#sorry to all in real life who have been plagued by me about this

[mosscaps]

season six of teen wolf has absolutely no redeeming qualities and is barely watchable - oh what’s this? GAY AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON WITH A STEEL CHAIR *crowd goes wild*

[pipsyy]

detestable...

enemies to lovers dom!hamzah x f!reader

hi everyone! i have had the most absolutely terrible writer's block recently, which is why this fic has taken so long. but i hope you enjoy regardless! please send me reqs if you have them!

summary: y/n absolutely hates hamzah, detests him, actually. until one day, when that undeniable feeling of angers burns into an even hotter flame.

warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUTTY SMUTTING SMUT SMOT! DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18.

word count: 3066

You loved your life. Your home, your animals, your friends, your youtube channel, everything. There was nothing about your life that irked you. Except for one thing. Him. Hamzah. You had become friends with Mandy over two years ago, over similar interests and styles of youtube channels, and had met Hamzah about six months into your friendship with her. You had never met somebody like him before. You got along with everyone, even if they slightly pissed you off, you were able to stomach their presence and create minimal amounts of respectable small talk. But not with Hamzah. In fact, when you were first invited over to Mandy’s house for a party and heard he was going to be there, you were excited. You had seen his online presence and thought he was funny, charming, and kind, only to find out upon meeting him that the complete opposite was the truth. He was awkward, and weird, and nothing at all like you thought he would be. The two of you were unable to mesh a single comfortable conversation together and, since then, you had effectively avoided him like the plague.

The angry tension between the two of you finally exploded one Friday night. You had been invited to dinner at Mandy’s house, and you were ecstatic. You imagined your night playing out with the two of you cooking and baking delicious food, sharing some with Martin in his man-cave, then diving into the delicacies in front of a cozy fall movie. What you did not expect was Hamzah to be there.

“Hey, y/n!” Mandy said excitedly, as she opened the door and welcomed you into her home. “Are you ready for tonight?”

“Oh my god,” you said, grasping her hands in yours. “You have no idea! I’ve been looking forward to it all day.” You took your shoes off before following the brunette into the kitchen. The two of you were laughing and talking until you stopped dead in the middle of the kitchen, starting out towards the living room. Two male heads were positioned together on the couch, one with straight, almost black, locks and the other with luscious, dark curls. You would recognize those curls anywhere. Shit.

You grabbed Mandy by her forearm and whispered in her ear, “I didn’t know he would be here.”

“Who?” she asked cluelessly, swiveling her head to where your wide-eyed gaze was fixated upon. “Oh, right…Hamzah. Martin and him filmed a video today and he’s not leaving until later. I’m so sorry, y/n. I really tried to get him out of the house, but he insisted on staying for dinner.” You knew that Hamzah liked to rile you up, he made it abundantly clear whenever the two of you would have a conversation.

“He just wants to piss me off,” you responded. “It’s okay. We can just ignore them and have fun.” Mandy smiled at you. The two of you began gathering items and ingredients from around the kitchen to make the dinner. You had decided on making fettuccine alfredo with broccoli and chicken over text with pumpkin cream cheese cupcakes for dessert. The two of you labored over the pasta for almost an hour, laughing and giggling over every single thing. The boys mainly kept to themselves, occasionally laughing softly at the game they were playing on the TV. You paused from stirring the cheesy sauce, simmering softly in the pan.

“You can go ahead and combine this sauce with the pasta, Mandy,” you said, nudging the brunette girl with your elbow. “I’m going to head to the bathroom real quick.” You went to the bathroom down the hall and completed your business, flushing the toilet and washing your hands. As you exited the bathroom, you ran right into a pair of broad, muscular shoulders. You look up, an apology bubbling from your lips, until you meet a pair of wide, dark eyes: Hamzah. His eyes narrow and his brow furrows. Your lips curl into a sneer, the close proximity of him causing hot, red anger to flare in your chest. The two of you attempt to get around each other, moving in sync. This annoying act continued until Hamzah’s large hands grip your waist and practically lifted you up, moving you out of his way. He continued down the hallway to the guest room without looking back, leaving you stunned into silence in the middle of the hallway. Your waist tingled lightly where his hands had touched you. The way his large hands were able to almost completely engulf your waist, followed by how effortlessly he had lifted you, caused inappropriate, unwanted thoughts to flow through your mind. You shook your head, internally scolding yourself for your rash behavior. When you reunited with Mandy in the kitchen, she gave you a confused look.

“You okay?” she asked. No doubt your silent demeanor and red face giving away some of your internal embarrassment.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you responded, unconvincingly.

“You sure?” she pressed. “I saw Hamzah leave and I just thought–”

“Yes!” you snapped, cutting her off. “I am perfectly fine.” You ran a hand through your hair and Mandy laughed, shaking her head at your idiocy.

“If you say so, girl.” The night continued smoothly once you had calmed yourself down from your strained interaction with Hamzah. The pasta was cheesy and delicious, followed by the brownies which were sweet and rich with chocolate. Mandy shared the brownies with the two boys, Martin full of compliments and praise for the two of you, while Hamzah enjoyed his in silence, glancing at you every so often with a wide-eyed stare that made you feel both uncomfortable and anxious. Throughout the night, Martin and Mandy exchanged coy looks, giggling under their breath at something that seemed to you like an inside joke, but you were unsure. Finally, you reached your breaking point, and blurted out your confusion at the couple’s strange attitude.

“What the hell are you two plotting?” you asked. The couple exchanged a knowing look, smirking at each other.

“Plotting?” Mandy repeated. “We’re not plotting anything.”

“I know you are,” you said. 

To your utter surprise, Hamzah chimed in in agreement. “Yeah,” he said, mouth full of brownie. “You’re both acting so weird. What’s going on?”

Mandy gave Martin another weird look, the two nodding at each other in joint agreement. “Well…” Mandy said. “There’s this movie that Martin and I have been dying to see and it comes out today. We’re going to leave to see it now.”

“And we know that the two of you have some unsettled differences,” Martin chimed in. “So while we go out to see this movie, the two of you are going to stay here and figure them out.”

“Are you serious, Mandy?” you said, exasperation at this situation obvious in your voice. You glanced at Hamzah who had undeniable shock plastered all over his face. “No…” you said, as the couple began to pack up their things and pull their shoes on in quick succession. “No, no, you’re not doing this.”

“We’ll just leave the house, Martin,” Hamzah said.

“We’re locking the two of you in,” the brunette replied. “You’re not getting out this easy. The way you two absolutely despise each other pisses us off. So, you’re both not leaving until you have established some sort of mutual camaraderie or something like it. Understand?” You and Hamzah stood up from the table in protest, but it was too late, Mandy and Martin left the house in sync, locking the door from the outside. The two of you were trapped, together and alone, for an uncomfortable, inestimable amount of hours. You let out a sigh of pure frustration, understanding that the following couple of hours were going to be the most uncomfortable and angry you had felt in a while.

“Well, shit,” Hamzah said, sitting back down and folding his arms across his broad chest.

You rolled your eyes. “This is fucking ridiculous,” you said. “There’s no way I’m doing this.” You get up and pace the wooden floor, head lowered as you think of all the ways you could escape Hamzah and his brown-eyed gaze that you could feel following your every move.

“Oh, come on,” he said, standing up from his seat. He moved in front of you, blocking your path, looking down at you with a facetious smirk that boiled your blood. “It can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, trust me,” you said, maneuvering around the larger man. “It can and it is.” Hamzah reached out, fast as lightning, and grabbed your forearm. The slight touch sent undeniable shivers down your spine, which you hated. He turned you around to face him, the two of you inches from one another. You gazed down at his hand, still wrapped around your forearm.

“Am I really that detestable to you, y/n?” he asked, voice at a decibel so low you had to crane your ears to even hear him. The inches between the two of you began closing, his eyes—so brown they looked black—drawing you closer. Dark, seductive images flitted through your mind: Hamzah’s large hands gripping your waist, his lips on your neck, hands fisting your hair, gripping your throat, touching your cunt. Shocked, you wretch your forearm out of his grasp.

“Yes,” you breathed out, chest heaving, mind reeling from your stupid imagination and wandering mind. “You are that detestable.”

“Really?” Hamzah asked, voice no louder than a whisper. You realized as your back hit the wall that he had backed you into a both physical and mental corner. You gulped as he drew closer and closer. “Because—I think—you like to think of me as something more than just detestable.”

“I don’t like to think of you at all, Hamzah,” you said, skin burning as his dark eyes remained locked on yours, unyielding in their direct gaze.

“You don’t?” he said, scoffing. He leaned closer, lips practically brushing yours. His large hands maneuver to grip your waist, and you don’t even try to stop him. “Not at all, huh. Not even at night, when you’re alone in your bed.” His grip on your waist tightened and shockwaves of undeniable pleasure flash through your spine like needles. “Cause I do. All the fucking time.” You look up at him, eyes widened in shock. He curses, the grip on your waist tightening so hard you thought it would bruise. “Don’t,” he said, voice rough and gravely. “Don’t fucking look at me like that…or I’m going to do something we both will regret.”

You had never expected to feel this way about Hamzah. But seeing him—a man so stupid and narcissistic and haughty—reduced to this…reduced to a quivering mess of a man with needy desperation written all over him, you felt that you couldn’t help yourself. You whimpered as your core tightened. Your back brushed the wall and Hamzah leaned impossibly closer, chest brushing against your own.

“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me you don’t want this.” You froze, the repeated words brushing your lips, bubbling up inside you. But you couldn’t lie. You couldn’t say them. For deep down inside you, in a place you had buried since you got to know him, lay the dirty, red-hot truth. You wanted him too, equally as bad. Your shaking hands, puppeteered not by your brain, but by that stupid feeling deep in your heart, reached up to intertwine behind Hamzah’s neck, grasping at the delicate curls at his nape. Hamzah’s eyes widened at the realization that you weren’t backing away.

“I can’t,” you confessed. Hamzah, lips quivering with desire, leaned closer, brushing your soft and plush mouth with his own. Unable to contain your palpitating desire, you tightened your grip on his curls and pulled him into you, pressing your lips violently together. Your lips locked together, a wet mess of tongue and spit as you desperately clung to each other. Hamzah’s hands ran up and down your body, unsure of what part of you he wanted to touch first, desperate for everything, all at once. He separated from your lips, and you let out a needy, unfiltered whine at the lack of contact. Hamzah began kissing down your neck, suckling on that sweet spot behind your ear that made you cry out in pleasure.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, in between open-mouthed kisses planted on your neck. “You have no fucking idea what you do to me.” You whimpered at the blunt confession, hands yanking at his curls. His hands grabbed at your ass, lifting you up effortlessly as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Hamzah roughly pushed you up against the wall, lips connecting with your own again. You yanked at his t-shirt and he paused his motions, pulling it over his head and throwing it somewhere in the room. You came face-to-face with his body, ribbed and muscular from his time in the gym, while also maintaining enough tummy to make your thighs squeeze together. You mirror his movements, pulling your tanktop off and shucking your sweats down your legs, leaving you in your bra and underwear. Hamzah looks at you starstruck.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, reaching to grasp at your covered tits. “You’re even prettier than I imagined.” You giggled slightly, a gesture that never occurred to you would happen with Hamzah. Hamzah sunk down to his knees, leaving little kisses along your stomach and the underside of your tits. Kissing and biting your inner thighs, he dragged your underwear down your legs, mouth agape as you came face-to-face with your soaking cunt. He looked up at you with wide eyes, pupils dilated, and you felt your knees weaken. Hamzah grabbed one of your thighs after the other, wrapping your legs around his shoulders practically sitting on him, leaning against the wall. He continued to leave little kisses along your legs, suckling purple bruises onto your inner thighs.

“Hamzah–” you whine, tightening your grip in his curls.

“Use your words, y/n,” he said, looking up at you through his thick eyelashes.

“I need you,” you say, your desperation overwhelming your embarrassment and confusion. Hamzah smirked up at you, before shoving his head deep between your thighs. He licked a long strip up your folds, holding eye contact with you, before circling his tongue around your clit. As his tongue connected with your sensitive bud, you let out a long moan, head tilting back against the wall. Hamzah ate you out like it was his last meal, licking, sucking, and slurping your juices in a constant state of desperation for more. You felt yourself coming closer and closer to your climax, hands tightening his hair as his nose rubbed deep into your clit. You came with a cry, legs shaking around his head as you shuddered and convulsed, white spots bedazzling your vision.

Hamzah lifted you up, wrapping your legs back around his waist and kissed you, mouth stained with your juices. You tasted yourself on his tongue and moaned at the feel of his tongue poking its way into your mouth.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he whispered. “You have no idea how bad I wanted you.”

“Hamzah—” you panted. “I need you inside of me.” He reached down into his pants, pulling out his hard member, stroking it a few times before rubbing it up and down your wet folds. He slid into you with a gasp, the two of you moaning at the feel of him sheathed inside of you. He began slowly thrusting in and out of you, the stretch of his thick cock inside your cunt drawing whimpers from deep in your throat. While your eyes rolled back into your head from the pleasure, Hamzah never broke eye contact.

“God, you’re such a fucking slut,” he said. “You hate me, huh?”

You whimper in response.

“Yeah, you hate me…but you’re still here, being fucked by this cock, huh?” You couldn’t respond, the only sound flowing from you being heady whines and high-pitched moans. You felt yourself inching closer towards another release, one of your hands reaching between your legs to rub your clit. One of Hamzah’s hands wrapped around your throat, squeezing slightly, you realized with a jolt that he was holding you up with one hand. The fact that this man could hold you up and fuck you so good with just the strength of one arm made your core tighten.

“I–I’m gonna cum, Hamzah,” you manage to cry out, dangerously tipping on the precipice of release.

“Oh, yeah?” Hamzah responded breathlessly. “You gonna cum, baby? Shit. Cum for me, pretty girl.” You cum with a strangled yelp falling from your lips. 

“Good girl,” Hamzah moaned out, hips beginning to stutter. “Good girl, so pretty, so fucking pretty for me.” Your hands grabbed onto his curls tightly, yanking as you came down from your high. The feel of his dark strands being pulled so tightly sent Hamzah over the edge. Hips stuttering as he came, head buried deep into your neck, he let out a flurry of whimpers and praises. The two of you sat there for a minute, Hamzah breathing heavily into your neck. Just then, you heard the jangle and clank of keys outside of the door. Hamzah’s eyes locked onto yours, wide with shock and fear.

“Shit,” you say. Untangling your limbs, the two of you rushed to dress in five seconds flat. You threw yourselves onto the couch, sitting on opposite ends just as Mandy and Martin opened the door and returned.

“The cinema was closed, guys,” Martin announced as he took off his coat and boots, Mandy close behind him. “Did you at least make up though?”

“Yeah, we did,” Hamzah responded, voice still rough and breathless. The couple finally came into your view, cheeks and ears red from the outside wind. You knew that the two of you were a strange sight: clothes rumpled, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and something dirtier. You also knew that, ever the observer, it would be Mandy to notice.

“Oh my god!” she said, covering her shocked face with a hand. “OH MY GOD, MARTIN!” She yanked on his sleeve, jumping up and down.

“What?!” he asked. “I don’t get it.”

“They fucked, holy shit, they fucked,” she laughed and giggled, jumping up and down with glee. “You owe me a hundred dollars, Martin.”

[stars-and-the-min]

☆ the wrong way to hard launch (6) | OP81

summary : oscar's girlfriend is a walking pr problem for literally everyone (including herself) social media au

pairing : oscar piastri x zhou!fem!singer!oc

a/n the highs (friends) and lows (exes) of life aka lina lore 👀 preface : i know nothing about nfl or american football so suspend ur beliefs if u happen to know a thing or two, also my amateur photoshopping skills are really improving from this

masterlist | last part | part 6 | next part

INSTAGRAM

logansargeant

liked by alex_albon and 142,394 others

logansargeant The long-awaited ultimate rematch tagged: selinabui and oscarpiastri

alex_albon Wait, why wasn't I invited?

selinabui ok captain america pack it up ↳ logansargeant @ selinabui Stay mad 😎 ↳ oscarpiastri @ selinabui Why would you challenge two professional racing drivers to a racing game? ↳ selinabui @ oscarpiastri i thought you loved me? ↳ oscarpiastri @ selinabui Ah but you love winners more 😏 ↳ logansargeant @ oscarpiastri Stop flirting in my comments???

cofrisy_f1 LOSCAR??? OSCALINA??? LOLINA???

beemiepie she chose the orange car 🥺🥺🥺 ↳ siera_mblanc @beemiepie a true papaya girlie 🧡🧡

cameliazzz just posted to their story

replies selinabui cami, did u or did u not insist u'd be fine 😭

lukaszhang the SLANDER??? didn't we have loads of fun???

aidan_ebass Touché Millie, see you soon?

eb_jonno sidenote: can you bring mochi on the plane? are there food restrictions?

oscarpiastri

liked by opeightyone and 121,983 others

oscarpiastri 次回まで trans: until next time

piastri_lina obsessed with this couple's dedication to never tagging each other

opeightyone Get 'em next year 💪

selinabui currently feeling like a 1930's housewife waiting for her husband to return from war ↳ cameliazzz @ selinabui HELLO NOT YOU PLAGARISING MY STORY??? FOR A GUY??? ↳ selinabui @ cameliazzz nooooo wifey i didn't mean like that :(((

TWITTER

lina !!! @EB_selina · 37m you've gotta be shitting me

NFL Jersey Numbers @nfljerseywatch · 1h Tennessee Titans RB Thomas Howard (@THowdy) is wearing number 24. Last worn by Kenny Vaccaro. #Titans

↳ kayla @luna_apocolypse · 34m no fucking way... i don't wanna jump to conclusions but... ↳ emme @flowersforcami · 32m he tweeted about it. girl- jump to those conclusions.

