.

He can read you like a book that he wrote with his own hands and it’s horrifying, he can predict what you’re going to say or do before you’ve even made up your mind. Which as you can guess, makes escape or wheedling out of a threatening scenario a null alternative.

If you decide to make the suicidal mistake of lying, your body will never quite function the same once he’s through. not to mention the plethora of emotional scarring that comes along with it.

After catching you in your mendacity and deeming your punishment enough, he’ll decorate your body in cuts, bruises and hickeys that throb from the abuse of his teeth. Laying you down in bed and tucking you in gently, wrapping an arm around in an act of ‘protection’ that was formerly wrapped around your throat in an act of threatening asphyxiation.

Eyes fluttering closed hours after he drifted off beside you, your heart rate quells and the tears staining your cheeks dry, preparing for the repeated cycle when the sun rises. 

How foolish to be lured in by such a facade, even the most beautiful of creatures can be hideous. 

Bokuto -  The Volcanoes Slaughter

Danger level: 9.5/10

The ticking of a time bomb, the cracking of the ground beneath your feet.

Once you are swept up in this man’s wrath you know there will never be an escape.

and he’s fucking terrifying.

His energy and vigour were what charmed you, his upbeat enthusiasm that while volatile, was very contagious and encouraging. 

If only you had known what kind of disaster was laying low under the surface.

Akaashi had tried to warn you, but you simply never listened.

He pities you now, for you’re in the same boat as him.

Eternally putting up with his violent tempers and erratic nature, which you often get the brunt of behind closed doors, left to cover the scars with a scarf and cheap pot of concealer.

His moods switch as quick as the direction of the wind, a gust too strong that leaves you flying back like a ragdoll against the wall.

Or that may just be because he actually threw you in a fit of rage, itching to see your limp body crack against the drywall to soothe his rage. Drowning the voices in his head with the sound of your soothing whimpers filled with agony.

While he may beat you black and blue whenever the overflow of emotions take over, he still does ‘care’ for you in his own sickening way, and would never have any qualms snapping a neck or two if it prevented anyone else laying a finger on you.

Though to be honest it’s the furthest thing from care, it’s downright monopolisation of something he deems his object.

How dare they hurt his personal punching bag, don’t they know you’re his and his alone to mark up in any way he pleases?

To everyone else, he seems like a very loving and protective boyfriend who has the occasional mood swing. If only they could pick up on the flinching of your body when his voice raises even a decibel, or the way you retract in fear at the swatting of a hand too close to your face. 

The anxiety felt when in his presence is indescribable, your whole body will soon become accustomed to trembling in fear, your fight or flight kicking in at the mere mention of his name. His voice sends every hair standing on end, bracing for the impact that may or may never come from his grazed fists.

Treading on eggshells and analysing every word before you speak will become second nature, even the tone of your voice or the way you arrange a question will be heavily thought over before even daring to let it escape your mouth.

You just can’t risk it, even hearing a word he doesn’t like will result in the tectonic plates shifting, getting closer to his impending eruption.

Once you hear the rumbling, you’ll know it’s far too late to run. Burned by the raging lava and consumed whole in a flood of pain and misery, it will destroy everything in it’s wake, even you.

Tendou - The Jesters Despair

Danger level: 10/10

You really opened pandora’s box with this one.

And once you so much as cracked it for a peak, just that little inkling of curiosity, the lanky arm of a redhead yanked your wrist and dragged you in with him.

Tendou’s eccentric and offbeat disposition was something you had always admired, it was what made your heart flutter.

Now? That eccentricity is put to the most horrifying of uses.

Mind games, manipulation, and unpredictability beyond your worst nightmare.

Tendou is the type to sink a blade into your skin and cackle maniacally while you cry and plead for him to stop. Edging himself and eyeing you up greedily at the painful fear in your eyes, blood trickling down your skin with each incision.

He’ll pull your hair back and slide his tongue along the cuts, his lustful gaze boring into your own as the pooling saliva leaves a chilling feeling on your skin, nose wrinkled in disgust at the thought of his DNA entering your bloodstream.

He thrives on trickery and deception. He’s the type to say something incredibly warm and soft-centred, one that makes your pupils expand in newfound hope with the question of “...really?” rolling off your tongue. That inkling of hope sparking the thought that maybe, just maybe he’s changed. 

Only to burst into a fit of laughter at your naivety, teasing you relentlessly for how gullible and moronic he thinks you are. 

This yandere is incredibly incalculable. Here one minute, gone the next. Don’t even bother trying to figure out what he’s doing or where he is, you’ll never know. It keeps you on your toes in the most negative and unnerving sense of the expression, he gets a buzz off leaving you wondering, and takes great satisfaction in knowing you’re probably thinking about him.

 However, he expects you to be there whenever he needs you, regardless of circumstance. And if you’re not? You’ll have consequences to face.

I’m sorry to say, but there is no chance in hell you’re surviving this experience, there’s no doubt you’ll be murdered eventually. 

After all, he does get bored easily. Not so much as giving it a second thought on disposing of you once you are no longer a source of fresh entertainment for his sadistic desires.

With each passing day his treatment becomes increasingly brutal, searching for new ways to fulfil that empty feeling in his heart and cold, hollow look in his eyes. Don’t even bother trying to save him, not even he would know where to start.

Every night as you shut your eyes on the hardwood floor beside his bed, you can’t help but wonder if this is the last time you’ll ever close them.

And for your sake? You’d better hope it is.

Charming you with the humour of a Jester and putting on a show, he’ll make it certain every time you laugh, will be paid back with tears twofold. 

Kageyama - The Majesties Tyrant

Danger level: 7/10

Kneel before your highness or face his wrath. Kageyama Tobio is the most commanding of them all. Permanently trapped in his dictatorship with no hope of revolt. 

He doesn’t become set on things very often, but once he does it’s something he’ll never give up until he’s conquered it wholly.

Stubborn, moody, domineering and demanding. With just enough of a soft side he uses to persuade you back again. 

Fuelled by ego, pride, and a sense of superiority, he will never stop until he has your total obedience.

Being the dense man he is, this is usually achieved through simplistic means of intimidation and threats of aggression.

Kageyama will not hesitate to raise his fist and back you into a corner, cowering in recoil at his menacing aura that itches to do damage

You will do what he says, whenever he needs it, no if’s but’s or objections.

For such a hard headed ruler, he’s surprisingly childish and unsure about how to express anything other than abuse.

I think a part of him genuinely does like you, but it’s far too clouded by his toxic nature that it could never be seen as even slightly redeemable.

