#this place was never even meant to be fun
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you'd never really put this much effort in at other houses. while you're scrubbing the countertops to remove every last bit of evidence that someone—anyone—had made a mess there, you think about the other houses you used to babysit for.
used to, since there was no need to babysit anymore. mister cameron, who will always remain mister cameron—no matter how much he reminds you to call him rafe—actually pays you double what your other families did. he's a busy guy. you know this for a fact—single dad and some big business guy that people in town used to talk about all the time when you used to listen—so he'd have last minute emergencies and random business calls all the time.
his exact words had been something along the lines of "don't wanna share you with anyone else," but even thinking about that encounter makes your face burn with so much intensity that you think you're going to collapse. that's not what he meant, obviously, he was trying to tell you in nicer words that it was annoying when you replied to his texts explaining how another family had booked you already for that night. so when he upped your rate and said that he'd even pay to say no to others, just in case, you would have been really stupid to say no.
you don't hear much about him anymore, when you're out and about. you spend so much time at the cameron house that your own little apartment seems like nothing more than a bed and a place to get ready before leaving. you practically eat three meals a day with the baby, so even your grocery shopping is in that part of town—all organic, expensive places where you talk to the baby and try to get her opinion on which vegetable puree she'd like to try this week.
it's kind of like playing pretend. no, it's really like playing pretend. you used to dress in the normal, comfortable clothes that were sufficient for babysitting every other family—overalls and sneakers—but now you don't fit in unless you're in a pretty dress and nice sandals. you stay in one outfit from when you show up before mister cameron leaves to when you drive home at the end of the night.
that's the other thing—your car. you've made it work with the same one since you could first drive. it's a little rusty, a little dinged up, but safe as can be. it's nothing fancy but it got you around. but now you do other things for rafe that you never did for other families—grocery shopping and errands and the occasional doctor's appointment if rafe really, really can't make it. you don't mind at all—it's fun to play pretend and you love her like she's your own, but mister cameron tries to make it to every appointment himself, because he really cares about his daughter. it's admirable because you don't see it in every single household.
you hadn't thought there was anything wrong with your car until one day you couldn't get the air conditioning to work, and the back window got jammed and the baby looked so uncomfortable that you had to skip out on whatever you were supposed to do that day. when mister cameron came home that night you apologized so much that you started crying—because really, you never thought there was something wrong with your car and you didn't want to make the baby drive in the heat, just in case. you think he'll be mad, there's no groceries and his suit is still at the cleaner's, and the lotion that you use every night after bathtime has ran out and there'll be none for tomorrow—but he's not.
he's not mad at all. he seems... tired. he seems worried. the first thing he asks that night is if you and the baby are okay. when you nod, afraid that this is the calm before the storm, he sighs.
"good. that's all i care about," and the way he says it—you believe him right away. maybe that's the night your little crush on mister cameron started forming. it'd always been there in the background, you'd be an idiot of massive proportions to deny it. but it felt different somehow, watching him roll up his sleeves and pulling out whatever ingredients there were left over to make dinner with, something that you normally tried to have done every night for him, while telling you to take a seat.
that night he asks about your car—how old is it, when'd you get it, how many miles. do you like the model? would you want bigger, smaller, a different color? it's just conversation—he probably likes cars with the way there's a really nice in the garage under a sheet and a nice but safer one that he takes to work everyday.
(while he's cooking pasta and cutting vegetables, you try to get up and help, but he meets your eyes and shakes his head. wordlessly, you obey and sit back down.)
that's the first night things felt different. you drove home a little giddy, later than normal, stomach full and heart a little too happy that you found it in yourself to finally have a real, nice conversation with mister cameron. you're as shy as they come but your interactions with him are limited—before work, a phone call at lunch (though recently, his first question hasn't been about the baby... it's been how are my girls?), and after work before you leave.
it feels good to know that you're doing something right, that you're good at this even on your bad days. you make a point to leave your place extra early that week, stopping at the pharmacy and picking up the lotion so it's one less thing to worry about. your window still won't roll down and you'll have to figure out how to get the groceries delivered, crossing your fingers that it doesn't cost that much more.
you show up a couple minutes early and go inside to sort out the stuff for the baby before she wakes, when you find mister cameron in the nursery.