Thomas Howard @THowdy · 58m The move to the #Titans has been a huge change, and 24 has been a number close to my heart for many years, I'd consider it a lucky number for a lucky year 👊 ↳ liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 23m eat shit and die i'm so fucking serious you have no right to wear her number ↳ kayla @luna_apocolypse · 22m hahaha (not) funny but april fools was last week say sike RIGHT NOW

fiona🩷 @fififorlina · 29m thinking about how tommy is playing with lina’s number i'm weak 😭 ↳ 🕯️manifesting EB3 🕯️@ linabelles · 13m no, we're absolutely not doing this, it's not sweet at all, do you even know how badly he treated lina? ↳ emme @flowersforcami · 11m there are tommy-supporting linami’s in this day and age???

oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 39m lina watching her ex and cousin play/drive with her number be like:

↳ lila💚 @kasdanrights · 23m idk how to feel bc it's kinda hilarious that our little rockstar is slowly plaguing the sporting world with her number

lina !!! @EB_selina · 22m @LoganSargeant for my own mental health we're not going to talk for the next... 50 years ↳ Logan Sargeant @LoganSargeant · 8m I'm sorry? Did I do something wrong? ↳ lina !!! @EB_selina · 5m it's not you, it's just your countrymen (i'm generalising again)

MESSAGES

from the phone of selina bui

TWITTER

liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 35m WHY IS EVERYONE FLOODING MY TL WITH T*MMY SHIT ↳ liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 34m lina is one of the only music girlies who is SO SO SO vocal about how much she HATES her ex and you still can't listen to her??? ↳ liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 34m not just with her music but as in SHE OUTRIGHT HATES HIS GUTS ON MAIN she COULD NOT possibly make it clearer that she would rather shoot herself in the head than ever consider getting back together with him ↳ liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 33m i'm so tired can't you just let the woman be happy with oscar ↳ abby <3 @devilvows · 17m liv, baby, i think you need to change ur name to 'defense minister of linami nation'

INSTAGRAM

selinabui

liked by oscarpiastri and 139,204 others

selinabui some weird second string loser who's not worth mentioning

cameliazzz thought the message was 'let everyone know i'm doing ok'? ↳ selinabui @ cameliazzz message appropriately sent :)

oliviarodrigo AAHHH stunning as always 💝💝 ↳ selinabui @ oliviarodrigo watch out, the literal moment we're in the same city i'm hunting u down (my favourite american 🥺)

oscarpiastri Haha not me though right :) ↳ selinabui @ oscarpiastri idk maybe...?

TWITTER

lina !!! @EB_selina · 1h this is really hindering my enjoyment of 'so american' ↳ Oscar Piastri @ OscarPiastri · 1h I reaaally hate to break it to you but I think you might be the American in this relationship ↳ lina !!! @EB_selina · 53m take that back rn i'm serious ↳ Oscar Piastri @ OscarPiastri · 49m Which one of us has lived in California for half a decade? 🤔

↳ abby <3 @devilvows · 37m can you imagine waking up to that face? oscar piastri, you lucky bitch

↳ lila💚 @kasdanrights · 2h oscar piastri i was not familiar with your game ↳ lila💚 @kasdanrights · 2h selina, i understand you now, i get it now, truly i do, hooooly

oscalina real ?! @ emptyginbottles · 1h i think the entire empty bottles fandom and oscalina shippers trying to cleanse the tl by posting some of the most jaw-clenching, hottest pictures of oscar and lina is so funny ↳ oscalina real ?! @ emptyginbottles · 1h the best part is that it's actually working and also so many more empty bottles fans are realising how unfairly attractive oscar piastri is

INSTAGRAM

selinabui Seoul, South Korea

liked by oscarpiastri and 138,958 others

selinabui heal my s(e)oul tagged: cameliazzz, blublublupi, and lukaszhang

lukaszhang i thought i specifically asked you not to post that ↳ selinabui @lukaszhang i actually wasn't gonna but then you told me not to so obviously i had to

oscarpiastri 🧡 ↳ selinabui @ oscarpiastri any other fucking colour heart i beg ↳ oscarpiastri @ selinabui You know I'm contractually obligated

emptybottlos i'm convinced they agreed to go on tour just to travel, visit friends and eat a bunch of authentic food

ceciliapham someone else is in seoul rn 👀 ↳ marie_h.sb @ceciliapham in what world do you think your gonna see lina and chris yamada in the same room again?

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

taglist @ririyulife @ashy-kit @fionaschicken @namgification @cherry-piee

[walpu]

Hi, it’s me again!! >_<

When I tell you I gobbled that headcannon post up, I went down on two knees and howled /hj

Anyways, do you think you can do some headcannons on Aventurine with Bodyguard! Reader if you have the time? But this time, with a twist :3

See, reader does care for Aven, you truly do, but before that, you were tasked by Everflame mansion and by Duke inferno himself to kill Aventurine. But you can’t bring yourself to, no, not when you’ve fallen head over heels for him.

When reader does become Aven’s bodyguard, you maintain that serious, no nonsense demeanor, but if he looks closely enough, he’ll see the lovestruck puppy hiding under the hardened shell that they’ve put on.

But the guilt catches up. One day, at least a few months after reader’s betrayal to Duke Inferno, you catch sight of an assassin sent to finish the job they couldn’t do. And so, the secret is finally revealed.

Personally, I think Aventurine would be betrayed, like very, how could he not be? He’s always kept people at an arm’s length away, and when he finally lets you in his walls, and starts falling for thier charm, this secret of yours comes out. He fires you almost immediately, but the way he stares after you with misty eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

The next months were absolute hell. Reader found a new job as a barista, and is quite enjoying the quaint and simply life it provides, even if you do miss Aventuirne. He’s probably still seething at you, right?.

Wrong. Because you’ve gone MIA, Aventurine been scouring all over the place, trying so hard to find you. He’s loosing sleep, forgetting to eat, all things that you would chide him about. Aeons, he misses you so much.

And when he does find you, he’s overjoyed, and when the two finally reunite, the first thing you do is to apologize deceiving him. But he forgave your silly ass a long time ago, why else would he have spent the last months trying to find you?

Long story short, it’s a happy ending, Aventurine couldn’t be more grateful he has you to be his bodyguard, his closest confidant, and most importantly, his lover <33

I’m so sorry if I went on a ramble, but this idea’s been plaguing me so bad I literally can’t focus on anything else 😭😭

I'VE BEEN LOOKING FORWAR TO WRITIG FOR THIS REQUEST SINCE THE MOMENT I SAW IT I ADORE YOUR BODYGUARD!READER x AVEN SERIES btw thank you for sharing the c.ai bot

I feel like the only thing I do with each post is apologize for taking so long but right now I like from work trip to work trip so I'm actually really really sorry this madness should end soon 😭😭😭😭 Hope you'll enjoy this post, it was my goal to finish it before version 2.1

bodyguard/assassin!reader x Aventurine

characters - Aventurine notes- gn!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, pining, no beta

It was not a fast prosses for the both of to form a genuine connection. Moreover, you know goddamn well you shouldn't get attached to him.

And at first it seems easy, like yeah another rich playboy, no big deal, you've delt with people like him before, right? Right??????????????

Yeah until suddenly he's not just a rich playboy.

The more you notice how deeply lonely and unhappy he is, the more your heart softens towards him. And the more your heart softens, the more he relaxes around you, seeing behind your cold exterior.

He's not used to people caring about him. And yes, of course he knows it's your job but still, for a man who never had a real friend before, he surely can appreciate having someone who not only won't leave him but also will listen to him and look after him.

And the part about you being paid to do it? Oh well. It's the same guy who offers you to use him as you wish and who's greeting line is "I can play a role of a friend :)"

Mf is FRIENDLESS, LONELY and PATHETIC /affectionally

He'll take what he can get okay.

But goddamn. Don't think he doesn't notice how you started going out of your ways to take care of him. How you make him eat, tend to his small injuries ("my, my, you're my bodyguard, not a doctor. perhaps someone wants a raise, hm?~"), how you drag him out of casino or his office when it's too late.

It drives him crazy. It's not beneficial for you, right? The w h y.

He won't ask. Instead he will watch and slowly fold.

You are probably suffering tho lol. You should just kill him already, you've had so many opportunities to end him. Instead you spoon feed him soup because he claims he has a hangover after a night in the casino. And this little brat looks so smug about it too!!!!

Sometimes he feels like it's too good to be true: you being here, taking care of him, looking after him. The line between professional relationship, friendship and... something more is way too blurry already, and he knows it's dangerous but it just feels so good. Too good.

Duke inferno gets tired eventually. He sends someone to remind you of your mission. To remind you who you really work for.

Well, the duke receives a warning of his own. The dead body of his little messenger.

You know, of course, that the Everflame mansion thugs are not easily intimidated. They will be back. So you better warn Aventurine and tell him everything.

You can't keep lying to him, can you?

Well. It's surprisingly not as easy as you thought. After all, even if they will send someone, you'll just protect Aven like you always do, right? He doesn't have to know. Not about your past, not about your original mission. He keeps his secrets too, so why can't you?

You know goddamn well why tho. You know and yet you still can't bring yourself to tell him the truth.

It goes on like that for several months and Aventurine notices that something is clearly off, something is bothering his darling protector. He tries to pry, to tease, to cling, to pester you. Something to make you open up. Or, at least, get distracted. He can't help but feel anxious. Why are you suddenly so reversed? Do you want to leave his side? Does he not pay you enough? Does he bother you too much? It eats him alive while he tries to mask it by pestering you even more. As if to test you. As if to make sure that it's not the case.

All the hell breaks loose one day when you discover that Duke inferno has sent another assassin to finish the job.

I you spare the details but yeah, your secret was unraveled. And it wasn't pretty at all.

You have never seen emotions so vivid on Aven's face. Part of you always wanted to see him more vulnerable, more open with you. But not like this. Not this look of utter betrayal.

He collects himself quick enough, hiding behind the mask of mock disappointment.

"Hm, well, I recall mentioning that treachery is just another tool of the trade. But it seems like our little deal is not paying off for me anymore" he says with a cold chuckle, shaking his head a little. "After all, you have very little to offer outside of your dog-like loyalty. But seems like this dog bit both hands that fed it".

You were expecting him to call for your arrest but instead he just fires you. It hurts nevertheless.

What hurts even more is that look he gives you when you part ways. It's like his pretty eyes are even more lifeless now.

At first he feels this overwhelming emptiness. It truly feels like the fate is mocking him. One time, just one time, he allowed himself to relax around someone. Just this one time, with this one person who took care of him, who listened to him, who looked out for him. And this person was supposed to kill him.

Then his stupid brain finds another way to torture him. He keeps thinking about the way you have always protected him, the way you took the hit even during the last attack, when Duke Inferno's new assassin tried to get to him. You were ready to leave your past life behind to stay by his side, weren't you?

As soon as he realizes it he goes frantic. Of course he tries to find you asap but of course someone as competent as you would be able to disappear without a trace in no time. You were an assassin, after all. A skilled one too, since he never even suspected you.

This connection the two of you had, this realization that you really cared enough to betray your client, all of this makes him realize that he needs you so, so much. He needs to feel this care again, he need to look at you again, to know that you're here by his side.

He misses you so much. Your nagging, your reassurance, your touch. He's like an addict who felt what it feels like to love and beloved in return for the first time and now he can't live without it.

He doesn't eat or sleep properly, his head plagued by the thoughts about you. What if you forgot all about him? What if you're wounded? Where are you even? His fingers itch to trace your face and your scars.

He thinks about how you would scold him for not taking proper care of himself and it makes him miss you even more.

Aven finds you after a few months. It was honestly a coincidence, one of his subordinates saw you in the coffee shop you were working at.

He though that finding you will calm him down but seeing you from afar, looking somewhat peaceful and cozy, having a regular job... it's too much. And what if you really don't need him anymore? Maybe you never did? After all, he's painfully aware that he probably needs you much more than you need him.

And yet, he decides to take this risk. He's a gambler, after all.

"Somehow I'm not surprised you're good even at that. How come you have never made me coffee before, hm?"

You literally freeze on the spot after hearing this familiar voice next to you.

When you finally get to talk, you can see he's really trying to look calm and collected but how can he? His hands are shaky and his voice cracks. It breaks your heart.

He doesn't even let you finish your apology, pressing a finger to your lips.

"Hush, darling. All is forgiven. In fact, I even have an interesting proposal. I'm can be a generous man after all".

He can't fool you. Not with this shaky soft voice. And he knows it as well.

Please hug that fool and kiss him. Swear that you won't ever leave him again. Swear that you want to be by his side. As his bodyguard, as his friend, as something more. So much more. That's all he really need to feel like he's at home.

[xxlady-lunaxx]

your sanegiyuu posts have inspired me lmao. sanemi tries to ask giyuu out but is stopped/blocked by the kamado siblings who are very protective of their big brother- they hug him to block sanemi's line of sight and demand that they spend time with him haha (and they don't really like sanemi bc of their first meeting). cue sanemi trying to win the kamado siblings over lol. giyuu is ofc oblivious until tanjiro tells him that sanemi likes him. 💜

HELP THIS IS SO REAL 😭 and soso cute<3 oh god have a little of them (and sorry for not posting your other req's yet, they're in my drafts tho i promise) this as a oneshot: here

SaneGiyuu being high ig:

Sanemi's been crushing on Giyuu for a while now and, with Obanai's constant insistence, he decides to ask him out

Tanjiro picking up the heavy sent of macha tea and ohagi before Giyuu realizes that somebody's coming

"Hey, Nezuko- We should go protect Giyuu-san. Shinazugawa-san's coming this way—remember him? He might hurt him 3:>"

Nezuko's obedient nod<3

Giyuu suddenly getting bombarded by Kamado's 🫠

Sanemi coming around the corner and being all "oh shit, not these two again" when he sees the two crowding their big brother

Tanjiro peeking over his shoulder to glare at Sanemi

Giyuu tilting his head, all ?? Shinazugawa??

Nezuko tugging on Giyuu's haori. "mff 3:<< (play!!)"

Giyuu nods, picking her up (Tanjiro simultaneously skirting around so that Sanemi can't get past his blockade)

Sanemi all angy and hating how they're bringing Giyuu away

Him trying to speak like: "Tomioka- Wait- Hey- WAIT- 😭 KAJFNSIAOKM FUCK!!"

Nezuko gasps, grabs the swear jar, and tries pushing Sanemi inside

Giyuu frowning at Sanemi, saying he mustn't swear in front of innocent children

"Innocent?? They're children of the fuckin' devil!!!"

Tanjiro swatting Sanemi away

Giyuu getting protective of his siblings

Nezuko pretending to cry so Giyuu takes the Kamados away and Sanemi's left there..

Later, Sanemi trying a different tactic, bringing some sweets (he refused to sacrifice his ohagi, but he did steal some of the Sakura Mochi that Obanai had bought for Mitsuri) and some random ass stuffed animal

Waving it in Tanjiro and Nezuko's faces when Giyuu's out training

"Take it!! Oh, gods, just take it-"

The two just turning their noses up at him, glaring

He glowers back.

Giyuu coming back and Sanemi instantly trying to play nice guy, not so subtly kicking Nezuko to the side when she tries to grab his leg

"Heyy- Tomioka- Can we talk?? Somewhere priv-AHH"

(Nezuko jumped on Sanemi's back)

Sanemi deciding that he'll just play along and hopefully they'll stop ambushing them

Nezuko piggy-back riding Sanemi, and he's just carrying her around, hoisting her up and turning back to Giyuu trying to be all casual

(Unfortunately, Sanemi nearly won over Nezuko until Tanjiro snatched her back, telling Sanemi that he wasn't needed here)

Giyuu still standing at the doorway: ._.