The most you’ll ever get out of Kageyama is the occasional hug, in which he squeezes you far to tight and resurfaces the pain of last nights bruises.

He doesn’t resort to physical violence often, as he is always reprimanded by the team to control his anger. If only they knew what he was like behind closed doors. I suppose you could credit it to Karasuno that he hasn’t accidentally killed you yet.

Yet.

When it comes to matters in the bedroom, he is focused solely on his own gratification, yours being a second thought he never so much as acknowledges.

Collared and threaded by  chain, you will crawl beside him and take it all until you’re gasping for air. The only thing he cares about is climaxing and leaving you with the cleanup.

He’s quite self conscious, so don’t expect much physical affection unless he’s chasing a particularly intense release.

Kageyama is highly jealous and frequently painted green with envy, so expect your social life to dwindle significantly once he has his hands on you, literally and metaphorically.

Thankfully, he won’t isolate you entirely, but it’s enough to leave you feeling segregated from the rest of the world. A lone member of his regime that you are forever trapped in with no chance of escape.

Bow down with a meek mutter of “Yes...master.” His crown will twinkle in the moonlight as a symbol of your everlasting enslavement.

The king of the court, and the ruler of your heart.

[wordsablaze]

5 Times Witchers Were Too Asexual For This

…and the one time Jaskier firmly got it through their lovable and yet ridiculously thick skulls that a little confusion here and there doesn’t change how much he adores them.

A/N: self-indulgently inspired by the sheer amount of times i've mentally gone "aha nope, i am too ace for this" - happy ace week <3

-

1 - Geralt

Geralt can never comprehend how Jaskier gets into so much trouble.

He’d always thought the worst kind of threats came from mages and their ridiculous games of illusion and power but travelling with Jaskier makes him reconsider because it’s genuinely concerning how many people have death wishes on his behalf.

“Who is it this time?” Geralt asks, folding his arms and promptly cursing at himself for doing so as it proves he can be just as dramatic as the bard he’s trying not to concede to.

Jaskier grins, clearly picking up on the same thing. “It doesn’t matter, my dear witcher, because you already know you’re coming with me!”

“I do not!” Geralt argues, unfolding his arms and glaring.

“Oh come on,” Jaskier scoffs, winking at him, “we both know you’re already trying to figure out how to get out of wearing the clothes I’ve already had made for you.”

Geralt sighs. “Jaskier…”

But said bard has already left the room to return downstairs and as the sound of his lute travels through the inn, Geralt groans to himself.

He’s still groaning to himself when he’s dressed in three different shades of blue but he and Jaskier arrive at the feast the next day. He hadn’t bothered to ask what the occasion was so he just settles in the corner and watches as Jaskier weaves his way between everyone, biting down the part of his heart that yearns to be right by Jaskier’s side.

Hours pass before he’s forced to move, spotting a rather tall stranger crowding Jaskier against a wall and feeling the subtle scent of fear radiating from them.

“-idn’t mean to, I swear! I’m certain you can also appreciate the beauty of-”

“My wife?” the man interrupts, practically spitting anger.

Jaskier laughs nervously as Geralt makes his way over, clearly stalling for time. “You must believe I had absolutely no inkling that she was betrothed and while I’m aware my apologies will not undo our actions, I implore you to perhaps-”

“Jaskier. There you are.” Geralt says, glancing between him and the angry husband.

“And who are you?”

At that, Jaskier bristles. “Were you not listening to my performance? I just sang about-”

“A Witcher. What, did he also sleep with your… uh…?” the man falters, clearly deciding that he’d rather not offend someone who carries around swords.

Geralt and Jaskier share an amused look before Geralt shakes his head. “My bard was cursed with… irresistible urges… by a mage. You can’t blame him for it.”

He’s almost certain Jaskier will grumble about this particular excuse for days - to which he’ll remind him that at least it’s not the one where he was kicked by an ox - but the angry husband seems to buy it, throwing him a pitying look.

“I didn’t know, I’m sorry,” he says sincerely.

Jaskier clears his throat. “Yes, well, it’s not something that one should sing about publicly, is it? You know how troublesome rumours can be…”

The man nods understandingly before leaving, at which point Jaskier punches his arm. “Geralt, you prat!”

He shrugs, a tiny smirk on his face. “I wasn’t entirely wrong.”

Jaskier seems to consider this before humming, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Geralt’s cheek. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t get a chance to reply before Jaskier has slipped away to continue performing but really, it goes without saying that although Geralt doesn’t understand Jaskier’s actions half the time, there’ll never be a day where he doesn’t want to protect him from the consequences.

-

2 - Eskel

Eskel can never predict when the scent of watermelon will fill the air.

It’s a strange scent that he thinks should probably please him but for some reason only serves to surprise him every time it radiates from Jaskier at seemingly random moments.  To his credit, Jaskier tries his best not to make it too obvious or slip away before it becomes too overwhelming but sometimes it catches both of them by surprise and there’s no avoiding it.

He and Jaskier have been travelling north for a few months when they reach a town that Jaskier seems to recognise, immediately elbowing him. “Eskel! Eskel, darling, this is the town I was telling you about with that absolutely magnificent tailor!”

Eskel hears the question without Jaskier having to ask and smiles. “Yes, we can make a quick detour.”

Jaskier grins, squeezing his hand in thanks as the two of them continue walking. As expected, Jaskier launches into a comprehensive description of every doublet he’s had made by this one specific tailor as they make their way there, Eskel only really half paying attention.

“Jaskier!” someone calls out excitedly.

“Mikhail!” Jaskier calls right back, waiting until Eskel nods in amusement before letting go of his hand and embracing the man who must be the tailor.

Leaning against a wall, Eskel watches as the two of them start discussing the latest fabric patterns and shapes of buttons - he’s not even remotely interested but if Jaskier can learn how to take care of goats for his sake then he can stick around during a discussion about fashion.

And anyway, it’s a rather nice workshop, quiet and calm in comparison to the rest of the town. He doesn’t mind waiting, focusing on the sound of Jaskier’s excited voice as he lets his eyes close, one hand on the hilt of his sword just in case.

It’s only when he hears Jaskier gasp and the cool scent of watermelon fills the room that he opens his eyes again, raising an eyebrow automatically. Jaskier glances over to him immediately, clearly about to explain, but Mikhail whispers something to him and he reddens, biting his lip.

“Really? Buttons?” Eskel asks, equally as confused as he is amused.

Jaskier just shrugs. “I’ll, uh, catch up with you later?”