"good morning," you say quietly, though it comes out a little above a whisper. she's still sleeping, even though you haven't glanced in the crib, you know her schedule like the back of your hand.
"hey, kid," he says, and your heart starts to thud a little faster. mister cameron's nicknames for you don't make an appearance everyday but for some reason, it has today. he hovers over the crib, watching the baby's chest rise and fall with each breath. you go over to join him, placing the lotion on the dresser. he notices the bottle and turns back to you. "you didn't have to do that."
"she needs it," you reply quietly. "it's the only one she likes. and i was up early anyways."
"thank you." it comes out with such sincerity that you're a little taken aback.
"of course, mister cameron. it's nothing," you smile up at him. he glances back at you, smiling and then turning to his daughter again. "i'm gonna go start on her breakfast."
you make your way to the door when he says your name.
"there's keys on the kitchen counter, and the car's in the garage. i'd like it if you started using that car instead."
and really—how are you supposed to respond to that? you stammer out an 'of course, mister cameron' and go downstairs, crossing your fingers that he made a mistake, or that he wants you to drive his car until you fix yours and he'll take the nice one tucked away in the garage.
but when you make it to the counter, and then head to the garage, your eyes nearly fall out of your head. a brand new pair of car keys, to match the brand new car in the garage. your arguments fall on deaf ears—this is way too much for anyone. yes, you're pretty much throwing money away by still paying rent and the cost of getting your car fixed could probably be enough to start paying for a better one, but this is too much. way too much. it's not normal. right?
but you have no one to ask. the baby's not old enough for playdates, and the girls who replaced you at your old houses are pretty much all high school seniors. on mister cameron's side of town, there's only nannies and au pairs, and they'd probably think you're crazy for turning down such a nice gesture.
and it is a nice gesture. mister cameron listens to every word you say, even when you're not paying attention to your own sentence. the car is exactly how you described—the color you wanted, the size you said would be nice one day incase there's ever a playdate or another baby or whatever the case may be. it's shiny and brand-new and completely undeserving of you. but he doesn't listen.
somewhere along the next month, you realize you could get really used to this. mister cameron does have a point—you're taking care of his daughter every day, so it only makes sense to make sure she's as safe as can be. you make a mental note that if you ever—for whatever idiotic reason—choose to leave this perfect job, you'll make sure he gets the car back.
there comes a point where the relationship... makes its way to the next level. at the end of every week, you have to settle the bills. co-pays at appointments, grocery receipts, the invoice from the gardener that didn't go through so you had given him your own cash so mister cameron wouldn't have to deal with it from work. it adds up, so once the baby is asleep on saturday night, the two of you eat dinner and go through everything.
but this time, he hands you a card instead. a shiny black credit card that spells out his name on the back.
"makes it a bit easier, right? just use this instead. we won't have to settle every week anymore."
"right," you agree, your smile fading quickly. you try to put on a front, a false expression so he doesn't notice your disappointment. saturday nights with mister cameron—him with his beer and you with a glass of wine—once the baby is asleep, sorting out bills and making conversation that almost felt like you belonged here, had unknowingly become your favorite part of the week. sometimes it would go until midnight, talking about things that were neither here nor there.
it's how you learned why he's a single dad, what he does for work, how he feels about his job and how much time it takes away from his daughter. it's why you started sending him photo and video updates everyday so he wouldn't feel like he's missing out on as much, it's why you make sure to craft the baby's bedtime routine around him coming home, so they have their time together.
"somethin' wrong?" he asks, after taking another sip of beer. you're snapped out of your thoughts, focusing instead of how rafe looks today. tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, fingers curled around the beer bottle.
you don't know how any woman on earth could have walked away from this.
"n-nothing. no. thank you, mister cameron, this is great. i'll make sure-"
"it's rafe from now on—remember, kid?"