Tanjiro didn't realize that Giyuu didn't understand yet 😭 But then Giyuu asks why Sanemi seems to be stalking him or something, constantly popping up, and Tanjiro forces himself to explain

Giyuu after he's told that Sanemi has an actual crush on him: 0///0

Tanjiro sighing

He still refused to let Sanemi ask Giyuu out until Sanemi apologized profusely to Nezuko and promised to devote his life to making Giyuu happy

which sanemi did with reluctance because he was done dealing with the kamado's but he didn't really want to drop giyuu-

For a bit into the SaneGiyuu relationship, Tanjiro and Nezuko avoided Sanemi like a plague until he won them over with his old big brother 'Nemi charms

(they're still a bit dubious about him but have warmed up to his presence at least)

(although you can be sure Tanjiro's watching him closely)

this is genuinely what my notes look like when I have something i want to write.. very messy and vague 🦦 (i can write this more properly later iyw, but I'm too tired for that rn (cue the yawns))

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM SHREK THE THIRD *  assorted dialogue from the 2007 film, adjust as necessary

let's just say some things are better left unsaid.

if there's something you want to do, or someone you really want to be, then the only one standing in your way... is you.

well, my stomach's aching and my palms just got sweaty. must be a high school.

it wouldn't be inaccurate to assume that i couldn't exactly not say that it is or isn't almost partially incorrect.

so you do know where he is!

all right people, let's do this thing!

i thought we agreed we'd go by the name "team super cool."

from henceforth, we're all to be known as "team alpha super awesome cool dynamite wolf squadron."

right! assume the position!

what are you doing?

i can't believe i'm going to be a father.

how did this happen?

allow me to explain.

when a man falls in love with a woman, he is overcome with powerful urges...

how can you be a receiver of the wedgies when you are clearly not a wearer of the underpants?

somebody help! i've been kidnapped by a monster who's trying to relate to me!

greetings, cosmic children of the universe. welcome to my serenity circle.

please leave all bad vibes outside the healing vortex.

i knew i should have got that warranty.

i'm sorry, but this isn't working for me.

it's not like your attitude is helping.

let go of your petty complaints and let's work together.

someone had better be dying.

if he were real, could i do this?

that's quite enough, boys!

look out! they got a piano!

you really need to get yourself a pair of pants.

some people just don't understand boundaries.

it's just so hard, you know?

come on, take it easy!

there's a mean person doing mean things to good people.

i'll go and get my things.

we realy need your help.

sorry, i don't do that stuff anymore.

how about a hug? that's the best kind of magic there is.

jealous much?

where's the baby?

you just need to do a little less yelling and use more soap.

the soap is because you stink. really bad.

i will never forget you. you are the love of my life.

that's easy for you to say!

it's not easy to come by honest work when the whole world is against you.

those are some nice leotards though.

do they have those in men's sizes?

all right, don't overdo it.

break a leg. on second thought, let me break it for you.

i haven't had a trip that bad since college.

please don't eat me.

i've always wanted to play the flute.

i'd rather get the black plague and lock myself in an iron maiden than go out with him.

try to be reasonable.

i don't know you, but i'd like to.

can i interest anyone in a snack or beverage?

that information is on a need to know basis.

what do you want, [name]?

i love you too, honey!

you're going to be a father.

from here on out, we're gonna take care of business ourselves.

this isn't a rehearsal.

i know i made many mistakes with you.

won't you please open mine first?

can you please just try to grin and bear it?

i got you the biggest one because i love you the most.

now you'll have plenty time to work on your marriage.

excuse me. old lady coming through.

just stay out of this!

oh, this place is filthy.

everybody stay calm. we're all gonna die!

[rntoshi]

— isagi yoichi (n): the unintentional fuck boy.

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏/ • yoichi is pro, all characters are adults.

no one would ever think to associate the term “fuck boy” to the heart of gold that is isagi yoichi. the blue eyed ravenette comes across as such a sweetheart when people first meet him. a bit hardheaded if you really know him, but a sweetheart, nonetheless. there's so much passion and drive behind his eyes that it's charming— alluring to the hopeless romantic type for the fact that they like to daydream about what could be. anyone could get lost in a fantasy about being swept off their feet by a pretty face like isagi, he makes it effortless really. golden retriever energy is what you would call it. it's why he's so popular with women, he comes across as this boy next door who’s so willing to do anything to achieve a goal he has set in his heart. that's the image he's painted for himself in the public eye, and not that it's inaccurate: it just simply doesn't translate well into his love life.

one of his issues is... isagi doesn't realize just how attractive he is. as it's been said before, he's himbo adjacent. the attention he gets... he sums it up as getting “lucky.” his friendliness can be perceived as flirting, even more so that he doesn't take into account that he's one of the hottest players in the blue lock program. his gorgeous face and his athletic but lean physique make him physically attractive but it's also the mannerisms he possesses as well. little things like being the type to place a gentle hand on the small of your back if he's trying to walk past you in a crowded area. a polite “excuse me, I'm sorry.” leave his lips and the prettiest smile when you two make eye contact lingers just a second too long. or the crease between his brows when he's frustrated or tired— running both hands through his hair which exposes his forehead. it.

he never intends to, but he can't help but to well... get cold feet after the climax of one of his newfound “flings.” once the initial excitement has passed, it's not as appealing for him anymore but there's a reason for this. it's his post nut clarity that gets him every time. that immediate clear mindedness or soberness a guy gains after blowing his load. lying in bed with a girl as she talks about their future— the pillow talk goes well until the plans she proposes clash with his career. isagi has a tendency to equate entertaining the thought of a relationship as him putting priority towards just that, and not his real passion. it's just that isagi is at a point in his career where... nothing will ever amount to how important his job is to him. he's dedicated so much time and effort to get to the point where he is now. its time consuming and mind plaguing, it's the long-lasting effects that blue lock has had on him throughout the years. it's built an insane work ethic and need to crave more. nothing can or will get in the way of him and his vision. it's a curse all athletes have and unfortunately isagi yoichi, our sweet mc, is not an exception. it probably affects him the worse, really.

these girls he gets involved with always seem to have a trend of leaving feminine items in his gym bag. thongs, bras, hair scrunchies and even jewelry in hopes of isagi returning them. some girls do it for his attention and others do it because they want to plant this seed that isagi is “seeing” them. the paparazzi can catch anything and will often seek for certain shots if they're tipped off.

it's kind of funny because out of everyone, raichi is the one who discovers isagi is a bit of a whore. it's a regular day at practice when all the boys were in the locker room getting themselves situated before hitting the field. isagi is sitting on the bench when he pulls out his cleats, and in the process a hot pink thong falls on the floor beside raichi's feet where he foot only a couple feet away. of course, blondie gives isagi a hard time about it.

“tch, you still seein' that one brunette, huh? she your girl yet?” raichi picks up the pair of panties, leaning against the locker with a smug smile twirling the skimpy garment around his pointer finger before sling shotting it back to isagi.

“hah.. no.” isagi lets out a small, breathy chuckle as he catches the underwear. he's a little embarrassed but it's nothing he's not used to. “i met someone else. she's a sweet girl though.”

“the hell are you talkin' about? you were just screwing this other chick last monday.” raichi raises a brow as he straightens his posture, only now realizing why isagi never said a specific name. it's because they were all different girls. ha, that's rich.

“ah.. well yeah.” isagi gives a shy smile, scratching the back of his neck before he shoves the panties back into his bag, in a smaller and more discreet pocket. raichi only shakes his head before turning around back to his locker.

“it's always the humble ones.” raichi mumbles to himself.

yoichi finds himself puzzled at how often these kinds of things end up in his possession at the most inconvenient times but he never thinks too deeply about it. his indifference to the situation makes them want to chase him even harder. do even more outlandish things to get his attention when his tunnel vision is impossible to break.

he routinely goes to the gym after these one-night stands. it’s like a detox but for his mind, cleansing it of all the diluted thoughts that fogged his vision. it's almost like his own form of meditation.

there’s something so hot about isagi working out after a hookup. it's the post sex glow he has, the thin layer of sweat on his body, the determined look in his eye as he pushes himself past his usual limits. his cock is semi hard in his sweats from his endorphins, creating a prominent print under the gym's harsh lighting. he feels like a brand-new man after. refreshed and ready for the next fight on the field.

isagi is sweet! he really is! he doesn't like making girls cry. but he can't help that he's awful at texting back or returning calls. yoichi just forgets, getting too caught up in practice, games and press conferences.

it's not all isagi's fault though, because he is such sweetheart and can come across as a little manipulative, women often think they can take advantage of securing a marriage with a professional athlete. most are in for a rude awakening when their plans fall short while others simply pick up on the behavior and more onto the next team with the next player.

it won't be like this forever though. i believe this version of isagi is the kind of guy to realize he's fallen in love with his childhood best friend. isagi is known to be extremely loyal so any relationships that have already been established are taken quite seriously by him. you were that sweet girl who lived next door to him for years. you always had cute band aids for when he scraped his knees and yummy snack to share after school. you weren't very athletic, but you always cheered for him even during his loses. you were also one of his biggest support systems when he was going through the blue lock programs. you've always been an anchor in his life and it's something he doesn't realize until you two lose contact for a couple years.

it's funny how things work out too because it just so happens that you two visit home around the same time. when he sees you in your mother's flower garden you had only gotten prettier. you're wearing a flowy sundress and a sunhat; he thinks it's so cute— refreshing to see in contrast to the girls that usually approach him. there's a moment where you finally lock eyes with him, and it makes his tummy drop.

and he realizes he's in love.

© rntoshi 2023. do not modify or repost.

[dyns33]

Strange way of life

No, it's not about my sweet Pedro (I'll let Silva be happy with his cowbow), it's a new Cooper Howard story, yaaaaaay !

Her cousins ​​had gently teased her when the name had appeared on her wrist on her eighteenth birthday.

It was nothing unusual, it happened to everyone, even if what was once a joy was now the memory of a lost world. It was very rare for two soulmates to be in the same vault, very rare indeed. Legends.

And unfortunately for Y/N, she was no exception.

If Lucy and Norman were snickering, it was because of her reaction when they read the name.

"… Cooper Howard ? My soulmate is the actor Cooper Howard ?! The famous Cooper Howard ?!"

"Uh, no, I don't think so."

"He would be over two hundred years old. Sorry, Y/N, but he's long dead. Maybe he's his descendant, or a guy with the same name."

"But I love Cooper Howard ! I've seen all his movies ! That would make sense !"

"Not really, no." Norm said, visibly a little sad at his cousin's excitement.

Sure, maybe the great Cooper Howard was still alive, in a hibernation chamber, in another vault, and waiting for her.

But even if that was the case, there was little chance that they would ever meet. There was no indication that it would be possible to come out soon, and so the rule was to ignore names when choosing a partner.

If not, humanity would have died out long ago.

Unfortunately for Vault 33, most of the young people were quite romantic. Her brother could try to be reasonable, Lucy stopped mocking to hug her cousin, saying that it was wonderful that she was destined for such a wonderful man.

They had been fans of the cowboy since childhood. At the same time, there weren't many other movies to watch.

A few years later, Lucy had her name, which wasn't that of an actor. At least, not a known actor in the vault, even if it was special. Titus Maximus.

Norman noted that it sounded like a name from Ancient Rome. He joked that his sister and cousin probably had soulmates who could travel through time.

While Y/N wanted to wait as long as possible before making a decision about her love life, Lucy sadly accepted that she would probably never meet Maximus, asking to meet a man from Vault 32 to get married. This pleased neither young Norman, for security reasons, nor Y/N, for emotional reasons. Besides the fact that he could be a dangerous cannibal, ugly and mean, there was nothing to say that Lucy and him would love each other. She could wait for her Titus.

"No, I don't want to wait anymore. I want love, real love. I can't keep dreaming and having fun with Chet…"

"Chet ? Your other cousin ? That's disgusting, Lucy !"

"I know ! That's why I need a husband. And if I ever meet Maximus, I could always divorce him. You can wait for your Cooper if you want, cowboy or whatever. I understand and I don't judge you. So don't judge me either."

That wasn't enough to prevent the massacre that followed. It was only because she had retreated to her room that Y/N escaped death, not seeing Overseer MacLean being kidnapped either.

More than this idea of ​​marriage, she found that leaving the shelter to go looking for him was very bad. She had never really loved her uncle, finding him strange. Her parents had also always been wary of him, even more so after the death of her mother's sister who they followed here before the plague.

But Y/N loved her cousins, both Norm and Lucy, and so there was no way she was going to let her go alone.

The poor widow drugged Chet because he would have been a burden, she already knew that her little brother would only help her get out, and when her cousin insisted on coming, she couldn't say no.

They were probably among the smartest, bravest and most skilled people in the vault. Together, they had a better chance of surviving outside.

However, nothing could prepare them for this devastated world. It was nothing like what their teachers had said. The sun was hot, the air full of dust, the earth barren, and the people rude.

The worst was that mercenary in the city of Philly, who started shooting at everyone while laughing, ready to kill Lucy because she was defending the poor man whose leg he had blown off.

Y/N didn't really want to get involved. She admitted that the treatment inflicted on the one who seemed to be a doctor and his dog was not normal, and that in other circumstances she would have intervened.

But they were not there for that, and if they wanted to find Lucy's father, it was probably better to avoid trouble.

This misadventure was not in vain, however. Because not only were they saved by a man named Titus Maximus wearing a huge sparkling armor, but they also recovered the doctor's head which could be used as a bargaining chip against Henry MacLean.

And above all, they had crossed paths with this ghoul dressed as a cowboy, exactly like in Cooper Howard's films, who spoke exactly like in Cooper Howard's films.

Since the atomization, meetings between soulmates were very rare. So double meetings ? Impossible.

Until a monster ate the head, Lucy kept jumping up and down like a child, terribly happy, immediately forgetting her failed marriage and a little bit about the reason for their presence near this radioactive lake. Even if she hadn't had time to give Maximus her name, there was little risk in saying that their savior was made for her.

"It's him ! I know it's him ! I only saw his face for a few seconds, but he's so handsome, so brave ! Did you see how he didn't hesitate for a second to jump in front of us and take the bullet for us ?"

"Yes, I did."

"I wonder why that horrible mercenary wanted to take that poor man, and what he was going to do to him. Do you think he has a soulmate ? Oh, do you think the doctor had a soulmate ?!"

"I don't know." Y/N sighed, trying to convince herself that it wasn't because the mercenary looked and talked like Cooper Howard that he was the actor, or her soulmate.

She could have asked him the question, when he caught up with them without too much difficulty, while they were wondering how to get the head back. Because without the head, there was no way to save Lucy's father.

Her poor cousin tried to explain it to the Ghoul, while he plunged her again and again into the water, while Y/N could only watch and beg, tied to a pole.

The plan he had put in place to attract the beast worked well, too well, and in the end, in addition to losing what he was looking for, the mercenary had his bag snatched, which obviously contained important things.

"Fuck… Fuck !" he yelled, pointing his gun at Lucy, as if the poor girl was responsible.

He didn't shoot. Visibly changing his mind, he took them both, forcing them to walk without water or food for days, to an unknown destination.

Several times, Y/N hesitated to give her name, to see his reaction. When he asked them after putting a bullet in Roger's head, her cousin answered first and he jumped, not giving Y/N time to speak.

He had understood that they were cousins. He must have thought that they had the same name, MacLean. Not Y/L/N.

She could have said it. Several times. But saying it was getting an answer, and she didn't know which one she wanted.

Either this man wasn't her soulmate and they were going to die. Or they were destined. And Y/N couldn't believe that this abomination, this heartless monster, could be for her. Even less that he could be Cooper Howard, the good sheriff who punished the bad guys and saved damsels in distress.

No, it couldn't be him. She was almost certain of it when he cut off Lucy's finger with a smile.

Arriving in front of the Super Duper Market, it was a surprise to be untied. Then he announced that he was taking two women in more or less good condition, in exchange for vials.

He hadn't killed them, just sold them.

No, he couldn't be her Cooper.

It was totally impossible.

But as Lucy walked through the store trying to stay dignified, holding back her tears, Y/N couldn't help but turn to the Ghoul. If she was going to die, she had to know.

He frowned, waiting to see what she would say, probably in an attempt to gain his pity.

"Are you Cooper Howard ?"

The question surprised him for a moment. Something flashed in his eyes, indicating that it had been a long time since he had heard that name. But he quickly resumed his closed demeanor.

"Not anymore, sweetie."

"I'm Y/N Y/L/N."

The doors of the Super Dupper automatically closed before Y/N could say anything else or see his face. It probably wouldn't have made much difference anyway.