Part of Eskel wants to know what in Melitele’s name Jaskier finds so appealing about buttons but also, he really doesn’t. He’s learned from experience that sometimes - almost always, actually - not knowing certain things about Jaskier is better for both of them.

“Don’t get in trouble, bardling,” Eskel warns as a way of politely taking his leave.

“Love you too!” Jaskier calls after him, and not that he’ll admit it if asked but Eskel doesn’t stop smiling even after the scent of lust fades away entirely.

-

3 - Lambert

Lambert can never figure out why Jaskier flirts with almost everyone.

Not that he has anything against Jaksier’s flirting and the way it seems to plant warmth inside his chest but really, it seems pointless to flirt with so many strangers. And yet Jaskier does it the same way he breathes, which is to say he does so without really thinking about it. And every time, Lambert watches as he trades carefully constructed compliments in exchange for food or wine or coin or literally anything else.

“Lambert? What are you frowning about?” Jaskier asks, flopping into the space across from him.

When Jaskier raises an eyebrow, he only frowns harder. “I’m not frowning,” he lies.

Jaskier snorts. “And I’m a witcher.”

“You wouldn’t know what to do with a sword if your life depended in it,” Lambert retorts.

“Depends what kind of sword,” Jaskier replies, stealing a potato from his plate.

He tries to think back to a single time where Jaskier has successfully beaten anyone in a swordfight but when his memory draws a blank, he frowns again. “You’re bloody useless in fights unless we give you daggers.”

He doesn’t realise that Jaskier is trying really hard not to laugh until he does exactly that, almost choking on the potato before shaking his head. “Sorry, sorry, just- gods, you witchers are so adorable.”

“Adorable?” Lambert echoes incredulously, seemingly destined to frown for the entire evening. “Like f-”

“Jaskier!”

“Fabiann! It’s been too long!”

Lambert grumbles under his breath but tunes out their mindless flirting out until Jaskier abruptly stands and coughs pointedly. “Lambert, I’m afraid I might need to leave for a little while.”

What?

Oh.

It doesn’t exactly take a genius to figure out that for some reason, simply talking to someone is apparently far too appealing for Jaskier to handle.

“We leave at dawn,” Lambert reminds him.

Jaskier blows him a kiss before grinning and leaving with Fabiann. Sighing, Lambert turns back to his plate only to find that he doesn’t have any potatoes left. For some reason, that annoys him far more than the bard’s departure.

He ends up turning in early but the other patrons are too loud and he hates every second of each minute that passes. That is, until the door to his room opens and lets in not only the one person who won’t be punched for entering without knocking but also the soft scent of lavender.

“Are you still awake?” Jaskier whispers.

After a moment, he hears Jaskier sigh before the bed gently dips behind him and one of Jaskier’s arms settles on his waist.

“I’m sorry for leaving,” Jaskier murmurs into his skin, shifting even closer.

Only because Lambert can’t stand the subtle guilt in the air - they’ve talked about this but the bard stubbornly refuses to continue feeling bad - does he place his hand over Jaskier’s and feign a yawn. “Shut up, Jaskier.”

“Adorable,” Jaskier replies, kissing the back of his neck before pulling the blanket further onto them both and proving that okay, maybe he can accept that adjective under very specific circumstances.

-

4 - Vesemir  

Vesemir can never understand why Jaskier loves Kaer Morhen so much.

He loves the place more than anything himself, of course he does, but there’s always a lingering bitterness in each room, a lingering reminder that the walls had once been witness to pain and sorrow and heartbreak.

Jaskier doesn’t see any of it.

Instead, he fills any room he walks into with music and smiles and displays of affection that Vesemir hasn’t seen witchers indulge in for decades. It takes a few visits but soon enough, he’s on the receiving end of those displays as well and it's just as beautiful as it is surprising.

He finds himself loving the keep more when everyone smells of happiness and training sessions are filled with laughter instead of grumpy insults but those are aspects of life that he’s almost certain only a witcher can appreciate and as far as he knows, which is pretty far thank you very much, Jaskier is not a witcher.

“Who stole my salts?” said bard yells, jolting him out of his musings, “I know you can all hear me! Give me back my salts, you handsome thieves!”

Vesemir chuckles to himself as he hears the telltale sound of Jaskier running through the halls, no doubt going to fail in locating his bath salts because he’s almost sure he smelt them in the springs yesterday. He goes back to reading, ignoring the general noise of Jaskier hunting the others down in the name of bathing justice until the bard bursts into the library, flushed and breathless.

He looks almost guilty as he spots Vesemir. “Apologies, Vesemir, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was merely- well, you most likely heard everything, right?”

When he nods, Jaskier glances around again, a small grin blooming on his face. “Does that window overlook any training grounds perchance?”

Vesemir sighs. “No, you cannot attempt to throw something at them from the window.”

Jaskier has the audacity to pout but judges his tone well enough, making his way over to the window anyway. It’s only when the unmistakable scent of arousal appears that Vesemir somewhat regrets his decision; he looks over to Jaskier, who seems torn between wanting to flee out of embarrassment and wanting to continue staring out of the window for the rest of the day.

“I- I don’t really have an explanation for this but uh, witchers?” Jaskier manages, gesturing outside to where Vesemir knows the other three are probably mid-brawl.

“All I wanted was to read in peace, Jaskier.” Vesemir pinches the bridge of his nose, closing the book.

Nodding quickly, Jaskier places a hand over his chest. “I swear I won’t even think of entering the library for… for a whole week! Yeah, I can do that, I’ll make sure to stay as far as possible for as long as you like but just um, could you maybe not hold this against me, please?”

Vesemir wants to explain that he couldn’t possibly hold Jaskier loving his boys against him but he’s pretty sure Jaskier knows that and is just nervously rambling so he walks over and gently claps the bard on the back of his head. “As long as you’re not stupid enough to jump into a fight just because you’re attracted to it.”

“No promises,” Jaskier replies, winking.

-

5 - Kaer Morhen

Kaer Morhen can never shut its doors to Jaskier.

And really, none of the resident witchers would want to do anything of the sort since they love bringing their bard home for the winter and they love having a non-witcher around because he brings comfort with him. Unfortunately, he also sometimes brings about immense exasperation.

Nobody’s complaining, of course, because they’d rather die than disrespect one of the few people so openly welcome at the keep, but that doesn’t stop them from sometimes needing to walk out of the room to avoid punching something or someone.

Naturally, a bunch of wolf witchers walking out of the room wherever Jaskier confuses them is utterly hilarious to anyone else who visit.