"yes. sorry, i-"
you couldn't get out of there fast enough that night. it's almost a subtle reminder from the universe—you're not part of that family. you're the nanny who got too attached, who pretended that she fit in too much to a family that's not hers.
you still wear your nicer clothes, you still drive around his nice car. but you try to remind yourself every now and then that this isn't your real life.
the next day, it's like the universe has decided that it's mad at you for coming to this conclusion.
pouring rain the second you get into the car. your raincoat and umbrella and a sensible pair of shoes remain inside your apartment, and if you sit in idle any longer, you're going to be late to mister cameron's. he'll want to leave early since it's raining, so he's probably expecting you any minute.
the roads are a mess—it's monsooning for no reason and people forget how to drive. you honk no less than three times at idiots on the road before getting scared that someone will road-rage you. when you pull into the garage—because yes, mister cameron insists that you park inside and that he can park outside— you're frazzled and sweating and your day hasn't even started yet.
rafe's almost ready to leave, which is another damper on an already bad morning—if he has time, the two of you eat breakfast together. you tell him to drive safe and apologize for being late when he rushes past you, leaning in to kiss your cheek and telling you that he might he home late today, and to have a good day. you don't realize what's happened until he's gone, the door closing behind him.
you stand in the foyer with your mouth open until you hear the baby monitor. from that point on—it's one thing after another. the baby is fussy today, which is the most unusual part of the day. she's never like this, and you conclude that she must be getting sick or something. it's just as well, because there's no reason to go out or to take her out in this weather. she cries, and you try to help, even cave and put on some episodes of little bear to see if something would distract her. but the poor thing just doesn't feel good, and has no way to tell you how.
the hours fly by, and your head even hurts a little from the crying and the overthinking about the kiss from this morning. in all the rush, you eat about two bites of lunch before the baby needs something else.
and then at the end of the day, right around when rafe should be coming home, he doesn't.
you feed the baby and rock her to sleep. she fusses ten minutes later, and spits up all over you and your hair, and then knocks out. you even spend twenty minutes hovering over the monitor, making sure she's okay while drying your hair. rafe's still not home, so you get dinner ready and warmed for him, eating yours alone in the silence. and as if you could handle another thing, you spill sauce all over your dress while trying to put away the leftovers.
you were going to wait until you were back home, safe in your tiny apartment to cry and shower and scrub your skin raw from the day you've had, but it can't wait any longer. you take the monitor into the bathroom with you at full volume, and decide to shower in the bathroom closest to the baby's room just to be safe.
it's not until you're naked, wrapped in a soft towel and waiting for the water to get scalding hot, racking your brain for the location of the extra clothes you had once brought here that you realize the shower closest to the baby's room is the shower in rafe's bedroom.
you haven't been in here before—looking around at the expensive cologne on the counter and the dark blue towels and the hamper full of yesterday's dress shirt. it's not a good idea to be in here, but you need to shower and you can't wait another minute. for all you know, mister cameron could come home in another two hours. your dress is spinning in the washer—and your plan is set. throw it in the dryer, find something to wear for the next fifty minutes, and leave as soon as he's home even though you can hear the raindrops on the roof and the thunder outside.
the shower is what you have been needing all day. you wish you had your body wash and shampoo, but his aren't too bad. you inhale deeply, realizing you're submerging yourself in his scent. you could stay in there forever, but you don't—he's gonna be home any minute or the baby could start crying, and you need to go home.
but he smells so good. you've noticed it before, it just feels amplified now. the towel you wrap yourself in is his, meaning he's dried himself with it before. all the clothes smell like his cologne, and the house is a little cold and your clothes are still washing, and though it's probably the worst idea you've ever had, when you get out of the shower, you head to his dresser and pull out the first clean t-shirt you can find.
it's big on you, you knew it would be. it's soft and warm and smells undeniably like mister cameron. you're completely clueless, exhausted because the baby barely napped and you barely got any sleep yourself, and it's way past your own bedtime right now. he might not even come home, you think, with how the storm sounds. you check your phone but there's no messages, just a flood warning.