[1-800-kami]

SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK .. feat. gojo satoru

.. two star-crossed lovers who make an oath to love each other like they’ve never loved before in their next life.

content: 1.8k words, fem!reader, angst (with a little comfort), first half takes place during chapter 236, (so MAJOR manga spoilers ahead) character death, reincarnation au, gojo is a future lawyer, VERY bittersweet

author's note: it's been a minute since i've last uploaded a fic lmao </3 i've mainly been doing smau's (because they're very fun to do and take less effort) but here's a short gojo fic that's been resting in my drafts for a while. it's a reincarnation au that i wrote while listening to slow dancing in the dark..so enjoy! -kami <3

interact and reblog for a kiss ;)

it’s cold on the battlefield.

the wind nips at your skin until it feels like you’re about to freeze over. you feel the coldness seeping into your skin—entering and traveling up your veins until it eventually reaches your already ice-cold heart. 

the scene in front of you feels all too familiar. you’ve seen it a thousand times over in the past–the image plaguing your sleep, turning what’s supposed to be a time to rest into a time of nightmares and waking up in a cold sweat. your lover, gojo satoru, is on the ground, eyes on the precipice of losing its shine. and there’s red, fuck–there’s so much red. a pool of red lies underneath gojo and it’s all you can see.

usually, at this point, you’d wake up, mind all over the place and heart racing. satoru… where’s satoru? you’d panic, feeling the covers for your lover and exhaling a sigh of relief when you find him curled up next to you. 

he’d always get up after you, knowing that you’d experience the occasional nightmare of him leaving you. satoru understands this very well. he has nightmares of you leaving him too. he’d make sure to hug your shaking, crying form until your sobs eventually ceased. “i’m right here, love. i’m not going anywhere. i’m the strongest, you know? you should have more faith in me.”

wake up. y/n. this isn’t real, right? wake up. you pinch your skin and dig your nails into your palms, hoping to wake up from this nightmare. except, you don’t wake up, and with the newly made marks etched on your skin lighting your nerves on fire, you realize this isn’t a dream. this time, gojo’s not there to ease your worries and reassure you that he’s alive–that he’s never going to leave your side.

with that realization, you feel yourself moving again. you scream satoru’s name with a voice plagued with nothing but agony and despair. you run over to his side, panic filling your senses when you feel his body and get all the red on your hands. red. it’s never had a negative connotation to you before. there was red on the roses that satoru had given you on valentines day. red on the heart-shaped gold necklace he’d gifted you on your anniversary (that you’ve never taken off since). red on the box of chocolates that he’d given to you on an ordinary day. “what? does there have to be a special occasion to show my girlfriend how much i love her?”

now, your perception of the color red has been tainted for the rest of your life. it’s the only thing you can see, and you want to close your eyes forever just so you don’t have to see that crimson shade ever again. “satoru, you said you’d never leave... you lied to me!”

he coughs weakly, using all his remaining strength to weakly take your hands in his. there’s a small smile on his face, and his peaceful expression only makes you sob harder. an expression that shows that he’s accepted his fate. “gosh, i’m getting your clothes all dirty. i’m sorry, princess…”

“can you promise me something, though? before i’m gone…” he whispers, and you nod your head, ready to do anything for him. “promise me we’ll meet again, okay?”

that catches you off guard. “w…what do you mean?”

“we’ll meet again, in another life, and i’ll love you all over again.” he smiles cheekily, and you hold his hand a little tighter, sobs racking your core and making your entire body shake. “have you ever imagined living a normal life? a life where sorcerers and curses are all alien words, and i’m not “the strongest”?…a life where i’m just like everyone else, and i get to marry you because no shitty higher-ups are holding me back anymore. god, i think about that all the time. i’ve realized that i’d like that version of life with you more than anything.”

you think that everyone in the jujutsu society has had that thought at least once. sometimes, the idea of being an ignorant civilian unknowingly living in a world filled with curses and despair seemed preferable. and yet, you’ve chosen to be a sorcerer, and perhaps this is the worst part to it. constantly losing the ones you’ve held closest to your heart–all to protect a group of people who aren’t even remotely aware of the sacrifices that sorcerers have made so that they can live a normal life. 

“i’ve always wanted that too, s’toru.” you whisper, in fear of your voice breaking if you speak too loudly. “yeah… a regular life without curses. what do you think it’ll be like?”

“hm… let me think. i’ve always wanted to be a dad, y’know?” satoru teases, and the two of you are lost in your own world as you both envision a life where you can be together without any repercussions. “megumi doesn’t count, cause ‘m not his biological dad. i want a little me running around in a house that we’ve worked so hard to buy. and who knows? maybe we’ll have more kids. maybe one or two more-”

“three kids?! that’s a lot, satoru.” you say in mock surprise, though you can’t expect less from your boyfriend. “hey.. does that mean we’ll get married?”

“of course, sweetheart. you’re the only love i’ve ever known. ‘m sorry i have to leave you like this. but i’ll come back for you in our next life, okay?” he hisses as he uses all his strength to grip your shaky hands a little tighter. you can tell his adrenaline’s wearing off, but you’re not ready to let go.

i’ll come back for you in our next life.

every second you’ll spend waiting for satoru seems like an eternity.  “i’ll propose to you with a beautiful ring ‘nd you’ll be…”

he coughs up a little bit of blood, voice hoarse and barely holding on. yet, gojo persists on using whatever strength he has to talk to you.

“you’ll be y/n gojo. i like the sound of that…” he whispers, and both of you know that his time has run out. the red on your skin is beginning to dry, and it feels like it’s tainted you forever. “i love you, princess.”

“i love you too, satoru. i’ll see you soon.” gojo’s grip on your hands loosen. you whisper his name again, looking for a response, but you’re only met with silence. he’s left you alone just like how everyone else has left you. nanami, geto, haibara, and now satoru.

you don’t scream or sob once you realize that satoru’s gone. in fact, your tears have ceased, but it's instead replaced with this empty feeling—like a hollow hole in your chest that can’t be filled with anything to make you feel whole again.

the battlefield is cold, but gojo’s limp body feels colder.

gojo satoru is twenty-two years old. he’s a slightly above-average man (both figuratively and literally) standing at six foot three, boasting looks that’ll make anyone fawn over him. it took him almost two years to decide on a major, but after trying a little bit of everything (and falling asleep during every business class that he took with his friend nanami) satoru settled on choosing a political science major to become a lawyer.

despite having looks that grant him the ability to get any girl that he wants, satoru’s spent his whole life looking for a girl that he’s never even met before.

he remembers everything–and every part about you. sometimes, he thinks that all the memories he’s spent with you were just some sort of dream, and yet, they seemed so vivid. sometimes, satoru chastises himself, a part of him wanting to just move on from you because he doesn’t even know if you actually exist–and yet, he’s been trying his entire life to find you because his memories told him that “he promised he would”.

were they memories or were they dreams? he doesn’t know what to think anymore.

but then, gojo satoru finally gets his questions answered one spring afternoon.

he passes by a cute bakery while walking home from school, and feels his taste buds waking up as he stares at all the mouth-watering sweets displayed behind the store’s glass. the bakery has a wide variety of baked goods, as well as coffee. satoru’s so busy looking at the menu that the second he looks at the cashier, he feels his entire world stop.

it’s you.

and at that moment, satoru could feel all the memories flooding back in. no, they weren’t dreams. they were memories. satoru has lived a completely different life before this one, and this was a new life, a second life that was granted to satoru from whatever deity there was out there. all he ever wanted was to live a normal life without being renowned as “the strongest”, and most importantly, he wanted to live a normal life with you in the epicenter of it. 

you. his entire world. his lifeline.

and now, you’re right in front of him, and satoru feels like he’s sixteen all over again–the year that you met him when you transferred into jujutsu high. the year you turned his entire world upside down. the year you–as well as his other friends, taught him how to live for a moment without caring about the overbearing pressure of expectation that was ever-present on his shoulders.

a glimmer of gold on your neck catches satoru’s eye.

it was the heart-shaped gold necklace that he’d given to you on your anniversary. the heart itself was crystallized red, and when you asked gojo to clasp it around your neck, you’ve always kept it on you.

he wonders if you ever took it off after he died.

“y/n?” the whisper almost felt pathetic with how much emotion he poured into it. you look up from your phone and finally meet his gaze for the first time in years.

two star-crossed lovers who made an oath to love each other like they’ve never loved before in their next life. the two of you have finally crossed paths again–but wait, there’s something terribly wrong.

“y/n? yeah… that’s my name.” you say, looking at your name tag that was pinned onto your apron. a look of confusion is etched onto your face–the man in front of you is looking at you with so much familiarity that you feel the need to know who he is. silvery white hair, cerulean blue eyes. his appearance makes him stand out so much that you would’ve definitely known who he was. you awkwardly adjust your name tag, unable to find any words to say other than:

“i’m sorry, but do i know you?”

[elasticbeach]

Please tell me you are writing a part 3 to the breaking up with Shanks and it ends with a fluffy happy family

Part 3/ Breaking up with Shanks but realizing you still have feelings for him

Yall I didn’t even realise that I haven’t posted this 💀 this has been sitting in my drafts for waay too long, anyways thank you all for all the positive feedback, I feel like this part is written better than the first two. Anyways enjoy reading!

Warnings: None

Part 1/Part 2/ Part 3

You were standing in the kitchen while your little girl was having her usual afternoon nap, you were baking muffins just because, everyone loves muffins right? Actually your nerves were driving you crazy with every passing second and baking seemed to ease your nerves a little. Your mind raced with questions. Will there be a knock on your door? Or will the door be smashed entirely? Will he take your baby away from you? Will he even show up? Did he get scared and just decided to dump you entirely? Too many questions plagued your mind and while you stared outside the window deep in thought a knock brought you back to reality. Your head snapped at the sound of gentle knocks and your heart started racing. Slow steps getting you to the door, standing in front of it you were pretty sure your heart would explode as your heartbeat hammered loudly in your ears. Slowly you opened the door just to reveal the old lady next door. At this point this whole situation slowly started driving you mad. You had never experienced paranoia like this and had no idea how to deal with anxiety like that. After the lady left, you went to check on your daughter. She was peacefully sleeping in her crib, kneeling down next to her you brushed a few of her red locks out of her face. She really went after him, huh? you thought. Life still did not feel real, even when your daughter was born. you still felt like that young girl who just wanted some love and adventure. tears formed at the corners of your eyes, you miss him so much, it hurts.

A few days later you were laying on the beach trying to enjoy some sun while your daughter slept under the small tent you put up. Your mind did clear a bit at the ocean breeze and the warm sun tanning your skin. You almost fell asleep yourself, till you heard it "PIRATES!!" someone screamed in panic. You quickly sat up and looked at the horizont, that’s when you saw it, his ship. The ship you spent years on, before settling down. You quickly put a robe over your body and grabbed your daughter, you didnt even bother standing uo or trying to flee. Just pressing her against you and closing your eyes, anticipating the worst. A few minutes passed, you were too afraid to open your eyes. You heard steps approaching and thats when you opened your eyes. "Long time no see, ____" you sighed to embarrassed to even look his way. You heard him coming closer. "Please dont take her from me.." you whispered in a weak voice. You heard him sit down next to you. "I would never." he said in a serious tone and thats when you finally looked at him. His face carried a frown while his eyes showed sadness. He was hurt you could tell, tears formed once again. "Im so sorry..I really am." You said and sobbed. “Shh” He immediately started calming you down while rubbing your shoulder. You sobbed again before sniffing and calming your nerves a little, you looked at Shanks again. “You’re still just as beautiful.” He said with that smile of his, no mischief or lie in his eyes. It was the first thing he decided to say, nothing about the daughter and not how mad or disappointed he is but this. He called you beautiful, making you tear up again. He chuckled “Stop crying, you always make that funny face when you cry.” That made you chuckle a bit making you sniff and carefully hand him his daughter. Without a word he took the little girl looking at her little face. The little girl was inspecting her father for a few seconds before crying and wiggling, scared of the unfamiliar man. “I’m sorry, should’ve called earlier.” You started as he handed you your daughter with a light smile, as you started rocking the infant you continued to speak “ I was just so scared, I didn’t think it was necessary. No, that’s wrong..I was sceptical if you would even care you know? And it was just nerve wracking, because what if you took her from me??” You started sobbing troughout half of your monologue. “Calm down now you two crybabies.” He interrupted you with a smirk. “How come the two most important women of my life are crying because of me?” He chuckled a bit, again loosening the atmosphere again. “I’m sorry” You repeated, sobbing and wiping your tears with your shoulder, still having your daughter in your arms. Her crying stopped by now and she was inspecting Shanks from a distance now. “It’s okay.” Shanks says smiling at his daughter and then at you. “Must’ve been scary going trough all of this alone?” Shanks asks and you nod. You two spend up to three hours talking about casual stuff, him telling you about the adventures you missed. You telling him everything he missed of his daughters life and said daughter warming up to her daddy enjoying his company.

“I’ll walk you to your home.” Shanks said as you started packing. You didn’t even try to protest, because you know you want him to. You want his affection and attention, want him to stay. Forever. “Thanks” You flash him a smile before laying your daughter in her crib and the two of you start walking. And this image of the two of you, it brings you peace. It feels so normal, so natural. You probably look like a normal family walking back from the beach, everything feels so right, if only it had been like that since the first day. Your thoughts are interrupted by his voice. “So how are we handeling this whole situation?” You shrug, really not having a clue how to answer “I’m definitely not taking the two of you onto the ship, that’s way too dangerous. Just stay here, I will visit from time to time. You should call me more often, I want to hear more about your life. Maybe we aren’t lovers anymore, but we should at least keep in touch, we do have a kid together.” He chuckles after the statement, most definitely hiding how he actually feels, you know him too well to not notice. “Yeah, sounds good.” You reply, because you know that it’s over for the two of you. Even if he still loves you how could he possibly still want to be with you, a liar and coward that doesn’t even know what she wants.

Back home you bathe your daughter together and then you rock her asleep. As you slowly close the door to the nursery and walk to the kitchen he’s already waiting at the door. “Well, I think I will get going for now let’s meet tomorrow again, with the crew as well.” He rubs his neck as he speaks “I thought you were staying dor dinner” your voice getting more quiet troughout your statement. “I can stay??” He seems surprised and happily sits down at the dinnig table. You smile a bit and start preparing something small for the two of you. Dinner is nice, you talk a bit here and there but it’s mostly quiet, not an awkward quiet more of a enjoying each other’s company quiet. You would look up a few times, looking at his strong hands as he cuts the meat or how he licks his lips after each bite. You would lie if you said you didn’t miss the way his hands touched you or the way his lips kissed you and licked-. You stopped yourself right there, these times were long gone. You shoud just stop thinking about him in this way, he’s just the father of your daughter, you ex-boyfriend that YOU broke up with. “You alright?” You look up a bit confused. “You haven’t touched the food in like a minute just staring at it.” He looks at you just as confused. “I was just lost in thought, sorry.” You crack a smile and keep eating. You two finish eating in silence and he helps you clean up after.

“Well, see you tomorrow then?” He says as he steps over the door step. “Yeah.” You look up at him. You two look in each others eyes, seeing the desire, the love for each other. He leans down and presses a quick kiss on your cheeck. “Goodnight” He smiles. “Goodnight.” You smile back and close the door, you lean against the closed door and slide it down smiling like a fool.

The next morning you woke up a bit late. Your daughter was crying all night so you didn’t get all that much sleep. Rubbing your face with cold water you hear a knock. Drying your face and walking over to the door you slowly open expecting Shanks. As he looks upon your figure he immediately notices your tired appearance, while you still wear your Pjs. “You alright?” He asks as he steps inside. “Do I look that bad?” You chuckle a bit closing the door behind him. “No, not really. Just a bit..worn out.” The two of you chuckle. You lead Shanks to his daughter that is still asleep in your bed, since she refused to sleep away from you. “Look at her, didn’t let you sleep all night and now she’s snoozing away.” You smile at his statement, seeing how lovingly he looks at his daughter. “I wish I would’ve seen more of her and you..pregnant.” He looks over at you. You two share neutral expressions as you look at each other, both of you unsure how to handle the situation. You look down at the floor and sigh. “Look, I’m really sorry about everything-“ “Don’t, I understand.” He interrupts you. “No, please let me finish. Just listen to me please.” You sigh again and start talking. “I did NOT know of my pregnancy when I left and that wasn’t the reason I left. I just always dreamed of domestic life, but I also always knew that with you it would be impossible. But I don’t know what’s gotten into me when I left I was I don’t know..” You take a short pause to swallow the lump in your throat. “Maybe it were the pregnancy hormones or whatever but I need you to know that. I still love you and never stopped, I thought it was the better thing for me to leave and try to forget you but how could I? You are the love of my life Shanks. I don’t know if you could ever forgive me for taking your daughter from you, but I just need you to know that I love you. I never stopped loving you.” Tears stain your cheeks by the time you are finished and when you sob and look up you see him standing in front of you. The two of you fall into a long embrace. Hugging each other, with you just crying into his shirt. “Now calm down, I never stopped loving you either.” The two of you keep on hugging. He then pushes you away a bit just to capture your lips in a long kiss. You never felt so much joy in your life as his lips touched yours, everything else didn’t seem important anymore and you just forgot about those months of separation in this moment. You two parted for air and looked into each others eyes when suddenly a crying noise from your daughter captures your attention. “I will take care of her in the living room, get some sleep.” He smiled and wiped some of your tears. “I love you Shanks.” “I love you too.”

Repost are appreciated <3

[goddessofwaifus]

Honestly, how shinichiro managed to worm his way into my heart still surprises me...