Especially Aiden.

He and Jaskier get on remarkably well, much to Lambert’s relief, and it only ever takes a few days for the rest of them to get used to the scent of Cat once again. They never get used to the way the two of them interact though, trading words at rather worryingly high speeds. It’s usually not a bother until Aiden starts showing off his swordsmanship.

“Wait, you’ve never done that last one before!” Jaskier exclaims, closing his journal as he leans forward, his eyes wide.

Aiden grins. “Glad you noticed, I learnt it last season.”

Lambert throws an apple at him, scoffing. Aiden simply catches it, taking a bite before throwing it to Jaskier, who may or may not loudly yelp as he receives it.

“Show off,” Lambert grumbles, folding his arms.

Taking a moment to bow, Aiden turns back to Jaskier. “Want to see the rest of my sword tricks?”

Jaskier chokes on the bite he’d taken of the apple but nods even as he coughs, ignoring the concerned looks he gets from the wolves. He gets about halfway into the apple before Aiden’s movements are just a little too smooth and intricate for his heart to handle. Well, not just his heart.

“For gods’ sake, Jaskier,” Geralt mutters, swiftly standing up and making his way out of the room.

“I’m not to blame here!” Jaskier calls, trying his best not to think about everything he’s practically being baited into thinking about.

Eskel is the next to sigh. “You think too loudly sometimes.”

Aiden watches in utter bewilderment as both he and Lambert make their exit too, the two of them grumbling about wanting to eat in peace. He turns to Jaskier with one eyebrow raised.

“They’re not fond of when I smell like sex to them,” Jaskier explains sheepishly, “and I’m pretty sure it’s a wolf thing.”

There’s a slight pause before Aiden nods slowly. “That explains a lot actually. Why didn’t I pick up on that while travelling with Lam?”

Jaskier’s not sure if that’s meant to be a rhetorical question or not so he takes a chance. “I’d be surprised if you did, they feel bad about it so they act as if they’re allergic to discussing it.”

Then something seems to occur to Aiden and his eyes widen comically. “Wait, all the wolves?”

Catching on immediately, Jaskier goes red. “I’ll have you know, Vesemir was somehow the easiest to communicate with about all this.”

“You’re crazy,” Aiden laughs, bounding over and taking the apple back despite Jaskier’s half-hearted protests even as he decides to respect the bard just a little bit more.

-

+1

Jaskier can never guess when he’s going to have a crisis.

He wishes he had some witcher-like ability to detect trouble before it arrives but alas, he doesn’t. He doesn’t have the power to stop himself panicking and he doesn't have the power to prepare for every possibility and he doesn’t even have his witchers and by the gods does he yearn for their presence.

But he’s not selfish, he isn’t going to ask them to accompany him to bardic competitions because a city full of bards being bards is most definitely too overwhelming for them. He’s sure they’re more than happy killing drowners and bruxae and wraiths and who knows what else wherever they are but he’s certainly not happy.

Although that’s a lie, of course he is.

He loves being around his fellow bards - some more than others, of course - and he loves that they can effortlessly switch between discussing chords, sharing the latest court scandals, and making fun of one another’s love lives. What he doesn’t love, however, is being alone at the end of every day.

“I hate this room,” he mutters to himself as he flops onto the bed.

“No you don’t,” Geralt says quietly.

Jaskier is loath to admit that he jumps so badly he literally falls off the bed.

“There’s that grace and dignity we all love,” Eskel teases.

“What the he--eyy!” Jaskier manages as Lambert all but tackles him, sending them both back to the floor he’d just picked himself up from. Neither of them move to get up though.

“There is a perfectly adequate bed right beside us, if you would kindly give me a moment to recover from your pleasant but wholly unexpected arrival!”

He hears Geralt and Eskel laugh and the next thing he knows, he’s sandwiched between three witchers on the bed that’s mercifully large enough to accommodate all four of them. He’s almost entirely certain Priscilla had something to do with that upgrade and makes a mental note to thank her later.

“You smell sad,” Geralt says eventually, frowning.

Jaskier sighs. “I’m not sad, my dear, I’m just worried that three of you won’t enjoy your stay here, what with all the… bardic watermelon.”

Eskel’s arm around his waist tightens. “We don’t mind if you don’t mind.”

Jaskier’s face scrunches up as he tries to make sense of that and Lambert, who’s curled up in front of him, snorts. “You’re gonna give yourself wrinkles.”

“Take that back, I am not!” Jaskier argues, pouting. Before he can be totally distracted, he manages to turn his entire body around so he’s now facing Eskel and Geralt. “Are you going to explain what I’m meant to be minding?”

Surprisingly, Geralt finds his words first. “Just that… that we can’t always help you. We can’t be what you need or what you want and-”

“I am going to stop you right there before I end up punching you,” Jaskier interrupts, his voice a strange mix of cold and loving.

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Lambert supplies reassuringly, now from behind him.

Jaskier groans, butting his head against Eskel’s in frustration. Not even particularly hard but Eskel looks so confused that Jaskier ends up wiggling out of their cuddle pile and glaring at three of them when they sheepishly sit up.

“Did the lot of you trade all your marbles to get here?” he asks, folding his arms.

Lambert opens his mouth to reply but Eskel clamps a hand over it, correctly assuming that they’re not meant to answer that.

“I won’t lie and tell you I’ll only say this once because I will gladly repeat it whenever any of you act like you’ve forgotten but, my loves, I do not care. I do not care if you don’t enjoy all the same things I do and I do not care if your desires are different to mine. The only thing - and you must believe me for I would never ever lie about this - that I truly care about is you. All three of you.”

“But we don’t always know how to take care of you,” Geralt whispers, his voice filled with enough emotion to rival half of Jaskier’s ballads.

“Don’t you?” Jaskier asks, tilting his head to the left. “Tell me this, Geralt: why are you here?”

“You don’t like being alone after important performances,” Geralt replies without missing a beat.

Jaskier grins at him before turning to Eskel. “And you?”

“You deserve to have our support,” Eskel says softly, as if it were a common truth.

Lambert shrugs when Jaskier turns to him. “Why would I let you get drunk alone?”

Waiting until they’re done being amused, Jaskier glances between the three of them. “Don’t you see? You already know exactly how and when to take care of me. I can manage what little you can’t and I am more than happy with that because I am more than happy with you. Each of you. Just as you are. Do you understand?”

“If we say yes, will you stop being so bloody dramatic?” Lambert asks, definitely not swallowing an obvious lump in his throat, definitely not.