yesterday's socks and underwear are still spinning in the machine—how long does this thing take? what setting had you put it on?—and you begrudgingly leave rafe's warm bedroom with the baby monitor in one hand, and his navy blue towel in the other, drying your hair. you turn on the television, watching whatever's on while you pat your strands dry, bending over to wrap your hair into the towel so you can sit for a couple minutes, when you hear the door open.
you snap back up, looking at rafe's face stare back at you—he's drenched, hair wet and suit dripping, wiping his forehead with his hand when he looks you up and down. oh god, you don't even know what he just saw, you were bent over and-
"is that my shirt?"
#this is like.. shy!babysitter reader x older!dad rafe <3#hope everyone likes!!! not proofread#i need to go back to studying#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#shy reader#dad!rafe
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Behold, the limitless possibility of language.
I am a twelve foot tall, periwinkle, velociraptor with pink claws, green spots, and fluffy wings. On the weekends I enjoy cocaine fueled orgies with herds of moose and have tons of vegan chocolate cake with extra chicken. I walk backwards on Tuesdays, swim whenever possible (even if its considered suicidal) and murder every baby I see regardless of species.
Now, tik tok refugees, however many of you may exist. Freedom of speech doesn't free you from the consequences of that speech. While there are not (currently, and for now anyway 🤞😬) many legal consequences to speech, there are always social ones. I am quite confident there will be something in my little example that is, insulting or unpleasant. If nothing else because this is tumblr, I can expect to find angry paleontologists in the tags lol. Never, EVER, let the potential for that ire stop you from saying things you'd like to say. People here, cultivate the things they want to see. Merely mention in the tags, before your actual post, or both, exactly what one can expect to find in the post. Such as #cw = content warning, #sex mention, #spoilers, #porn, #smut, #murder, #assault, etc.
State whats in your heart, soul and mind. Hell even your body if you so desire. Tell people what you wrote in the tags, and your post will find, or avoid, the audience its meant to, respectively.
I highly doubt there are many of you (tik tok refugees) or that this may even be seen by anyone other than my dearly beloved mutuals/the robots I haven't yet noticed or purged. But thats the great thing about this place, you never really know whats going to strike someone's fancy or ire. Or what kinds of fascinating conversations are going to happen. Roll the dice, take the risk, but please be yourself. (Just give us a heads up if you're not sure) Tah tah for now, and have fun 😉.
tiktok refugees i believe you are few but it is VITAL that you know on tumblr you can speak freely. kill. die. sex. fuck. you can say things here
#tumblr#hellsite affectionate#tik tok refugees?? are you real?#cw murder#cw sex mention#joke#cw suicide#dinosaur inaccuracies#purposeful misunderstanding of the nature of vegan food#lol
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What if?
Summary: Dean and Y/N are living the life they always wanted. They love eachother very much and want to start a family. Everything fits just perfectly. What could go wrong?
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Word Count: 3637
Warnings: I don't want to give anything away here, but there are no triggers, just emotions.
A/N: This happens when you're in a certain mood. I had to express it. I hope you like it. Enjoy! All mistakes are mine!
My Masterlist
"Urgh, this was a long day." Y/N said as she flopped onto the couch exhausted.
"Yeah... I'm sorry this took so long today." answered Dean while he sat down next to her.
"No, that's not how I meant it." Y/N saw a little bit of guilt in his eyes as he looked at her apologetically. "You know I love your mum and I really like to spend time with her. It's just that... if you consider that we only wanted to meet for brunch and it is now already half past nine in the evening... it was just a long day. Without any judgment or that it was meant negatively."
And she meant what she said. Mary was a wonderful woman and a great mum to Dean. She had welcomed her into the family with opoen arms and warm words. His father John not so much, buit over time he warmed up too.