He deserves love too! Nobody is "normal" by any standard so how does such a cute weirdo like him get rejected 20 times?! Whatever if none of the girls who rejected him want him, I guess that means no competition for being his one and only 😏 This one is for my shinichiro lovers!!! He may be a loser but he can get a w while being a lovable dork. If takemichi can get bitches, then it shouldn't be out of the question that the same can apply for Shin!

Premise- You're walking in the usual crowded halls and there you bump into the boy who every girl gossips about at school. He's weird, he doesn't know how to talk to women, he's been rejected 20 times... Wait what? How does that happen?!

The only real thing I should note for this little fic is that you and Wakasa are familiar with one another. The relationship can be familial or platonic. Might give some background in a follow up part if anyone is interested in exploring that aspect in detail. Reader,as usual,is gender neutral for inclusion of all who read.

Lose to win

Shinichiro Sano x Reader

How many dates would you go on with this guy? Honest answer for the shinichiro simps out there, I know you're out there!

Personally, I'd go on however many dates he wants. If none of those girls want him, I'll take him myself 🙄 their loss

Honestly school is shit. Especially when you're the subject of gossip and your friends have better luck with pulling than you. That was the case for Shinichiro Sano. Poor guy had been rejected 20 times, he was about ready to give up and just fully dedicate himself to the gang life with his love for bikes. Walking down the hall with him were his friends Wakasa Imaushi, Takeomi Akashi, and Keizo Arashi (Benkei).

"Honestly Shin, I'm starting to worry about ya bud. You are just woman repellant, I feel so sorry for you."

"Maybe his charisma just doesn't work on girls? You really need to stop letting your intrusive thoughts win, man... Girls avoid you like the plague and I don't need you scarin' off the bad bitch I snagged this week..."

"You'll find someone eventually. Girls are picky. If it doesn't work out, who knows? Maybe datin' ain't it for you. If not, you got us! We can go out and kick some ass! Cheer up man!"

Shinichiro gave a small smile to Benkei 's attempt to lighten the mood. He gave a frown to Waka and Takeomi, feeling the white-haired boy give him a light punch to his arm with a chuckle. Some friends they are, he joked until he felt an impact with his chest that prompted him to stop with his friends pausing as well. You had bumped into him on your way to class and bowed your head, embarrassed for getting in his way.

"Sorry... I wasn't watching where I was going. I didn't mean to bump into you! I'll get out of your way... Sorry for the inconvenience. I'll-"

"No no you're fine! This hallway is pretty crowded so it was inevitable for this to happen."

Shinichiro laughed, rubbing the back of his neck while his friends looked down at you. You were going to move aside and continue your trip to your classroom when Wakasa spoke to you.

"Yo y/n, before we let you go off to class, I got a question for ya. You got a type?"

The question was completely out of left field so it flustered you a bit. What kind of question was that? Wakasa is prone to asking odd questions, sometimes to perform his own personal social experiments among other students or simply for his own personal reasons. Maybe to try and see what kind of person they are? You'll never know, Waka has always been aloof and a bit mysterious in your time of knowing him. You shrug and figure maybe this was a test of his, so you'll bite.

"In partners? I guess it doesn't really matter as long as they're not an absolute dickhead or douchebag just looking for some ass. I can't stand people like that..."

You trailed off as you had glanced up at Shinichiro who looked like he wanted to be swallowed up by the floor beneath him. You slowly put the pieces together as you remembered overhearing girls giggling and laughing or gagging in over exaggerated disgust about some boy named Shinichiro who had supposedly asked them out, but they either blew him off or he somehow screwed up his chance by saying something weird that creeped them out/ turned them off from pursuing anything with semblance to a date. You then glanced over to Wakasa as you were now curious to see where he was going with the question now answered.

"You've probably heard around the hallways, but this guy has had an unlucky streak with the ladies. Unlike everyone else, you're one of the nice ones here on campus. You can probably see where I'm going with this."

You nodded, looking back at the embarrassed delinquent busying his gaze with the floor to avoid looking at his friend who was smirking slightly at the response. A gentle tilt of the chin upwards was almost enough to put the boy into cardiac arrest as he instinctively swallowed against your hold. His charcoal eyes meet your (e/c) ones in hesitation,you can see the anxiety building behind them. He watched your lips as you spoke your next words, his ears at attention.

"Shinichiro Sano. 20 rejections? What did you do to scare them off?"

"Too honest and open."

"Speaks before he thinks."

"Being himself is apparently the worst advice to give him..."

You weren't expecting the three boys to list every fuck up the guy made for every girl he potentially had interest in. You almost felt bad for his string of bad luck, but you figured Waka chose you for the most obvious reason.

You didn't have the best track record with dating either. Although you don't like to admit it, you can sympathize with the guy. Girls, as a joke or genuinely, have warned/told you not to get involved with Shinichiro. Social suicide they said, you'll never be able to eat with the little friends or acquaintances you have due to associating with the weirdo, he's not worth it, and so many other disheartening things they spewed from their mouths.

Who were they to tell you not to give the guy a chance? Half of the girls spouting that crap are either dating his friends, fucking with them, or haven't gone out with the guy and are simply regurgitating what everyone else is saying so they don't get the side-eyed by the ones who started spreading the information around. Some say he's bad in bed, others say he's not loyal, one girl said she couldn't stand the smell of smoke from his cigarettes, another said he's impulsive, and so on. They all had something to say about him, never positive things. You would decide, not them. You had a mind of your own and you could tell a person's intentions based on their behavior.

So what if he's bad in bed? Sex ain't everything in a relationship after all.

Most of the girls couldn't say anything about being unfaithful to their lovers when the hypocrisy in their words couldn't have been any louder.

You honestly couldn't say anything about the cigarette smell, but he should quit while his lungs are still healthy and taking in oxygen as they should. The smell is an easy fix, just spritz cologne lightly and it should overpower the nicotine. Some girls don't mind the smell or taste.

As for the impulsive part, that comes with being a teenager. Hormones play a part as well as other factors. You were a bit impulsive yourself so maybe every now and then you say something wild or out of turn that would have the class eyeing you like hawks and wishing you could vanish right then and there in the moment. Perfectly natural for both men, women, and those in between. Nothing new, nothing bad.

Half of the things they listed weren't heinous or anything worth slandering his name for. If not to put these stupid rumors to rest, then just to satisfy your buzzing questions and learn more about the boy who supposedly repels girls away instead of attracting. You don't know what the fuss is about, he's a good looking guy and from the times you've passed by him and his friends, he's a pretty chill and easygoing person. He's never caused trouble, his grades are decent, has no problem with making friends, and you wouldn't assume he's the type of guy who goes around beating up other students to assert his dominance and show off his strength. Shinichiro Sano seems like your average guy who might,one day, work as a mechanic.

"You're L/n-san, right? Y/N? Y-you don't have to if you don't want to... I wouldn't want to waste your time or bring down your reputation by asking you out. I'd only cause problems for you and the guilt would eat at me..."

"What are you talking about? What reputation? I'm not losing anything from going out with you. If anything, I think I wanna be the first girl to ask you out for a date~ If that's alright with you."

You stopped his train of thought right then and there, a smile he swore took the breath from his lungs and made his heart thump hard enough to nearly trigger a panic in him. You asking him ,out of all the guys at school, on a date? He swears up and down his face has never been so hot and red like a cherry tomato before. The smugness of his best friends couldn't have been so loud and visible to the raven-haired delinquent.

It's a big deal because, while you aren't picky about who you date and go out with, you still have standards and on top of that, major trust issues as a result of relationships that have crashed and burned for many reasons you don't want to think about or remember right now.

"Is it cool if I join you guys for lunch period? For once, I don't wanna eat by myself like I usually do. Maybe I can also get to know the gossip topic himself better so I have a better read of him. I have a fairly good idea of who he is,but I wanna hear it from his mouth for myself."

"Y-yeah! It's perfectly fine for you to hang with us! T-the more the merrier right?"

He can't get any cuter or be more of a dork, you thought to yourself with a soft smile. The boys walked you to class and you breezed through most of the lectures with ease. Before you can even squeeze in a little nap, it's lunchtime and unlucky for you, you completely forgot to make yourself lunch this morning before you took off towards the school grounds. You sighed in disappointment,trudging to the roof as you also didn't have enough money for even a little snack to suffice. All you brought with you on the way up was your sketchbook for doodling while you ate, but maybe today was looking up for you.

"Hey. You made it...Did you forget to make yourself lunch before you went to bed again last night?"

The look on your face gave Wakasa his answer, he chuckled as Shinichiro had been telling Benkei that he was saving the extra bento he made to hopefully give to someone (preferably someone who was a good cook) as a taste tester for his cooking. Ever since his little brother and sister started teasing him about being a bad cook, he had become determined to improve his culinary skills in the kitchen to get his rotten little siblings off his back and prove he was a good cook. The lunch he made tasted fine to him, however a second opinion was needed due to his taste being an "unreliable source" to his siblings and grandfather. No more takeout, he would learn to cook for them. Plus, it makes good practice.

"Alright, what idea kept you up this time? I'm assumin' ya jotted it down in your handy sketchbook so let me have a look and see."

While Benkei was distracted by whatever you had stayed up late to work on instead of getting your precious sleep, Takeomi saw the extra lunch Shinichiro made as a perfect opening for the two of you. He nudged their leader and nodded his head over to you to signal him into seizing the golden opportunity to learn more about you. The messy haired bundle of nerves that was Shinichiro gave a subtle nod to his friend's encouragement, sighing deeply as Wakasa sat on one side of you and Benkei sat by Takeomi. You and Shinichiro were sat in the middle as the five of you sat against the fence walls along the school rooftop, Waka seeming to get the same idea that Takeomi had when he remembered the extra bento his friend was holding onto.

"Uh hey Y/n? So I've gotten into cooking recently on account of wanting to get better at it for my lil siblings and grandpa. S-since you forgot to make lunch for today, I figured maybe you could try the extra one I made and have that if you like it. If it's cool with you, I wanna see what you were working on last night too in exchange. If you're not cool with that, I'll still give you the lunch either way!"

You nodded, a bit nervous about showing him the doodles and pieces you scribbled away in the confines of your sketchbook, but you figured it wouldn't hurt for him to see. You didn't think you were the best artist and admittedly didn't think you were good at cooking to really be a good judge of taste testing. Wakasa would shut down any and all belittling of your skills, be your number one cheerleader, and encourage you to pursue your hobby. If you didn't think you were the best cook, shut up. How dare you call his friend a bad cook? He should have you cook something for him and he'll judge it for himself.

Shinichiro traded you the lunch for your sketchbook under the single condition that he didn't laugh and make fun of what you worked on until 2 in the morning before finally falling asleep upon satisfaction of your finished product. Let it be known that you rarely show anyone your work on account of being laughed at and/or bullied for the subject matter of your pieces. You were an anime fan, you liked to watch anime at night and often imagined scenarios between you and your favorite characters from the media, if inspiration struck (more often than not as you're getting ready to go to bed) you would draw said idea in your sketchbook, erasing and redrawing line after line until it looked exactly like your daydream or was close enough to it.

Watching with held breath as the charcoal eyes of Shin glided across the page where your latest piece from the night before sat. He admired each line you drew, the expressions, poses, no space on the filled canvas was left untouched by the observant eyesight of the gang leader. You were so worried about what he thought about your artwork that you hadn't touched the lunch he gave to you. What did he think of the doodles you made? Was he gonna laugh at you too? So many questions flow into your mind, filling your stomach with dread and slowly regretting handing over your sketches.

"I recognize this character! I've seen the anime before, but I can't remember the name. God... What's it called? Oh! A/n (Anime/name)! It was really good!"

"You've seen that anime? Y-you watch anime? I didn't think you were the type to be into that."

"Well, I remember reading the manga for it and thinking 'what's the anime like?' so I watched it and I got invested! This art is really cool! I like the way you drew them, is this your character in the anime? They look really nice."

You smiled, nodding as Shinichiro didn't need you to tell him what was what. He did notice you hadn't touched the lunch he made yet, he looked through the other pages before he was satisfied with taking in your work and committing it to his memory.

Eventually, you opened the bento and found delicious food inside,wafting to your nostrils and making you salivate from the aroma. Shinichiro watched you drool over what he cooked this morning,pride blooming in his chest at the sense of accomplishment but he needed to know if you would eat it. He needed you to take a bite and give him your thoughts on how it came out. Now you were the one being observed closely with bated breath by Shinichiro as you thanked him for the food, bringing a portion up to your lips taking a bite of what you grabbed. The flavor made you tear up with a smile, chewing thoughtfully to savor the taste in your mouth.

You won't forget the looks on their faces as Wakasa cackled from the range of emotion in his friends in response to what you said about Shinichiro and his food. Shinichiro was redder than a strawberry and trying to cover his face, Benkei nearly spit out his food from how wild your response to the food was, and Takeomi was just as flabbergasted if not in utter disbelief at what came out of your mouth. Once Wakasa could breathe somewhat and finally wipe the laugh tears from his lavender eyes, all the snow haired boy had to say was:

"I told you you weren't the only one who blurts out weird shit on impulse! I tooold you!!!"

You hadn't even realized what you said until you saw Shin turn into a tomato with his coal eyes wide open in shock and other things in the mix. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't flattered by the comment on his cooking. It meant he was improving and his practice was starting to pay off. Did you really love what he cooked that much? If so, he'd make a personal note to try and cook more for you in the future. Maybe he could even taste your cooking one day if the date was still gonna happen and it went well. The date was still on and you'd make sure it was fun for the both of you. This date would be the best one that you and Shinichiro had ever been on.

"Ready to go?"

You gave Shinichiro a nod, looking forward to how this date would pan out. Even if the date didn't go well, you would give him the opportunity to take you on another one to make up for it. The two of you had fun riding around together, watching the world pass by as you were behind him on the bike. He'd check on you every few minutes to make sure you were okay, slow down if he felt you were nervous about the speed he was going, he was very accommodating and that alone made the afternoon all the more enjoyable for you.

Shinichiro took you to the movie theater, you had tickets but wouldn't tell him what movie you were seeing. You wanted it to be a surprise,and you had good seats in the back with a perfect view of the screen as long as no one blocked it in the middle row. You two had all kinds of snacks and the best part about this theater was the security doing their job to ensure the watchers had a good time which meant they made sure everyone turned off their phones or put them on silent. If they didn't, well they would "mysteriously lose signal" on their phones and would be forced to go outside to get better reception. If they brought noisy kids, quiet them down or leave. If you stepped out of the viewing room for any other reason besides going to the bathroom or getting more snacks for the movie, you weren't allowed back inside to avoid disrupting the movie for everyone else.

If the adults who were disregarding the viewing room rules of turning off their phones brought kids, the children would have to leave with the parents or whomever the adult in attendance was. They were serious about their jobs and they too respect the rules of the viewing rooms. You had gotten mildly annoyed because as the movie was getting good, that's when the wailing of upset babies, ringing phones, and loud talking began.

Unbeknownst to either of you, Wakasa happened to be in the watch room with the two of you, acting as the discreet wing man once he spotted you both on the way in. Waka did his part and helped jam the signals of any moviegoers who were on the phone when they shouldn't have been. Many complaints followed by irritated teens and adults alike exited the theater to get better reception to their dropped calls or messages they couldn't send, falling into the trap of being kicked out via signal jammers. If they came with kids, the kids would be escorted to their families to avoid the risk of leaving them unsupervised. It's not like they would be allowed to come back inside once they were out anyway.

With the amount of noise now back at acceptable levels, you could hear the movie and enjoy your large shared bucket of popcorn that you got for the two of you to share. Although you both weren't focused on the movie, moreso on one another as you both softly conversed in the back row while munching on your snacks and sipping your respective drinks. Really, you two were using the time to get better acquainted with one another by learning about your common interests and what lives you two lived. By the time you two noticed the movie was nearly over, you felt kinda bad for not watching it because you didn't know what the movie was about.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding when Shinichiro admitted he wasn't really focused either. He'd already seen the movie several times so it didn't really matter, but he still had a great time with you and that's all that really mattered at the end of the day. The movie could have been absolute garbage and he'd much rather talk with you than watch it because he really liked you. You'll admit that,on some level, part of you is happy that other girls aren't attracted to Shinichiro and think they're out of his league. Because you aren't too sure you'd have been able to compete otherwise if there had been anyone else that was interested. If it were up to you, you'd keep this handsome,dorky sweetheart of a boy all to yourself and Shinichiro wouldn't mind it. If this is what being loved feels like, then he's all yours and how can he refuse someone as sweet as you if you ever suggested being his one and only lover? He can't and he won't.

I hope I did Shinichiro justice 👉👈 Same with Wakasa and the other boys too, they haven't been animated yet but with how they act in the manga, I assume they're a couple of bros that fuck around and tease their leader about his failing love life. They might shit on him for it but hey, they aren't your friends if they don't at least try to help set you up with someone they think you have a shot with or try to cheer you up if you've been rejected back to back. Bros roast each other but they've got each other's backs when they need it.