“We understand,” Eskel adds before Jaskier can reply, a soft smile on his face.

The four of them settle into their cuddle pile once again, Geralt reaching over Eskel and placing his hand on Jaskier’s waist as he whispers, “Thank you.”

Jaskier wants to laugh because he honestly can't see how his gorgeous, kind-hearted witchers continue to think they're not the most perfect bunch of people on the continent despite the flaws they actually have and the ones they only think they have, and he has no idea why they can't see that if they're lucky to have one of him loving them, he's thrice as lucky to have three of them loving him.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Jaskier whispers back.

-

credit to that one post i can’t find atm about what lust smells like to witchers as well as @cloudspeck for giving me names for minor characters !! also, sorry for the canon divergence / ooc vibes but i just wanted some fluffy ace validation, yaknow? 

-

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier

[granolabird]

I realized I never posted my Peter x Reader fic on here so I thought I might as well do it even though everyone and their grandma has probably already read it on Ao3 oops.

(Also idk how to do all this fanfic fancy tumblr formatting stuff I apologize I'm an old woman)

Late Nights With Peter

Notes: I wrote this at 1AM during a mental breakdown a few weeks back :) University is a bitch.

It’s late, and I’m half asleep. The tv drones on, displaying some horror movie I can’t recognise past sleep-bleary eyes. Beside me sits Peter, my head resting lightly on his side as I slowly pass out. He doesn’t notice, or if he does, he doesn’t seem to care, only focused on watching the movie and seeing how many marshmallows he can fit in his mouth at once. From what I can tell, it’s at least ten. I adjust myself slightly, snuggling closer to him, and he looks over eyes wide. “Hey, are you still awake?” He speed-chews the marshmallows before he asks, giving me a small nudge. “Barely.” I huff and he gives a small chuckle. “You need me to run you upstairs?” He offers and I shake my head as well as I can from the position I’m in, curled up on the couch. “I’m too comfy. You make a good pillow.” He smiles and presses a soft kiss to the top of my head. “As much as I appreciate the compliment, I think it’s time we get you to bed. I don’t know how long I could stay still, even as your honorary pillow.” He reaches over and presses a button on the converter to turn the tv off, before scooping me up, bridal-style. “Fiiine.” I lament knowing it’s too late to try and stay on the couch, seeing as I’m already in his arms. He grins, before running us up to the bedroom and placing me swiftly under the covers, then following suit.

He snuggles close to me, laying one arm over my side as I press into his warm chest. “How did I get so lucky to find someone like you?” I ask, my words muffled in his baggy sleep-shirt. “I could say the same about you.” He sighs, running a hand through my hair. We’re quiet for a moment, but he doesn’t stop moving his hand through my hair slowly. “Hey, I know it’s late but can… can I ask you something?” His words are uncharacteristically quiet and I look up from his chest, searching his face to figure out what he’s thinking. Peter is notorious for late-night pondering of the worst kind. After everything he’s been through, I can’t blame him. “Anything.” I offer in response, but he doesn’t smile this time, he just keeps petting my head lightly. “This is kind of weird, but do you think the guys back at the school care about me?” He questions, and I lift my head to meet his eyes. “What?” I shake my head, a little confused and still sleepy, and he takes a moment to ponder. “It’s just that, I go on all these missions, I do all this work to help them, and they just… keep going. They don’t thank me, they don’t pay me any mind, and then they go off for drinks after the mission and half the time they don’t even ask me to join them. I’m just a comic relief to them, I think. What if they leave me? My dad left me, Logan left all of us, I’ve never had anyone stay as long as you have really, so who’s to say you won’t leave too? Shit, I don’t know, maybe I just need to go to sleep.” His anxiety seems to grow with every word he says, and his eyes are staring off into somewhere far away. His hand has stopped moving across my hair now and it falls softly onto the bed.

“Peter.” I say, lifting a hand to his cheek to snap him out of his daze. “I do think you need to go to sleep, your mind goes much too fast.” I huff out, before continuing. “But they care about you, I can promise you that. Scott told me the other day that you’re one of his best friends. Did you know that?” I offer, and Peter tips his head slightly, leaning into my hand. “He did?” “Yeah, he did. And you know why they don’t invite you to drink with them. You can’t-” “Get drunk.” He finishes my sentence for me, a gleam shining in his eyes. “But it was pretty funny when I got the video of Kurt drunk off his ass, wailing ABBA on karaoke night.” His sense of humor is returning, and I grin up at him. “He’s never going to forgive you for that one.” I chuckle, moving my hand from his cheek so that it can grip his free hand. He chuckles too, and I feel warmth light up my chest. “And Peter, you know I’d never leave you.” “I know.” He responds almost immediately, pressing his face into the top of my head. “I know, I just get worried sometimes. I’ve lost so many people. Been through so much shit that it just...” He trails off, his words muffled against my hair. “The others on the team care about you Peter, everyone does. You’re basically a son to Charles, and your dad? Who gives two shits about him, the dickhead is a mass murderer. He doesn’t deserve you.” I tell him, and he lifts his face to look at me again.

“Hey! That's my father you’re talking about!” He exclaims quietly, but the light in his eyes tells me he’s joking. “He may be your father, but he’s still an asshole. The only good thing he’s ever done is bring you into this world.” I say sternly. “I don’t know, that time he killed the president was pretty awesome.” He offers, and I force myself to put on the most fed-up face my exhausted brain can create. He laughs fully now, and I feel his chest rumbling as he goes. “Why are you laughing.” I huff, trying my best to sound annoyed despite the smile pressing at my lips. “Because you look so damn cute when you try to look mad at me.” He whispers, and I sigh letting my smile come through and shaking my head. “You’re such a ladies man.” I say mockingly, and he grins at me. “I know, right?” Peter lets another chuckle escape him, before he leans himself down to kiss me. It’s not intense but rather light, soft and subtle, as he uses the one arm he has thrown around me to somehow pull me even closer. I lean into him, and we rest against each other's lips for a long while, just enjoying the presence of one another.