The sudden death of his father almost six months ago was all the more surprising. A tragic car accident caused by a drunk truck driver. And as much as John loved his classic car, the '67 Chevy Impala had failed to protect John when the car rolled over three times. Mary was hit hardest and since then she has been reluctant to be alone for long. And Y/N didn't mind them keeping Mary company, as she had taken her in almost like her own daughter, but she also noticed that Dean's guilty conscience was bothering him a bit.
Dean nodded his head, but did not look at his girlfriend. So she touched his cheek with her warm hand and made him look at her. "Do you know what I mean?"
Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, I do." now he smiled a little, but Y/N could still tell that he was not feeling fully guiltfree. "But I also know that you wanted to stroll over the book flea market in town."
He was right. Today was the last day and Y/N had hoped to get a few special books. And eventhough Dean did not share her love for books, he never complained or made fun of her. He even accompanied her to such events, even though he could probably think of better things to do. But that made her love Dean a little more anyway.
"So..." Dean said and got up again. Y/N saw him disappear into the hallway where she heared him opening the closet door before he came back with a large box in his hand. "... yesterday during my break I picked something up for you."
"What?" she asked puzzled at the box that Dean just had placed in her lap.
When she opened the box, her eyes widened in surprise. About twenty books smiled at her and for a moment she didn't know what to say. At the top there were a few collected editions of Jane Austen novels and she knew immediately that he had memorized what she liked to read and so she couldn't wait to take a close look at each book.
"You're crazy." Y/N placed the box next to her on the couch and stood up. "You really used your break to get me some books?"
She hugged Dean and he closed his arms around her right away, presing her a little closer to her. "Of course I did. I would have liked to go with you too, but somehow I had the feeling, that today might be difficult. Although of course I would still have gone there with you today if you had wanted to."
"No, this is already more than enough." Y/N said and kissed him. "But... did you have enough time? It's almost fiftheen minutes from your workplace to the city hall."
"Yeah, but I had the time for it. I finished Dad's car earlier than expected and had to test drive it anyway. So I used it for a little tour of our beautiful Nashville."
Y/N smiled, but then she felt that uneasy feeling in her stomach again. Yes, they lived in Nashville and yes, she knew the city all too well. Still, it felt wrong somehow. The young woman didn't really know why or where this feeling came from, but it wasn't the first time. This had been happening again and again for weeks now. As if the life they were living here wasn't a real life. Something felt so wrong in moments like this, but she just couldn't quite explain what it was. So she kept it to herself.
"You're finished with the car? Will you give it back to your mum?"
"No." Dean shook his head. "I've already talked to her about this and she said, that she does not want to have it back. Besides... she thought that we would be more in need for a big car in the future." he wiggled with his eyebrows.
"Oh, is that so?" now she had to grin back.
"Of course. I'm ready when you are." and with one swift tug he grabbed her thighs and lifted her onto her hips. Y/N squealed in shock, but quickly regained her composure and laughed as Dean went into the bedroom with her in his arms.
The next morning, Y/N decided to prepare a big breakfast. It was Sunday and today they would just keep to themselves, relax at home and not see a soul. So she got to work and soon her house was filled with the smell of fresh coffee, pancakes, eggs and bacon. Y/N set the table, poured out some orange juice and waited for the toast to be ready. Then it wouldn't be long before Dean came downstairs, driven by his growling stomach.
So while Y/N was waiting for Dean, she decided to finally take a closer look at the box with the books. Her heart immediately jumped again. No matter how rough or tough Dean seemed on the outside, on the inside he was soft, caring and just wonderful. It didn't take Y/N long to figure this out and it made her fall in love with him even faster. Luckily, Dean really liked her too.
Among the Jane Austen books were other special editions. A few by Stephen King and also a few fantasy series that she was currently reading. But he had also brought a few new books that she hadn't heard of. One in particular caught Y/N's eye because it didn't seem like a normal novel. It was about the lore of a coven of witches from ancient Tartaria. And the more she leafed through the book, the clearer it became that it wasn't a normal book.