[ninyard]

omg your hypotheticals about the aaron murder trial are making me THINK! A core part of the defense’s argument has to be that Aaron isn’t a criminal and doesn’t have a murderer disposition. That means he needs witnesses to testify to his character.

Since you established the only witnesses from the Foxes will be Andrew (who’s obviously biased as his twin brother and the one Aaron was protecting) and Neil, it will be up to Neil to give the jury testimony on Aaron being a good person seeing as he spends a lot of time with him but they are not close personal friends. But murder trials are a big deal so they would probably bring in Katelyn and his other friends to also testify to his character, realistically speaking.

However, the comedic potential of Neil being forced to say nice things about Aaron is unmatched. How you do think that would go?

(Sorry for rambling I love your posts about the trial and I’m interested in criminal defense )

OH MAN like

imagine andrew on the stand having to talk about the Good Times with aaron just to defend his character and neither him nor neil talking about the fact that him and aaron actually hardly speak, the only reason they were at nicky's parent's house was to work on repairing their shitty family relationship, they literally had to go to therapy to be able to talk to each other

but also picturing katelyn & aaron's other friends outside the foxes talking about him makes me wanna SOB

katelyn talking about how aaron has been plagued by nightmares every night since the murder. how he barely sleeps, and he cries all the time, and she's spent the last year worried about him because what he did was so against what he would ever do it's literally destroying him from the inside. marissa talking about how good aaron has been for katelyn, how he makes her happy, how gentle he is with her.

keauna talking about how kind hearted aaron is. jonah talking about how aaron has pulled him back from the brink, how supportive he's been to him when he's been in crisis. paolo talking about how aaron has been tutoring him because he feel behind on one of their classes. all of these people neither andrew nor neil have ever even heard of talking about aaron in such a way that couldn't be real. aaron is full of joy? relaxed and outgoing? caring and attentive and empathetic?

idk. none of those people even exist. because we don't know what kind of a life aaron had outside of the foxes. all we know about is the aaron who gets chills each and every time he picks up a raquet, who had to leave practice to have a panic attack when he accidentally picked up a raquet that wasn't his own, a racquet heavier than his own, a racquet he'd only held once before, when it was quickly covered in blood and then shown in court during the worst week of his life.

hmm.

yeah.

i love the idea of neil having to talk about aarons character. but i love the idea more of andrew, neil, kevin, and nicky sitting in court while aaron's friends describe a person that simply couldn't be the aaron they know.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Man-Sized

9/9 Peace in a Lifetime of War

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

He didn't call, didn't text, didn't explain himself.

She wrote dozens of texts, mostly with one sentence, Where'd you go?, Could we talk this through?, I'm sorry, would you please come back, but never sent them.

But she was also being ripped apart by the feeling that this simply couldn't be happening. It couldn't end like this. There was something real here. There had to be.

Pride got in the way. He didn't deserve her begging after leaving her like that without even an explanation as to why. He cared about his job more than her, and she would no longer beg for leftovers. She would not be the girl he could come and fuck in the dark when he had the time for it.

Let's make this work.

That's the sentence she wrote the most, to reverse the last words she had said. A nervous voice inside her told her that she had driven him away. That Simon was somewhere out there thinking she didn't want him in her life. After all, she had shouted that he should go and do his job… Practically, get out of her life.

But how could a few words spoken in anger drive him away? How could he just cut her off after everything? Player or not, she had thought him a better man than this.

He still had the key. He hadn't left it on the table or mailed it to her. He might still walk through that door when she least expected it.

But days turned into weeks, and somewhere in her heart, she knew a decision had been made. Simon never half-assed anything. If he had left, he had left. End of fucking story.

After three weeks, she threw away the shower gel. It reminded her of the time she had come from the shower to a dark room filled with him. When she had teased him, and he had sent her to heaven, when they had confessed their love to each other. It stared at her from the bin until she went and took out the trash with not much else but that single men's shower gel bottle in it.

He had left one of his hoodies in her apartment, and she almost threw it into the bin too. Then she crawled inside it like a child who had lost her parents.

It smelled of him, and it was so big that half of her disappeared inside it, and she felt warm, and safe, and devastated. That hoodie and her bedroom walls twisted the knife by whispering the words Marry me, laced with an echo of his laughter. Every day she decided to throw it away and start a new life, and every night she curled inside it to cry herself to sleep.

Bolognese was ruined for her. Motörhead was ruined, bourbon was ruined; the smell of tobacco brought tears to her eyes. She walked past springtime tulips like they carried the plague itself. Even Dürer was ruined.

How could a heartless, cocky 21st-century soldier ruin the genius of a Renaissance master?

Luckily, she hadn't told anyone who she had been dating for months now. She had never asked Simon to meet her parents. She hadn't even told them she was seeing someone… Her mother had made a remark on how nice it was to see her happy when she was visiting on holidays, and she had told her she had gotten good grades this semester. In her heart, she had perhaps always known that things with Simon wouldn't last. It all seemed like a dream. A beautiful, heated, fucked up pipe dream.

It was like the very oxygen from her life was gone. She didn't have the will to masturbate; the toy she had only reminded her of the embarrassing incident where she had forgotten it on the bedside table, and he had seen it and made her blush with a laugh and a comment; "That's the competition?" Such a small, pink thing compared to Simon, and even that reminded her of him.

Her workplace was a smoking rubble after a war. The pole choreographies had the atmosphere of Swan Lake rather than anything sultry and sexy — she flicked the pole to spin mode more often, started to do leg hangs and suicide spins and unicorn splits and chose music with lyrics about betrayal and other heartbroken, forlorn wailing.

Her gaze swept the audience before she grabbed the pole. Just in case. There were hungry eyes, but none belonged to the man with a winter-over stare, sleeve tattoo, and voice burnt from scotch, smoking, and sleepless nights.

The room spun, and her heart hurt, and she wondered if Simon had found another sweet girl or if he was bleeding in the blur too. Perhaps he was taking his pleasure with the women on his team, no strings attached. Fucking those tough army girls who were everything she was not. Making them moan with slow, heavy torture.

She wanted him to hurt. And then again, she did not. She wanted him to be safe, and for the first time in her life, she prayed even though she had never believed in God.

That forgotten oversized hoodie was her temple, and she wasn't sure who she was even praying to before falling asleep inside that black cotton. But she asked for Simon to stay safe, to not do anything stupid. She even prayed for his happiness, but then the prayers turned more selfish, and she asked that he would come back to her.

Just come back to her.

Her prayers were answered sooner than she would've thought. It was a frightening invocation, because when she finally caught him as a black, massive shadow against the darkness of the club, it was clear that he was in an even worse shape than she was.

He was still big, still menacing, a powerhouse of a man, but she saw that he had lost weight, the shade under his eyes was even darker than when they had first met. He was looking at her dance like he was attending a funeral: there was no smile, no hunger, only suffering in his eyes that followed her from inside a black hood.

She wanted to jump from the stage in the middle of her show, climb onto his lap, cry all the tears still uncried, although she had done nothing but bawled every night since he had left. Sweat made the pole slick, and she closed her eyes as she spun, hoping to be somewhere else entirely so he wouldn't see the hurt in her eyes. But the lights were pointing at the stage, and her face must've been a pale mask of fear and longing, and the dance turned into the ending act of her own personal Swan Lake.

It had been almost a month, and he barged back into her life like he would barge through a door into a room full of prisoners. The game was on again, and he was the fucking worst, and the relief and longing turned into red, blazing rage.

How dare he show up here? Still without warning, without a single message, when he knew how much it meant to her. Especially after what had gone down.

When she was done, she didn't go to him; she left the stage before the applause had even died, rushed to get her things, and stormed out the back door, half fearing that she would bump into him. He wasn't there, but when she walked past the entrance to get home, there was a man smoking outside. She wouldn't shed a look his way but knew from the aura of darkness and hellfire and silent leadership that it was him. There was no sound of footsteps, but she knew he was walking behind her, could almost smell the smoke, could feel his stare on her back as she rushed down the street like she was being hunted by a ravager.

And hadn't he, in a way, promised to haunt her, dead or alive?

She cried the whole way home while being followed by his ghost – silent tears of anger and relief and sorrow, jaw trembling and hiccups tickling her throat.

When she reached her apartment, she opened the door as quickly as possible, then slammed it shut behind her.

Would he use the key and force himself in? Would he take the closed door as a sign not to trespass? She almost went to open it to let him know that this area was actually a No Man's Land, not a threshold to her personal space, much less a fortress he needed to conquer.

But he had decided to pursue her, and a clear-cut knock sent her heart up her throat.

She had a choice not to open that door. Return to her old life without this fuckery. He wouldn't use the key she had given him, he was gentleman enough not to. Or perhaps not a gentleman: he simply knew when he was not welcome and would be too proud to force a connection.

But the decision had really been made a long time ago. It was made when she asked for that drink, when she accepted his flowers, when he pushed inside her the first time. Perhaps even on the moment she first laid eyes on him.

So, without having a grain of rational thought behind it, her heart walked her to that door and opened it.

He was leaning on the frame with one hand, and the hooded head rose from a heavy hang. He looked defeated for a moment, and she realized she had taken a while to come to the door… But then he squared his shoulders and raised his chin, bounced away from the frame, and the tiniest little smile played on his lips.

A look of I win.

It was something so Simon that it burned her heart, and the love returned – as if it had ever gone anywhere – and she was so angry that she slapped him to wipe off that stupid look that told her he could drop her like a toy and then come back and pick her up again.

Her palm met his chin, and it hurt her too: to hear that slap and know he allowed it to happen.

He allowed her to slap him. Again.

He reduced her to someone who hit people, like this was some trailer park romance where physical abuse was ok.

It was his fault, not hers.

It was his fault. It was.

His head was turned to the side from the force of her palm, the eyebrows rose in muted surprise. Then he slowly turned to look at her, and couldn't hide his smile anymore. He fucking got off on this.

Which was why she slapped him again – only, this time he caught her hand and finally forced himself inside, like it was an invitation that she tried to hit him. Her other hand shot out, rather impassively, and he caught that, too.

"That's quite enough."

That gruff, dark voice was probably what she had missed the most. Or those big, brown eyes full of promise. Or all that muscle wrapping around her in a crushing hug, those lips that smashed against hers in a starved kiss.

The door slammed shut behind him as he devoured her. The moment his hands let go of hers and enveloped her into that secure embrace, she dissolved and let him crush her mouth, her ribs, her everything — her hands reached for the hood and tore it down, clutched his back, his jacket, threatening to tear the clothes apart from how much she had missed him.

Tears gathered up her throat, and her eyes burned and squeezed shut, she held the black fabric in her fists and pulled, trying to get closer even when there was not a breath of air between them. His scent brought back so many memories that she threatened to drown in the flood.

The kiss left them both breathless and huffing when he drew her against him. She felt like a hostage when he closed one heavy palm around her head and simply forced her cheek to meet his chest. He had never closed her in a hug quite like this — like he was afraid that she would disappear into thin air if he didn't hold on tightly enough.

"Sweetheart." It was a rumble in her hair, a deep vibration in the solid wall she was smashed against.

"Don't you dare," she whispered through tears, but her hands told a different story as she clung to him like a drowning person.

"Sarah…" He only squeezed her harder, so hard that she feared he would soon break bones. "Love. I'm sorry that it took so long."

Her fingers flexed, then wrapped around that jet-black cotton again. The tears disappeared in his shirt, and she was glad he always wore black; otherwise, the mascara would've made a visible mess.

He smelled so good. She inhaled him like a drug — even after the desertion, his scent meant safety and home to her.

"What the fuck happened?" She sniffed, trying not to wail like a child against that firm wall of chest. "I thought you only went for a smoke."

He stroked her hair so gently that the shirt was soon soaked from her tears.

"I thought it would be best if I left you in peace," he muttered, sounding almost guilty. Her hand twitched in the folds of the hood from the utter folly of it all. She thanked the heavens that he hadn't. She had never exactly found peace with him, but being without him was even worse.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she retorted.

"Yeah. I used to be a better man. But if ya think I'm cocky… Hah, you should've seen me back then. Feared nothing."

She had expected him to share a reason for leaving her like that, but she hadn't envisioned it to start with those words. The world was quaking again in her hallway, lit by a single, lone lamp.

"It didn't work. It got people killed. Even my brother's little kid." He was still talking to the crown of her head as if exposing the darkest of secrets, fearing that the walls were wired.

"I'm not really… alive, you know? Died with them about ten years ago."

From any other man's mouth, that trace of information, an explanation for his handicaps, would've felt melodramatic. When it came from Simon, it felt like a void was yawning before her.

"Swore that day I would never let it happen again."

How could she always forget that her judgment concerning Simon was flawed – no – distorted as hell? She knew he had lost everybody but didn't know how exactly. Of course there had been violence. She had never really understood just how important it was for him to protect people from getting too close.

I didn't mean for things to go this far suddenly stood for something completely different.

He wasn't playing or toying with her. He was being absolutely, vehemently, utterly serious.

Even… intimidated.

She felt even worse about not being there for him when he had been thin with his skin. She had made it all about her when he tried to share a deep fear.

"I tried to keep my hands off you as long as I could." He hummed, a sound of a distant, pleasant memory. "You were so… fuckin' graceful. Felt like you were dancing just for me."

The tears kept flowing, the world kept quaking.

"I was," she whispered. "Even when you weren't there."

"Thought you was just teasin' me. Seemed such a tough girl." He gave her one of those short laughs, a cynical scoff that said he wasn't easily caught off balance. "'N then you turned out to be sweet as a pie. So bloody sweet. Swept me right off my feet."

She pulled back a little and saw that his eyes were liquid too, the pale lashes fluttered over bloodshot, melted chocolate, but no tears came out. It was like he didn't quite know how to cry, like that skill had been tortured out of him, never to return.

"Nothing lasts. Especially if it's something good and pure." He ran a thumb over her cheek, catching a tear, like he was soothed by seeing someone crying the tears he could not. "Really wanted this to last."

Her lower lip trembled at that, and she had to fight back a whole bawl that threatened to erupt. He was stupidly eloquent when he wanted to. But he was also blind if he couldn't see that no one else but him had tried to end things this time. How could a man so mature and smart be so stupid?

"You're the one who walked out the door, Simon."

He blinked a few times. Yeah… He was that stupid, even if he was sharp and trained and brave. But it was also stupid of her to think there wouldn't be problems. He had built a wall, five-foot thick, since childhood. She had tried to penetrate it with a needle and had had a fit when it wouldn't budge.

"Look... You can't just come into my life and fuck around and fuck with my head — and fuck me… and then leave and say Darling, it's dangerous."

He huffed a laugh at her imitation of him. "You make me sound like a jerk."

"That's because you are."

A sigh. "Right."

She had expected him to return the quip, make some clever comeback, but their love had been on ice for weeks and weeks. Even if the warmth was there, and he was close, so close… Something was still wrong.

She pulled herself back to the solace of his chest. There were broken things inside, and she was a brittle vase herself, barely able to hold all the sorrow in.

"Why do you always have to be so dramatic?"

"Comes with the job."

"I hate your job," she mumbled in his shirt, and he chuckled humourlessly.

"Me too."

"No you don't. You love it." She sent another accusation in the air, and the penalty was an open prison, a slackening muscle around her.

"Guilty as charged."

"Why are you here, Simon?"

There was a pause, one, two breaths…

"Can't fuckin' live without you."

He had no doubt tried, tried to veritably leave her from fear of setting her in danger. Only Simon could leave a woman for fear of losing them…

"Even if I only get scraps and slaps. Phone's full of look at me's but you never call."

Her eyes flared wide open, her lungs ceased working for a second. Five months flashed backward, then forward, their shared moments twisting and turning, words finding new meanings.

Scraps…

You never call.

Jesus Christ.

It was bitter, and it was true. She had guarded her heart like a prisoner of war during a time of peace. Sent him thirsty selfies like they were the only thing he wanted from her, refused to call in fear of losing some game.

He wasn't the only one who was proud and dramatic. She had had a whole month in her hands. She could've called him, sent him those texts. She could've made it known that she hadn't meant her last words as a command for him to get out. But she had done none of those things. Instead, she slammed the door in his face and slapped him when he finally came back with his tail between his legs.

It was never about his job. She could deal with that. It was about the game.

They were both boneheaded, proud little creatures, and she realized she was the one who had been playing, playing for far too long…

"You said you'd rather call me," she whimpered, voice barely even a whisper.

He pulled her away by the shoulders and took a quick scan. There was patronization and pity, and she wondered whether he would take the blame for her failings too. But the pain was more profound than that.

"Sarah. Do ya even like me?"

Of all the things said that night, said ever, that was probably what hurt her the most.

"Yes," was all she managed to say to the man who was, in truth, the love of her life.

"Alright. Then I don't see what the problem is."

He was being reasonable, but there seemed to be a whole other problem she had never acknowledged. Had never even known existed.

And it was a rare, rare thing, that he chose to break first.