I feel him smiling against my mouth, before he pulls back and looks over me, eyes tracing my face. “I love you.” He says, and I laugh and bury my head in his shirt again. It smells like marshmallows and faint cologne that reminds me of an autumn breeze. It reminds me of home. Peter, my love, my sweet, my everything. You are my home. I don’t voice any of this though, and instead opt for “You smell like marshmallows.” He responds by half-heartedly kicking me under the blanket. “Wow, thanks. I feel so loved right now.” He grumbles, and I look back up to him. “I love you too you big goof. I’d probably love you a lot more if you just let me sleep.” I tell him, and he sighs, letting his head flop on his pillow. “Right sorry, I forgot you’re little miss sleeping beauty. Remind me to wake you up in the morning with a kiss?” He jokes, and I press my face back against his chest. “I know you won’t need the reminder.” I tell him as I settle myself into a comfortable position to sleep in. “You’re right.” He mumbles, and I can tell he’s getting tired too. He adjusts himself, his one arm still flung around me and trying, to no avail, to bring me even closer. Then, Peter settles my head in the crook of his neck, and sighs, clearly feeling comfortable. “Goodnight.” He says, and I smile into his chest. “Goodnight Peter, I’ll see you in the morning.” I tell him, before fading into the lull of sleep. I’m not sure what I dream about, but somewhere running through my dreams I know there is a handsome silver-haired man, who owns my heart, and I know I am loved.

[wylanvnneck]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could write the angst prompt number 1 with jurdan??🥰

Angst Prompt #1: “The worst part is you didn’t even notice.”

Fandom: TFOTA

Ship: Jurdan

Masterlist | Prompt List

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High pitched giggles peal through the air and the noise makes the 21 year old Cardan Greenbriar wince. He’d been away from his hometown of Elfhame for 2 years now, having happily left it and his controlling family behind after graduation to go live in his dorm room back at Insmire University with his crazy roommates. Yet here he was, back again for a week-long visit in honour of his old friend Locke’s engagement.

He and Locke had never been all that close to begin with, but he had been his oldest friend, and it did seem like a good idea to come back for a bit and see how much things had changed in the years since he’d be gone, which didn’t seem to be all that much. 

Locke was still the same fox-faced wastrel that he had been, except that he was now engaged and the other member of their old gang, Valerian was still as snarky as usual, a perpetual sneer on his face whenever someone attempted to speak to him. Seated at a round outdoors table surrounded by his High School acquaintances, Cardan feels nothing but boredom.

He grips the neck of his wine glass even tighter when he sees the source of the giggling emerge from Locke’s house where his engagement party was being hosted. Taryn Duarte the Bride to Be and her posse of friends strut out into the garden from the inside of the house where they’d been gathered together doing goodness knows what for the past half hour. A glimpse of blue hair catches his eye and he recognises it as belonging to a girl named Nicasia that he used to be friends with back in High School, a million years ago.

Taryn’s six inch heels click against the asphalt of the garden path and the sight of her familiar icy brown eyes and dark hair brings up a volley of almost forgotten feelings within him. Not feelings for the rather cold female before him, but for who she reminded him of. Her twin.

Involuntarily he finds himself scanning the group of women for any sign of Taryn’s sister before coming up short and then chastising himself for looking in the first place. Jude belonged in the past where he had buried her. He takes another sip of the red wine in his hand before shifting his attention back to the conversations happening at his table, a politely unimpressed looking Garrett talked in low tones with his friend Van, both of them engrossed in whatever they were discussing, and a slightly inebriated Valerian was attempting to flirt with the disgusted woman seated next to him. 

Resisting the urge to let out a growl he downs the contents of his glass in one go before standing up to re-enter the house and get a refill, needing some kind of distraction.

He’s just finished pouring some more Merlot into his glass from the otherwise empty bar table when a rustling sound travels from somewhere nearby. He glances up at the staircase by the other end of the room, catching sight of a silky white fabric and dark brown hair before whoever it was disappears from view. Stange, he’d thought all of the other guests were outside. Setting his glass down on the table he climbs up the stairs, curiosity getting the better of him. 

Having reached the landing he searches for any sign of where the person might have gone, walking a little further down the hallway on the left before seeing the big French windows leading out to the balcony flung open, the cool night air drifting in.

Cautiously, he approaches, his body going on high alert when he notices who it is that’s standing out on the balcony, hands loosely clutching the metal rails and face turned up towards the starlit sky. Her chestnut hair is tied in an intricate braid hanging down her back and she’s wearing a slim fitting black top and flowy white pants which sway gently around her legs and she looks even more gorgeous than she had in their High School days. He takes a moment to catch his breath before slowly trudging forwards to join her.

She turns when she hears footsteps approaching, a slight frown marring her expression before she recognises him and it clears. Her gaze is as disarming as it used to be.

"Shit, man, don't just sneak up on people like that," a corner of her lip quirks.

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, "Oops, sorry."

“I didn’t know you were coming.” He catches the questioning lilt in her statement.

“It was a last minute kind of thing, I wasn’t sure if I’d be coming either, until yesterday.”

She nods and he positions himself next to her but at a safe distance, one hand coming to rest carelessly on the balcony rail next to hers.

He watches her let out a soft whoosh of breath, looking down at the garden where people were now dancing to the music that had started playing on the expensive speaker set under the bright fairy lights. There’s laughter and cigarette smoke wafting upwards, but from their little spot up above, everything seemed to be much farther away than it really was. 

Eventually, he breaks the silence. “So, Taryn and Locke, huh?”

“Yep.” She replies. The look on her face is one he can’t quite decipher.

He clears his throat and speaks in a tight voice. “Are you...upset by that? I know you and Locke used to be close.” 

He recalls the rumour that used to fly around during their senior year, people whispering about Jude and Locke having a thing. He also remembers the sharp pain that he’d felt when he’d heard that Locke had asked Jude to be his date to their Senior prom and that she’d accepted. Cardan vaguely remembers asking Nicasia to be his date to that very same prom, but the only thing that comes to mind when he thinks about that night is the haze of jealousy that had clouded his mind when he’d seen Locke twirling a grinning Jude around the dance floor.

“Me and Locke? God no. He was just a friend. Although, I think even that was only because he kept showing up and trying to talk to me in Senior Year for no apparent reason.” 

Cardan feels a surprisingly strong sense of relief wash over him at the fact that Jude was never interested in Locke that way, before his eyebrows knit together a moment later. He’d drunkenly confessed his ginormous crush on Jude to Locke at the start of their senior year, and immediately regretted it the next day. It wouldn’t surprise him if Locke had been cozying up to Jude simply to get on his nerves. It definitely seemed like something the manipulative scoundrel would do.

Not that it mattered anymore. Years had passed and he’d probably lost his chance. If he’d ever had the chance in the first place.

“I heard you’ve been off at uni all this time. Insmire, huh?” Her words are light but he’s slightly astonished that she’d been keeping track of where he’d been for the past few years. 

“Yeah, it was the break I needed.”