Y/N frowned. Why had Dean brought such a book with him? Did he really believe in witches? That was somehow strange. So she would ask him about it once he woke up and joined her. While she sorted the other books into her bookshelf, she placed the witch book on the kitchen island. But she noticed that her eyes kept returning to the book. Really strange.
But it took another twenty minutes until Dean finally trotted into the kitchen. He looked so cute with messy hair. They greeted each other with a small smile and a big hug before sharing a kiss. But shortly afterwards Dean saw the set table and widened his eyes.
“Did you do all of that this morning?” Dean asked surprised, but he immediately seemed much more awake and prepared to sit down at the table.
"Yes, I did. I just wanted to do it as a little thank you for the books you bought me." she said with a grin and poured coffee for herself and Dean.
"Aaww, you didn't have to do that." Dean replied, but already helped himself to the toast and bacon. "But I won't say no to it either."
"How come I'm not surprised?" laughed Y/N and ruffled Dean's still disheveled hair.
As she brought the coffee pot back, Y/N's eyes fell on the book about witches again and she picked it up before sitting down at the table too.
"But back to the books..." Y/N held up the book and Dean looked over at her. "...why did you bring me this book? It's not a novel."
"Oh, yeah. This is for Sam." Dean replied, biting into his toast.
"Sam?" Y/N asked confused.
"Yes. Sam." Dean repeated, frowning slightly. "My brother. He can certainly do more with it than I can. He's our lore expert."
Now Y/N was beyond confused. What was Dean talking about? She placed the book on the table and turned fully to Dean.
"Dean...you don't have a brother."
"What are you talking about?" Dean looked just as confused now.
"We've been together for over five years now, Dean. You don't have a brother. You've always been an only child."
For a moment, Dean looked like he wanted to protest, but then he shook his head slightly and cleared his throat.
"What? No, I didn't mean...brother brother. I meant a buddy of mine. Of course I'm an only child. What did you think?"
That somehow relieved Y/N, but she still didn't fully believe him. And that strange feeling arose within her again and didn't seem to want to go away. What was going on here?
A week later, Dean and Y/N were back to normal. Everything seemed normal and as usual. While Dean restored classic cars in the auto repair shop and made his customers happy, Y/N continued to work part-time at the bed and breakfast. She loved the work. It had a family feel to it and sometimes didn't feel like work at all. And sometimes, on his break, Dean would come over and have coffee with her before he had to go back.
Dean had met Y/N in the baking section of a supermarket. Y/N immediately noticed him and he also seemed to have noticed her straight away. His flirting attempts didn't take long to arrive and Y/N was only too happy to give in to them. And when they got to the meat section, it was clear that there was a spark. After that, it didn't take long until Dean called her again and they went on their first date.
Soon after, it had become clear that something more was developing between them and Y/N had no regrets. Dean had also often told her that he was happy. Everything was light and somehow he felt like a big weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Even if he could never quite say what he meant by that.
And Y/N has had to think about that over and over again over the last few days. Dean also seemed somehow preoccupied. The witch book was still in her possession and she often caught him holding it in his hand and looking down at it thoughtfully. She has also had it in her hand several times, as if it were attracting her, making her want to open it and read it carefully.
But she fought against it, tried not to give in to it because it somehow scared her. However, these efforts only resulted in her getting a headache that slowly became quite throbbing. So after finishing work, she decided to lie down on the sofa and get some sleep, hoping it would help.
But even the little nap didn't seem to help. On the contrary, she was haunted by confused dreams about witches. Magic curses that were cast on her and that she couldn't defend against. But what finally broke Y/N out of her sleep was the voice of her best friend Jane, calling out to her and telling her that she had to wake up.
As soon as she opened her eyes, her heart was racing and sweat was forming on her forehead. It took her several seconds until her mind was back in her house and her vision cleared. And immediately the headache came back. And the urge to read the witch book was now even stronger than before.
So she gave in to him. She picked up the book and opened it, reading carefully, page by page. And the more she read, the more the fog in her head cleared. All the more she remembered. When she came across a sleep-trance curse, the scales fell from her eyes.