"Sarah, bloody fucking-... It kills me to imagine you with someone else."

All in.

As if she could ever find a man like him. As if she could even see other men. They had ceased to exist five months ago.

Just say it.

"I don't want someone else," she said, knowing that games like these should be illegal. But she was not playing anymore. "I only want you. Remember?"

The wall cracked, crumbled a little, exposed some softness in those chocolate eyes.

"Now that's what I like to hear."

Annoying, lovable, cocky bastard. This time, it was her turn to pull him in for a kiss.

He let her take some of his clothes off but then seized the reins from her again by hauling her to the bedroom like a doll. Everything happened right according to a script: she was undressed, tossed on the bed, and he was climbing on top of her before she could even say his name.

He just wouldn't allow her to touch him. She had given him one and a half blowjobs, one handjob, and slapped him two times. They cuddled every now and then. That was basically it.

He was always on top, had fucked her against this and that wall, fucked her with his clothes on half the time. He initiated everything, made her feel good, and so, so subtly prevented her from touching him. Did he even know he was doing it, or was it subconscious?

This would have to change.

Past torture or not, it would change now.

"Simon," she placed a hand on his chest when he was already inserting himself inside her.

"Hm?"

"Can I be on top?"

Something akin to worry flickered in his eyes, but it was only a brief glitch that soon changed into an intrigued look.

"Why not," he tried to hide the remnants of his bafflement, then crashed to the bed beside her. She flicked the table light on as if making it clear that this was the dawn of a new era. He gave it a hasty side eye, then turned his attention back to her.

"Have you ever heard of Adam's first wife?" She asked when she climbed on top of him. God, but he was wide, even though men were supposed to have narrower hips. Simon was a man in his prime, threatening, even when lying under her in a seemingly vulnerable position.

"You givin' me a history lesson too?"

"She was banished from Eden because she wanted to be on top during sex." She tried to seek support from his chest, knowing it would be of minimal help. If he would get too enthusiastic, she might be bucked off.

"I won't be so cruel," he said with a soft smile as he ran hands over her thighs, then up to her waist, hesitantly. Simon never hesitated.

From what she understood, he was far from a footsoldier. The people he killed never even heard he was coming for them with a thick, ugly blade. Perhaps he preferred to fuck like that, too: stealthy and intimate, in the darkness, keep his victim in a sturdy embrace so he could feel how they bled to death.

That light was a threat. Her stare was piercing awareness: also, a threat.

And it was only now, from this position, that she finally caught the wounds. Fresh, ugly holes that should've probably been under bandage still.

"What's this?"

There were not one, but two cavities surrounded by discolored skin, bruised dark purple, virtually black — gunshot wounds that had barely missed his liver. Had the bullets reached the internals, they would've likely been the end of him.

"That's the reason why it took so long."

Shallow breathing was a stupid response from a body already feeling faint. But the next few breaths were just that: an attempt to sustain the flow of oxygen and allow reality to sink in.

The last time Simon had gotten hit was years and years ago: a bullet to the arm, not nearly as severe as an abdominal wound. She thought they used bullet vests at work. Unless he had chosen not to wear it. Her brain was a horrid thing, pushing a clinical sentence out of a psychology journal to her mind.

"The root cause of self-destructive behavior can stem from a mental health condition such as depression: overwhelming sadness and loss of interest."

She had drowned herself in self-pity in her cozy little apartment and taken revenge on a shower gel bottle while Simon had gotten himself wounded, nearly killed. Probably spent the last few weeks in a hospital after the operation in whatever medical facility he had been brought to from the field. Without telling her, stubborn and proud as he was. Lying there, with no visitors, thinking it was better to leave her alone…

She knew he had a death wish, but this… This crushed her soul.

"Soap said I should ask you to marry me instead of trying to prove something by killin' myself."

Shit…

More edgy, dark humour — but her insides shuddered.

The axis of melancholia turned and turned. She hadn't told anyone about them, but Simon had. So that someone could deliver the message if need be. Even the thought of a Scottish jarhead appearing at her door and telling her how Lieutenant Simon Riley had been killed in action made her eyes sting.

Soap was a clever man. Much more intelligent than the one between her thighs.

"What am I to do with you," she whispered while placing the lightest, faintest touch on the stretched skin around the injury. The muscles rippled underneath her fingertips, and a soft hiss drew her attention back to his face, but the discomfort was hidden from view before she could decide whether it was caused by her words or her touch.

"A few ideas come to mind," he spoke with his everlasting cheek, even when healing from both gunshot wounds and a broken heart. "Wanna hear?"

"How about you shut your mouth for a change," she offered, gently enough to make it clear that some things should be fixed with another kind of communication.

When she reached to guide him inside her, he was uncommonly solemn. The dry spell had ended at the door already, but that drowsy, flaming rust of a stare caused the cup to overflow. She was slippery as hell, but he was patient, mostly having a ball watching how she went through trial and error to get him in. The intimacy made her flustered, and that stern expression soon turned into a smug one as she fucked up guiding him in smoothly and with finesse.

And it was wishful thinking that Simon would keep his mouth shut.

"Ya need help with that?"

"Shush," she said, knowing it was futile, a laugh bubbling in her chest as she tried to sound convincing with the command. As if she could order someone like Simon around.

He broke again when the thick of him finally pushed in, slow and steady like a reverie.

"Always so fuckin' tight 'n wet for me…"

"You can't just shut it for one minute, can you," she breathed while gliding down the cock that spread her wide — and God, she had longed for that familiar invasion.

"Not with you, sweetheart."

She had barely even started when she saw how his throat worked, then felt him tighten the grip on her waist.

"Did ya have others while I was away?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

The muscles on his jaw tensed, then unwound with a sigh, the heavy-lidded eyes making him look like a man about to pass out.

"Neither did I. Seat's already taken."

The jesting, his laugh, their togetherness — she had missed it so much that it physically hurt.

But at the same time, it felt like they were meeting for the first time. This time with more than just their clothes off. Everything was…amplified, and not just because the lights were on. This was not a lazy Sunday morning fuck under the sheets.

She had been squashed against his chest, but she had never traced the muscles with the tips of her fingers, watched how his nipples grew hard at the contact. She had never quite seen how his jaw clenched, how his abs pulled taut just from a slow roll of her hips. Her hands looked tiny, dainty, when they swept over him – a man made weapon – all corded muscle and uneven skin, tone changing with the map of old and new scars, fresh scratches here and there, ill-healed burn marks and whatnot coating a skin that had seen more than just rough weather. He didn't treat his body like a living, breathing thing; it was simply a tool.

Her past boyfriends had been just that. Boys compared to him. It wasn't just his size, that he was older than her. It wasn't even the map of scars spread over muscles built to withstand and wage war. It was just something so inherently him, a maturity, ripe survival, toughness that came from another age entirely.

She tried to be worthy of him, make love to him in return for all the favors he had so generously given her.

He appeared to enjoy it with the most laid-back attitude she had yet seen on him. She had prepared for intensity, as always, a bit of devilry, but not for that daydreamy stare. That absorbed, blissful look could only be compared to someone easing down on a divan, waiting to be served wine and grapes like they were some Roman deity. Or, in his case, on a lush sofa, waiting for his girl to bring him a scotch after a long day. Maybe take his boots off, and his pants too, kneel and take him in a warm, wet mouth…

God, she was fantasizing about blowing Simon while riding him. But she'd be damned if she didn't serve him that back rub with a happy ending as soon as she had ridden him to the finish line.

"Should do this more often," he noted evenly, echoing her thoughts – and trying to grasp some sliver of control by telling her he liked this. Liked being served.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"Can't complain."

And she realized now that she wasn't the one in charge, no. He was looking at her much in the same way as he did when she was up on that stage. Only, he was now both the stage and the pole… and the audience.

Fuck.

Every time she tried to get in control, he did that rear choke on her. Even this turned out to be another counter technique. He was simply enjoying her take her pleasure.

The notion didn't cause fires anymore, other than a flare of licking heat down to where they were joined. Her inner walls had decided that he was a keeper too, gripping him so violently that the tendons on his neck became visible. The callous of his hands traveled upwards to her ribs, and she caught a thought of how he could easily crush her if he wanted to — but he only proceeded to hug her waist with an iron grip to join in the show.

"Keep doin' that and there's gonna be a real mess," he said, voice thick, sending more heat trickle down her spine.

"Isn't that always the case with you?" She was on the brink of laughter now, because it felt stupid that it had taken her so long to enjoy this man to the full.

"Yeah… But you love it. Admit it." He wasn't bulldozing now. Just enticing, eyes glimmering from seeing her so evidently happy.

And she did admit it. She didn't hold back at all. She allowed him to see exactly how much she wanted and admired him, how good he made her feel.

The account started as a steaming, almost pissed-off checklist, a confession rather than a declaration of love. It contained pent-up love and hate, from how he fucked her in the dark to how he drove knives to a wall she didn't even own. But then it turned into a hymn. Nevermind ego; she wanted to stroke his heart and soul. He fucking deserved it.

She told him he was a good man, the best man she had ever known. How she had never loved anyone like this. How she was his, had been from the moment he came to that club. She even told him how big he was and how she had trouble concentrating in class because of it. That she had trouble focusing pretty much anywhere.

How she had cried herself to sleep in his sweatshirt every night after he had left… How she wanted him to never leave again — how she wanted to solve every argument they would have from now on with a hatefuck instead.

At first, he looked at her curiously, probably thinking she was joking. Then his expression turned to a choked-up stun.

“Sarah– Fuckin’ hell…"

Every secret thought from the past five months was laid out before them; every little thing she admired about him from body to soul.

It seemed to be a shock treatment, a little too much all at once, but he was true to his word and didn't complain.

"You're gonna make a grown man cry 'ere."

He didn't cry, but if there was still some invisible wall between them, every last brick was blown apart at this point.

The poker game was finally over, the whole table was cleared of cards and chips and bets.

"Do you even like me… Unbelievable, Simon," she said as a final notion. There was a soft smile, but it wasn't arrogant or vain in her eyes anymore. Just proud, pleased.

God, had she been stupid.

She descended to celebrate, to seal it all with a kiss. He welcomed her with fast allegiance: arms went around her as soon as her breasts pressed against his chest. It was all hunger, but ten times more tender than the starvation at the door. Slow, deliberate, and it went straight to her cunt, gripping him — and of course he responded with a groan, straight into her mouth.

His hips jerked up to meet her, and had she not been in the safe custody of freakishly strong arms, she would've fallen off her ride. And it was high time to investigate whether he had a vulnerable spot in his neck as well.

A sluggish, flat-tongued lick up the column of his throat and some open-mouthed, sloppy kisses sent him contracting from the middle, pushing in, balls deep. She risked a nib, even a soft bite, and eventually, went a bit feral on that neck. It was another jackpot for the both of them.

"I need-.. need you on your back," he had never stuttered like that, out of breath, trying to be polite with a raspy throat. But he wasn't really asking, and it wasn't really mannerly. It was actually a demand.

"Wanna fuck you hard," his voice was so low that it was almost a growl.

Yes. 

Yes. Yes, please.

And she knew just the trick that would ensure that he did.

"Hmh. Denied," she said to his neck, and waited for the punishment that was brief and thorough.

"The hell it is."

He rolled over and switched their roles without even pulling out, and just like that, her feeble attempts to be the rebellious first woman turned to dust. But she didn't really mourn the loss. Her Eden resided right here.

"You're such an asshole," she was laughing from mirth and love and the joy of being pressed under that safe weight again.

"Would like to fuck that too someday."

Oh my God..-

She wasn't a blushing lady from Victorian times, but this was a little unexpected, even from him.

"Bet you're even tighter down there… I might just pass out."

Her jaw must've fallen an inch or two, her eyes no doubt shot full of shimmering glee because nothing, absolutely nothing escaped him, and her face was now more than that of a stupefied goldfish.

"I suggest you close that pretty mouth before I-"

She cut him short by sinking nails in his skin — more precisely, his ass. He arched his back with the following thrust, even exposed his throat with a satisfied grunt.

"Lil' wildcat… I could do this all night." It was a pleased chuckle, and her heart hurt — she was constantly calling him annoying, an asshole, a jerk, and he told her she was beautiful, sweet, his girl, or a little wildcat in return…

"Would ya like that?"

She could only nod, time and again, and the sex turned messy, noisy and unhinged, weeks and weeks of frustration and longing dissipating with fucking that spread her thighs wide and made the whole bed wail. Her head hit the frame once or twice before he moved her with an annoyed grunt while she was having a laugh about it, but then she remembered he was injured and that this was a bad idea.

"Your wounds-" she tried to stutter amidst a pounding that had certainly been held back for longer than five months, not to talk of a few weeks.

"I'll live."

She was close, but so was he, and it seemed it was the most difficult decision he had ever made: to choose whether to slow down and grit his teeth or just give into the temptation and spill. A split second, and he chose the latter, and she must've been gawking: all that muscle towering over her went tense, the halved slant between his pecs sheened with sweat.

He came with a long groan and a head rolled back, the tension leaving him in shivers before his head fell back down, chin to the chest. The stare behind those heavy lids was unfocused, heady, drugged.

"Fuck, you're a glorious sight," he said while sweeping a hand over her sternum and closing the giant palm around her throat — nothing brutal or rough, just a little bit of fun that probably shouldn't have made her tighten around him as furiously as it did. It felt like she was one of his victims, held in place by one hand only, as his gaze dropped down to marvel at how his cock disappeared in her and came out all wet. The thrusts were erratic and desperate, the ending throes of ecstasy — must've been a glorious sight indeed.

He wouldn't even pause to enjoy the trip back to earth to the full. He left her, eyes both determined and drunk, cock still half hard, so abruptly that a sad little whimper fled her. But he wasn't gone for long, just settled next to her and gathered her in his arms, wracked with purpose.

She gasped when not one, but two fingers dipped inside, then drove deep to the knuckle.

"Fuck…"

"Will do."

It was a scant substitute for his cock, even with two thick fingers. But he was good, so damn good that it didn't matter.

He did everything right, perfect, precise. Made a mess of the cum that joined the wreckage, played with it, slathered it all over her until she was sticky and wet and the noise was well-nigh filthy.

But even more unbearable was the intimacy, the way her hand found him, the bunching muscles on the forearm, the thumb brushing her clit, his fingers curling in a loose fist while two of them curled inside her…

She wanted to participate, feel the fierce connection that had gained a whole new level. There was a sense of belonging, merging — did he feel it too?

Yeah, he definitely did.

Their gazes were locked, but the depth in his eyes wasn't hunger or will to dominate or even meant for fishing cues, it was pure surrender, actually, it was… love.

"Please," she whispered while he made love to her with both his hand and those eyes, not knowing why she even said that. But he had told her he loved it when she begged, so that's what she did. She would give him every fucking thing he wanted.

The sweltering bronze of his eyes broke a little, his brow gave a minimal tug.

"Simon - Please," the words were a mouthed prayer rather than an audible whisper, and she knew her own gaze was fractured because the warmth in his eyes only spread.

"I got ya," he crushed her in a devout hug while spreading her open, breathed into her ear, all joking gone. It was a solemn pledge, a guarantee.

"Promise I got ya."

This wasn't affection anymore; it was bonding.

She came with a strained whimper in his neck, curled into the hug with thighs trembling and hands grabbing whatever she could: a sheet, a tight muscle. He was an absolute genius for not moving, just stayed inside as her muscles sucked him in with a long, hungry pull that turned into a shudder that went through her whole body.

"Uh, fuh-…" She was cursing, sobbing, coming apart by the seams, and he took it all in, breathing high and wide from witnessing what he was doing to her.

It was a slow and tense shattering but turned messier after: into sloppy writhing and moaning, and he moved gracefully to ride it out with her. An absolute ace at what he did.

He might've said something, cheering her on with That's it or Fuckin' beautiful or something like that. She couldn't hear it, and it didn't really matter anyway. The looting was sweet, and he was the perfect fit, so fulfilling, still inside her after the waves had passed. They were breathing into each other, holding the space, sustaining the present moment just by being entangled together, all limbs and breath and sweat on sweat. When he ultimately pulled out, the hand joined the one wrapped around her, holding her like the most precious thing in the universe.

Her depression was gone, the man supporting her being a better cure for her condition than any kind of antidepressant ever invented by Western medical professionals could ever be. There was no fear, only a terrible will to live, a hunger for love and life.

It felt too lame a thing to say: I love you, in that kind of a moment. But something needed to be said. It wanted to come out like a wild thing from a cage.

"You brought me back to life," she whispered to the pulse on his neck, tasting both their salt, feeling like crying again, but this time for a different reason. "When we met. And every day after."

He was calm and still, frozen in time, but she could feel his heart thundering underneath that chest. Fast and overwhelmed.

"You're good at so much more than just killing people. I hope you know that."

The world could use another flood, but he chose to be the floodgate, chose to fight back mass destruction and death and darkness while looking like it. A hero, if there ever was one.

Simon didn't just take lives. He saved them.