“What are you studying?”

“My dad wanted me to do Business for when I inherit his company, but I’m also doing a course on Classical and Ancient Languages, purely because I wanted to.”

“That’s great, Cardan.” Her sincerity is clear. “I remember how controlling your dad was. It’s great that you’re finally getting to be your own person.”

He’s sure that his astonishment at her words is blatantly obvious because a barely detectable flush travels up her neck and she averts her gaze. Not only had Jude Duarte been keeping track of where he’d been, she’d also noticed his strained relationship with his father all those years ago. A thrill rises up inside of him.

“Thank you.” He pauses. “So what have you been up to these days?” he asks, like he hasn’t been checking her social media pages at least once every few months, unwittingly grinning whenever he came across one of her rare posts with her and her few friends hanging out together outside of her own University in Nightfell. 

“Oh, same as you actually, getting a taste of independence at Uni. Doing a course on Criminal Justice.”

“That sounds amazing. Tell me all about it.”

And she does, her eyes lighting up as she talks about a subject that she enjoys studying and half of his attention is taken up by what she’s saying and the other half is just focused on her, on the way the moon illuminates one half of her and how the breeze is playing with a few loose strands of her hair and the way her mouth is moving whilst she speaks. They chat for what feels like ages before the conversation eventually flows to a comfortable halt and they hear the clanging of plates and glasses below as the other guests start on dinner, and he knows they’ll have to leave this place of idyll at some point.

He hates that. That they’re on borrowed time and that they were separated by too many years and very separate lives for their situation to be anything different now. And yet, he needs to tell her, to let her know, even if it can’t change anything.

“You know, back in High School I used to daydream about this. You and I, just talking.” He knows that the tips of his ears are probably flaming red, just like the rest of his head, but he forces himself not to look down and to keep meeting her stare. Her eyes widen when she registers what he’d said.

“I-What?” Her shock is apparent.

He breaks eye contact with her, withdrawing his hand from the spot next to hers on the rail, the disappointment coursing through him undeniable. He’d known that she’d never noticed him, but it still hurt to see the bafflement in her reaction.  

“I had a crush on you for ages, pathetic pining and all, and the worst part is you didn’t even notice.”

She flounders, mouth slightly agape, for once not having a response and the smile that curls his lips is one without mirth.

“Well, it’s been nice talking to you Jude,” he grits out, swiftly turning in an attempt to flee with what was left of his dignity.

He’d made it to the top of the staircase before hearing her voice calling after him. 

“Cardan! Cardan wait, goddammit.”

Reluctantly, he stops, bracing himself for the awkwardness of the next few minutes. She’d look at him with pity, explain to him that she wasn’t interested, or maybe that she had someone else. That last thought lances through him like a punch to the gut. During his self-indulgent social media searches he had never seen any posts that indicated that there was someone special in her life, but that didn’t necessarily mean that there wasn’t anyone. After all, Jude Duarte was a special type of woman, the type of woman that you fought for.

Too bad that he’d figured that out too late.

The sound of her boots clacking on the floor gets closer and closer and he turns around just in time for her to throw her arms around his neck and drag his head down to connect their lips, their noses bumping together in the process. Time stops, and his every High School fantasy comes true when he feels her tangle her tongue with his and it’s a little sloppy at first, especially since she had caught him off guard, but they find their rhythm and flames lick through his entire being. Frantically, he grabs a hold of her waist and pushes her until she’s against the wall, her fingers coming up to tangle in his locks as he strokes her sides.

She pulls away to breathe and they’re both panting harshly as if they had run a marathon. 

“I had a crush on you too. I hated it and I tried to fight it because you used to pick on me in middle school.” 

Had he? It was so long ago that he really couldn’t remember, but he also knew that he was precisely the type of person who’d want to hurt the girl that got under his skin.

“Really?” He grins ruefully.

“Yes, really.” She reaches up and playfully smacks the back of his head before carding her fingers through his hair in the same spot to soothe it.

‘Well, my middle school self humbly begs for your forgiveness.” He leans forward and presses their foreheads together, locking his gaze with hers.

“Apology accepted.”

And then they’re kissing once more. He may not have been prepared for a moment like this, but he was sure as hell going to hold on to it and never let go.

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Some soft boi Cardan for you lovely peeps. I hope you see this and that you enjoy, Anon. Thanks for the ask!

Tagging: @cupcakesandkittens , @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln, @thewickedkings , @kittkatandbooboo , @min-unicorn, @fangirlprincess09, @thefolkofthefic

Let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off of the tag list🌻

[soukokuwu]

hi there! hope ur doing well esp in times like these. i must say i absolutely adore ur writing. both the chuuya angst fics literally made me cry. i never cried to any other fics before. it was amazing. may i request an angst scenario where Dazai has an s/o & a person from his past (from his port mafia days) wanted revenge on him. now Dazai is incredibly smart & manipulative & they know that (impossible to kill) so they go after s/o & kills them. i hope i'm not bothering u. have a nice day/night.

something left unguarded.

     genre. angst (dazai x reader)      warnings. death, kidnapping/implied assault      synopsis. there are times when dazai wishes he’s dead. this is one of those times.      word count. 1.8k      author notes. hi kitty! sorry this took me ungodly long, and i’m not sure if this is what you were looking for but i hope it’s okay!! <33

there’s some unspoken things that come together with love.

for dazai, that’s the slow crumbling of his walls; the surrendering of firearms. he finds himself unfurling easily at the seams, and regarding what seems impossible for the vast majority, it’s like white on rice for you. best thing is? it comes easy, effortless. you don’t try to be someone you’re not; dazai can tell. you are just unapologetically, undoubtedly you. that’s the beauty of it all, to him.

never has he felt like this, in the crack of dawn, lying next to you on the bed, the distant sounds of the birds and your breathing is all he can hear. it’s weird — he used to hear so many voices in his head, so many conflicting ones telling him to kill himself and yet others telling him to stay because there’s bound to be something that makes him want to live.

the latter is right. because now look at him. he’s not hearing whispers in his mind, the condescending, doubtful voices are gone. it’s peace.

all that fills his thoughts are you. who was he, even, before he met you? he knows, he always knows, he’s mostly self-aware. but then, he doesn’t want to. doesn’t want to remember the person he used to be, because he loves who he is now, with you. do the voices come back sometimes? absolutely. but a minor interaction with you and he feels tranquililty. and he has no doubt that you are the only one capable of such a feat.