"You saved my life, Simon." She stirred a little to look at him, wholly stripped of all his masks.

"There.. Finally shut you up."

He swallowed, and a steady hand brushed the nape of her neck, dissolving the tension if there still was any left.

"Yeah."

The soft silence covered them like a blanket until he bore even deeper.

"I'm glad you could finally join us."

And she realized he was talking about the Game. Their game. The poker game.

She had been a player while he had been here all along with palms facing upwards, with no cards at all. Just waiting for her to catch on.

"Yeah. I'm here."

"'Atta girl."

The kiss was gentle and slow. He grunted in her mouth, and when she withdrew to look at what was wrong, he opened and closed his jaw, then rubbed the side of his chin that had begun to swell a little.

"You hit hard for a historian."

Oh God.

She felt bad, but not bad enough to suppress a chortle.

"Remarkably hard for a woman. Almost dislocated a jaw," he continued when he saw she was laughing at the whole situation.

"I hope it swells real bad," she chuckled. He cast her a look that said So much for sweetness.

"You're ruthless."

"Do you need ice?"

"A kiss'll do."

She didn't deny him that kiss. She wasn't that ruthless. But after that soft peck, she turned to whisper in his ear.

"You deserved it."

He scoffed lightly, gave her a squeeze. It was the middle of the night, but it felt like the midsummer sun was shining.

"You deserve the best."

"And you're the best?" She asked, while they both already knew he was.

"I try to be."

That was probably the most humble thing she had ever heard him say, but then again, when had his arrogance ever been ego? He had always delivered. He was a soldier, but he was not a killer. He was a protector.

But if he would protect her by leaving her in peace, she would start a war of her own.

"Then don't leave me."

"Never."

Her heart skipped a beat, then fluttered flush against her ribs like an overjoyed bird.

"Is that a promise?"

She caught a smile, cocky, but only because he knew he was the best man for the job. He was best at what he did, and it had nothing to do with games.

"It's a vow."

[culturalsillystine]

This will be split into two separate posts to save my sanity.

Unfortunately, Zero Day has begun to plague our mind again. Sorry for anyone who doesn't fw the Zero Day posts.

Anyway, I'm someone who personally believes Andre and Calvin wouldn't still be friends if Zero Day hadn't happened. So I decided, for fun, I'd draw my interpretation of what they'd look like if they hadn't gone through with Zero Day, as well as me blabbering about how their lives would be. This post is unfortunately very long, and only focuses on Calvin. Andre will have his own post.

Calvin Gabriel

I personally believe his personal life would get a little (a lot) harder had Zero Day been canceled. I'll elaborate on how I think it'd be stopped in another post but that isn't too important to this, anyway. The only important thing is I think it'd either begin with or lead to some kind of verbal and physical altercation. I don't fully know what would go down, but he'd end up with a broken and permanently crooked nose.

I invision the argument happening after the pipe bomb scene, but before they burn all their belongings. I believe Calvin would take some of the pipe bomb making materials for himself. I haven't decided the exact reason he'd do it yet, but I still think he would. I think he'd make a few things, maybe pipe bombs, but I think he'd stick to smaller explosives. I don't know how explosives work, I'm going to say this now. Maybe it wasn't an explosive he made, maybe it was a firework or something. But I believe he'd be playing around and it would backfire, and he'd get hit in the face. He'd be left with a big ass scar and a fake eye. You might be thinking, hey, if he went to the hospital, they'd cover his mouth, wouldn't they? And yes, they probably would, but I see Calvin as the type of person to not want it covered. I think he'd look at it and think wow, I'm a fucking idiot, I need to look at this every morning to rememher how much of a retard I am. And in some way, it'd remind him of Andre.

(Do I think they'd do this in real life? No, they'd probably take some skin from his leg or something. But this is MY post and NOT yours so I can decide WHATEVER I WANT!!)

(Also, forgive me for the inaccuracy of the scar. I know the anatomy and shaping is probably very wrong.)

I think he'd slowly start to gain weight. Not for one reason or another, he just does. I think it'd he a fairly consistent cycle of gain, lose, gain, lose. He'd grow his hair out because he doesn't like to get haircuts because they ask so many questions about his face, and he doesn't like cutting it himself. There's a scar on his eyebrow from where he gave himself an eyebrow piercing, but it got infected because he didn't clean it properly. He left it in until his body eventually rejected it.

In the picture below, he is 26. He works 11am-7pm at a grocery store. He wears a mask at work and has picked up some ASL to make sure everyone has a chance to understand him. He lived with his parents until he was 23, and at that age he told them he needed help, he felt like he was getting nowhere in life. They helped him get a job and helped him get an apartment. His younger brother is in baseball and he regularly takes him to and from practice. His sister is enrolled in dance classes and is learning piano. He teaches her how to read music. He still feels like he's getting nowhere.

Face close ups.

I will provide close ups for other things, if anyone wants them. Enjoy this, it took me way too long. Or don't. Feel free to send me death threats if you hate it.

[dangerousduckcloud]

Flowerbeds make up for a nice eternal rest

Read it also on AO3

“Couldn’t sleep.” You replied, putting the well-loved copy of the book back in the shelf. “What about you?” “Yeah, same.” He sat down on the couch, legs spread and elbows resting on his knees. “Hard to do so when you learn your whole life is a lie… Just ink on paper.”

I've been updating daily, however I've noticed the quality is not quite good sometimes (today, for example), so I'll be taking longer to update, maybe once a week/2 weeks or so, I'm sorry for this, but I wish to write something of good quality

Chapter 6 < > Chapter 8

taglist: @kurai-hono-blog

Fingers ghosting over the spines of the books, you're surprised to see so many titles familiar to you, from Lord of the Rings, Jurassic Park, all the way to Jane Austen books, some of them more worn than the others, a small smile creeping up your face at the thought of knowing just who read these books so many times.

A new question —added to the many that’ve appeared since you accepted you’re in some other reality— popped on your mind, if so many things in their world are similar to yours; people, social functions, historical events, what was so different that led yours not having superheroes and vigilantes? There’s no Gotham, no Metropolis, no Star City, nothing.

Did this mean they simply do not exist, or they just didn’t want to make themselves known? Here, everything started with Superman. If he existed in your reality, what made him not want to help people? Had he been captured by the government instead of the Kents? Had his ship landed someplace else? Are there other planets out there?

So many questions, so many possibilities, not a single answer.

The book authors are the same as your world; Tolkien, Crichton, Austen… Not just a coincidence in people here writing books with the same title, so it begs the question of a point you mentioned last night.

Does this mean there's another version of yourself in this world? Is there a different version of them in yours?

“You alright?”

It didn’t matter how many times you would hear that voice, it will always send shivers down your body, making your heart skip a beat. Turning around towards the voice, the early morning light deluged him in a pink-golden light, water droplets falling to the floor, he was only dressed in black pants and a tight black shirt that didn’t seem comfortable, his muscly arms threatening to rip it apart.

His unnaturally vibrant green eyes were more focused on the book you were holding —Little Women— rather than your face.

“Couldn’t sleep.” You replied, putting the well-loved copy of the book back in the shelf. “What about you?”

“Yeah, same.” He sat down on the couch, legs spread and elbows resting on his knees. “Hard to do so when you learn your whole life is a lie… Just ink on paper.”

“I don’t think it is.” With long strides, you sat down next to him, an ample space left between you two. “The fact that you’re here with me discussing about this mess should mean that you’re more than just a puppet created to entertain. You’re a human being, with feelings, thoughts, ideas… Who knows, maybe someone from your world came to mine and wrote your life story.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, of course. If you were simply the mere product of a writer, how could I be here, when I’m not?” This whole time he’d been looking at the floor, lost in his mind, finally turning to look you in the eyes. “I’m as lost in this as you are, but the one thing I’m certain, is that you’re real, Jason. As real as the moon and the stars.”

It was immensely evident something continued plaguing his mind, his eyebrows drawn and eyes unfocused, you knew how lost he must feel like, having felt the same just the night before, but whatever conclusion he came to, his face searched yours once again, a tired, tight smile on his face.

----

Breakfast had been a chaotic affair, having to explain to the rest of the family present in the house what endured after you woke up in the cave, Tim and Cass having long gone to sleep after they were sure you were safe.

“So, we’re not real?”

“You are, just not in my world. At least not like this.” Your meal had long gotten cold, being bombarded with questions that left you no time to take a bite. “There are no vigilantes there. Also, I’m sorry, Tim.”

“What for?”

“I thought you were delusional.”

Everyone in the table laughed, with Tim throwing you a harmless glower, even Alfred coughing to hide his smile.

“This is intriguing.”

You nodded at Cass’ response, at last grabbing your fork to eat your cold scrambled eggs, attempting not to make faces at the taste.

“So…” Tim spoke once again after refiling his cup of coffee for the third time. “Everything that we’ve suffered, is all just because someone wrote it?”

All eyes were laid on you, your face pale and mouth dry suddenly.

You couldn’t say no, because you still didn’t know how this worked, and you didn’t think you’ll ever find out, was your world shaping theirs, or was it theirs shaping the stories you were shown?

But you also didn’t want to say yes, because that would mean…

Unconsciously, your eyes wandered over to Jason, eyes locking for a second, his neutral demeanor changing into a raised eyebrow.

“Why did I die?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Cass raised a brow as well, her words clipped. “You’re lying.”

It was way better when you still thought they were just crazy, with no interrogations to interrupt your breakfast.

“There… There was a poll.” Avoiding everyone’s faces, you spoke to the table, voice as small as possible, however, with them being the detectives they were, they still could make out your words, if the gasps were any indication.

“A poll?” Jason reiterated, outraged. When you looked up, green eyes filled with hate was the only thing you could focus on. “A poll to decide my fate? A fucking poll?”

“I—Jason, they—”

“They what? Why would they do something like this!?” His eyes were glowing, hands closing into fists. “I was fifteen! Why would you do this? Who the fuck would think of killing a teenager!?”

“Wh—Me!?” You stood up, chair dragging behind you. “Jason, I wasn’t even born when that happened! And—and from what I read; they didn’t even think they’d do it.”

“Oh, and that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

Tears were prickling your eyes, mouth left hanging open. He had every right to be angry, everyone would, however the hate directed to you was unwarranted. The rest of them were looking at you, faces unreadable, except Dick’s, his eyes red, but whether it was for the current situation or remembering Jason’s murder, you didn’t know, maybe it was both.

It was clear none would come to your rescue, too disgruntled and sorrowful on Jason’s behalf.

“What do you mean you weren’t even born?” Tim asked, his investigative soul winning against his feelings. Or maybe this was his way to deal with the pain. “You’re Jason’s age, you were fourteen.”

Sniffing, you cleared your tears with the sleeves of your shirt. “I don’t know how time works here. That happened in the… The eighties, I think. I was born in the 2000’s.”

“This doesn’t make any sense.” He mumbled. “The years…” And without another word, he left the kitchen, quickly followed by Jason, although taking another path.

“Jason, wait.”

But your words fell on deaf ears. You hadn’t known Jason for a day, and he already hated you.

“I’m sorry.” Apologizing for everything you’d done and everything you didn’t, you walked out the kitchen as well, not a clear destination in mind.

[lesbiansforboromir]

Alright, I saw too many posts about DA4 and the pressure valve on dragon age opinions burst so I'm breaking my silence about mage discourse.

One day someone at bioware, can't remember who, made the worst possible PR decision and openly declared mages as an allegory for mental illness. It has all been downhill from there. Quite literally I could not be less interested in treating mages and mental illness as even tangentally related. Within the canon of DA, mages are people who literally have demons speaking to them, can literally become possessed by demons, and who are literally dangerous in extremely real and unavoidable ways even without the demon stuff. Lobotomies not only exist, but also work, the 'tranquil' are no longer plagued by the demons, nor do they have the powers of fireball anymore. It's like they called the 1300's and asked a witch hunter to write this.

And I am absolutely certain this framing is extremely cathartic for some people to relate too. Themactically speaking, turning all the dials up on a social issue for a fantasy world will always resonate with many of the victims of that issue. There is something impactful about taking all the insane stereotypes society has created around your lived experience, deciding they're real in an imaginary world and then playing out scenarios where you deal with them. God only knows gay people love vampires and werewolves.

But in that case it also has to be understood that others will not like it, or find it cathartic at all. The sticking point for me is probably the fact that mages are immensely powerful, something I find so egregiously unrelatable that any possible power fantasy it might be tempting me into just evaporates. And then of course there is Tevinter, which if we're following the allegorical logic is a state ruled by the mentally ill whom have 'embraced their demons' and so are now ruling an empire built on the enslavement of the 'pure' and 'untainted undemonic' population. Which I feel like, if we're weighing the mage narrative on the merit of it's being a cathartic themactic framing, is stretching the concept quite thin.

So I've always experienced mage based narratives as entirely seperate from their irl allegories at least emotionally, even if cognitively I do understand the parallels. And when you look at it like that, so sorry, it actually is a grey moral issue. If there were people in real life who could, without any additional equipment or technology, just create a fire/lightning storm from thin air, that on it's own would be a problem society would have to grapple with solving. You could not just let people with such power live under the same rules as everyone else. Like Wynne as a child nearly burned a barn down and scarred another child. These are not hypothetical issues within the canon.

And somewhat unrelated side tangent but I've seen people say, without an ounce of irony, 'magic doesn't kill people, people kill people' as an argument against the need for magic control. Which is just a fascinating framing all by itself, given the only difference between guns and DA magic is that one is an external tool and the other is built into select people. AND given that witholding gun licenses from the so called 'mentally disturbed' is an often advocated for policy... it's just kind of ironic is all!

Anyway the POINT is this is kind of frustrating to me because technically the mages COULD be a fun little play pretend thought morality experiment. This IS a difficult problem to solve, DA rightly engages with the fact that any institution created to control a subsection of people will create an environment of horrific abuse and dehumanisation. And that is only doubled with the introduction of religious control. When presented neutrally this is a 'do you sacrifice the few for the sake of the many' quandary with a lot of interesting caviates. IS it for the sake of the many? Would the actual number of people harmed by mages really exceed the number of mages themselves? Are we not just sacrificing the peace and freedom of many people for a hypothetical? But IS it a hypothetical since the slaver empire ruled by mages exists? But the hypothetical in the other direction isn't a hypothetical either, since the mage rebellion also exists and arguably did greater harm than free mages might have otherwise! But is that true? What about all the years worth of people in history hypothetically saved from harm by the strict control over mages? Isn't pushing for a more ethical circle a better plan than total abolishion? But is an ethical circle even possible given the cultural position mages hold? But in that case are free mages really going to be able to lead peaceful lives anyway? Doesn't the circle also protect them? But that is a situation the circle created and enforced right? Or is it? Since, once again, Demons definitely exist and mages have become possessed by them for centuries, and other mages have used their powers to dominate and abuse others in the past!

Theoretically, two people with exactly the same humanitarian purposes could argue the opposite ends of this debate in good faith, which is a fantasy. Because in the real world no one is born with a body inherrently able to cause more harm than the majority of other bodies. In fact, the opposite is true, people are born with more vulnerable bodies than the majority and are oppressed for it, their vulnerability taken advantage of by the dominant states in order to further those state's agendas in some way or other. Oppression does not have a 'good reason' to exist that originates from the oppressed class, those supposed reasons are fabricated after the fact to justify oppression in the minds of the general populace whom hold themselves to moral standards that a State does not. So, inherrently, the mages in DA are a fantasy idea and should be thought of as such.

But, amongst many DA fans, this is not the case. We've all seen people argue without irony that NOT taking a moral stance on the side of the mages and against the circles reflects badly upon your actual IRL moral compass. And it's not just that you cannot be pro-templar, even being neutral about it or finding the pro-mage characters or the mage narrative uninteresting is treated as an immoral action. People will ask things like 'who would even side with Meredith?' or 'does anyone even save the templars in DAI?' as if the choices you make narratively in a game have to be a moral judgement! Which we all know is nothing new in terms of fandom discourse, but within the mage/templar discussion it is so pervasive and so volatile that it makes it worth noting.

And like, obviously 'people get too serious about fiction on the internet' is such a non-issue that it's barely worth talking about. But I do find it interesting nonetheless as it's been a major part of my experience of being in the DA fandom, which now spans longer than a decade of my life (screams).

People have told me that I shouldn't treat this narrative theme as debatable because they relate to mage struggles as an autistic. And at the time I was pretty young and didn't really have a response to that other than a vague but powerful sense of discomfort. Nowadays, when I'm pretty sure I'm also autistic, I realise I was made deeply uncomfortable by the idea that there was anything relatable for me within the mage narrative. I do not have magic powers and I can't blow people up with my mind, I can't even get out of bed most days. Most people feel like mages to me just for being able to work a job or take care of themselves without help. And narratives of oppression that surround people with inherrent powers that far exceed anyone else just do not resonate! Which ultimately is just a reinforcement of the concept that the way people engage with fiction is not equivalent to actual real social issues, and really should not be treated as such.