he always thought fear was the accompaniment of walls breaking down. why did you make him feel like it was liberating instead? is it just the impossible amount of trust he’s put into you? he doesn’t have to ever ask himself anything, never does he ever feel like he needs to doubt you. ever.

you’re a peculiar little thing, always doing what you think is best for him. you rarely ever do think of yourself, do you? that’s why dazai takes it upon himself to give you what you deserve, a wholesome, warming kind of romance, even if he isn’t so sure about it himself. dazai doesn’t know romance apart from those that’s raved about in books and movies. his whole life is an endless pit of darkness — that’s up ’til the point he met you, of course.

so if the novel, theatric kind of love is the only form of romance he knows, then the least he can do is give you that.

dazai turns and watches as you rest peacefully, weaving his fingers through your hair, appreciating the patterns of your chest rising and falling. how long has it been since he’s first watched you like this before you wake? he doesn’t really recall the exact number of days, but it’s around three years? and he can definitely deal with a lot more than this.

talks about the future has always been taboo for him. not that he hates it, but it’s because he can never feel excited about it. and frankly, it’s much more of a chore than anything. so now, catching himself actually envisioning a future with you? it feels surreal.

the two of you have a routine: wake up, make breakfast, kiss goodbye before work, actually work, come home, have dinner, maybe take a bath together before you go to bed. it’s habitual by now — everything on the list. and while the morning is no different, the afternoon definitely is.

first there is the anonymous letter he finds in his top desk drawer. nothing but a blank paper with a single ominous line of “this is for back then”. nothing else. just a single line written in blood red ink. the weretiger next to him seems a little freaked out by it, so it’s easy to tell that whoever did this made the effort to come in earlier than anyone to place this in his desk. and maybe they expected to elicit some other behaviour from him. distress? fear?

whatever it is though, it doesn’t get to him. he crumples it up and tosses it in the bin. (he misses it, but it’s not like he cares.)

he goes the rest of the afternoon in ignorant bliss. he texts you halfway though, asking if your lunch today was any good.

would be better if you were here, osamu.

dazai forgets for just a moment that you usually only type out osa. because that’s what you do to him sometimes — you make him let his guard down. he wastes no time replying you.

oh yeah, why’s that, darling? ;)

the next message that chimes in has his heart take a deep dive into the ground below him. it’s a picture. of a vile, disgusting man licking the side of your head, with you tied up to a chair, unconscious.

because then maybe she won’t be so boring like this.

not even bothering to explain, all dazai does is grab atsushi by the collar and drag him out of the agency. he’s the only combative one present currently, and frankly, if it comes to a fistfight, having him there is enough. of course, dazai is not planning to spare anyone. they dared touch you?

they’re as good as dead.

dazai never thinks letting his guard down is a crime. but he thinks the ultimate sin he’s committed? that he let himself slack on his guarding of you. because the moment he gets to you at your apartment, he realises it’s never been a race against time. the moment the picture was sent, you were already gone.

and the culprits are long gone, disappeared without a trace. except for the disgusting wet track of where his tongue traced your skin earlier. usually, dazai would go after them immediately, track them down and plan their demise.

it would have been his plan. had you been just another body, another death count. but you’re not. you’re his lady, his angel, his life. yet you’re lifeless now, your chest doesn’t rise up and down like it should. your body is dense, somewhat dry. it’s completely… not you.

atsushi doesn’t know what to do, he stands in the corner with his eyes trained on his superior who’s letting out more emotion than atsushi thinks he has in his entire life. he feels like he should console him somehow, but he knows that’s selfish thinking. dazai won’t appreciate that.

he’s right. dazai won’t. because the only person capable of giving him any sliver of hope in this god-forsaken world is gone. her body but an empty vessel, reminding him of who he once was and how he had longed to be.

and oh, how he longs to join you now.

worst part is? dazai can find no one to blame. no one but himself. not even the man who offed you. dazai recognises him, from way back in his port mafia days. which means there’s no one to blame but the person he once was, the one you made him feel like he and reprieve from.

until now.

losing you is his punishment, isn’t it? for everything he’s done. this is his judgement day and you’re another one of his sad victims. it’s your body, limp in his arms, eyes wide open and the complete stillness of it all.

and he realises maybe this is what people mean when they talk about ‘deathly silence’. he never thought that losing just the sound of your breathing would feel like this and yet here he is, with another casualty in his arms.

yet another soul he can’t save.

and dazai… despite all his attempts, is still alive.

it’s cliche, but it’s true.

the worst day of loving someone is the day you lose them.

except when they’re still around, it’s easy to take every moment for granted. because who, when they think they have everything, will think of the moment they’d lose it? sure, it may come in glimpses, but you never hover over it long enough for it to actually matter.

until it happens.

cups of hot chocolate and cuddling up to each other in the winters. words of affirmation and warmth bubbling inside chests. security of routines and safety of arms.

dazai can’t stop thinking of things that remind him of you. thinking of the good times like you’re still alive is the only thing that keeps him from breaking as they lower you into the ground.

you’re almost in there and all he can think about is the first time he tells you he loves you, the first proper time he lets his guard down. how you were on the couch with your legs tucked against your chest, misty eyes giving away just how much the whole situation means to you. you see, he always knew you had a fear of falling, but he never knew just how much, until that moment.

“you click your tongue whenever something annoys you, you subconsciously like to walk between the lines on tiled floors, you blame yourself for things that are out of your control,” dazai had told you. and he remembered the look in your eyes — that surprise, that gratefulness — because you never thought that anyone would spare you that much attention, did you? especially not him, who you knew would never spend time on anything that’s unimportant.

but he paid attention to you more than anything else.

“i love you, belladonna,” he had assured you, inching close and holding you in his arms. you always needed reassurance, and while dazai would usually think it’s a burden, nothing was when it came to you. “you may think you’re a mess, but i think you’re perfect.”

he lets your giggle be the last thing that fills his mind as they finally lowered you into the ground. and he doesn’t wait for it to be filled before he spins around and walks away. the next memory he remembers being a promise made. of how you told him not to do anything rash should you ever go first, not even in old age. (he thought it was cute how far ahead you thought of for the future — something he finds he needs now; a future with you.)

and that’s the thing about letting your guard down; you let them have a slight control over your decisions. because now, despite every bone in his body aching to throw himself off a cliff, he finds he can’t quite do so. why? he remembers the life in your eyes when he agrees to that promise, the absolute faith you have in him that he loves you that much to abide by your one wish for him. yet in his head a constant question beckons him, chants itself in his mind like a mantra.

i just want to join you, is that so wrong?

tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes @animatedarchives