She didn't immediately notice that Dean was coming home at that moment. But when she turned to him, she saw that he was holding a small, green plastic soldier in his hand. His eyes widened when he realized Y/N was reading the witch book. But somehow it also gave him a feeling of like-mindedness. And even though he didn't want to burst that happy little bubble they were in, they still needed to talk.
But when Dean even thought about talking to Y/N about what had happened to him today, his heart almost broke. He loved her very much and he also loved the life they had built over the last five years. By now they had even gotten to the point where they were thinking about having children together. But one more look at the little toy soldier in his hand made his decision stronger again. There was no other way if he wanted to finally bring light to darkness.
"Hey, Y/N..." he started while keeping a little distance to the woman infront of him. "...I think... we need to talk."
To his surprise Y/N nodded her head. "Yeah, I... think we do."
With the book still in hand she sat back down on the couch again. A couple of seconds later Dean did the same, but she could not speak right away, because he knew that it would change everything. So he took a few deep breaths and started with showiung Y/N the toy soldier in his hand.
"This... was inside the Impala. I found it, when I restored the car. It belongs to me... and my brother Sam. He's four years younger than me and when we were little we stuffed them into the car."
Y/N closed her eyes for a brief moment, hoping this was all a dream. But at the same time she had to laugh inside because from the looks of it, it was all a dream. Even if it felt like a bit of a nightmare right now.
"My name is Dean Winchester and me and my brother hunt monsters, ghosts and witches. So, basically all of the supernatural if you will." He rubbed the back of his head a little nervously and looked at Y/N carefully.
But Y/N wasn’t quite as surprised. A small smile even crept onto her lips. Actually she should have known that they weren't that different.
"I've had such a throbbing headache all week. Ever since we got this book here..." she held it up a bit, but didn't want to let it go. Not yet. "...My best friend Jane would have already devoured it. I was with her in Tonopah. We were tracking a witch who stole the life energy of single people."
Now Dean's eyes widened. So Y/N knew about it herself. She was also a hunter. Why had the idea seemed so far-fetched to him when it made so much sense now that he had heard it himself? And what she said about the witch's hunt also matched his memories.
"Sam and I were in Clarksburg. A witch sucked the life energy out of singles there too."
And suddenly relief, but also sadness and even a little fear spread through both of them. So it was definitely clear that the reality they were living together wasn't real. And they no longer had any doubts about each other's words. It just felt too right.
"What is the last thing you remember?" Y/N asked.
"We followed him for quite a while until we were able to find him in an abandoned house. Unfortunately, I was too forward. You know, I hate these damn witches. Sam called out to me. I wasn't paying attention for a moment and then... I don't know."
Y/N nodded knowingly. "You were hit by a curse. Just like me. Jane had located the witch in a hotel, but she had known we were coming. And as soon as I walked through the door of the room, a purple burst of energy hit me. After that, I don't know anything either."
"Fucking witches." Dean grumbled. "So, a curse. But which one?"
"I think I know the answer to that." And now Y/N opened the book in her hands again and showed that spell to him.
"A sleep-trance curse? What the heck is this?" so he read the whole page and his eyes darkened. "Son of a bitch! And what are we supposed to do about it? I mean, my brother is good with witch stuff, but I'm not sure he will come behind this."
"I already have an answer for that too." She showed Dean a paragraph on the next page. "We can only solve it ourselves. No matter what Jane or Sam try, they won't succeed."
"Well then, we should get to work, shouldn't we?" Dean said after reading the new lines too.
Y/N nodded at that too, but immediately afterwards she also realized what it would mean to lift the curse. They would give up their lives here. She would lose everything she thought she loved. But she also asked herself what about the feelings she had for Dean right now. Were they at least real? Or did they just come from the curse? Would she lose feelings as soon as she woke up? Or would she at least be able to remember it? She didn't know.
Dean also seemed to notice her change in emotions and placed a hand on her thigh. He couldn't deny that he was a little scared too. This life they had here was everything he had always imagined. This was truly what it must have felt like to live a normal life. Without monsters and all the evil that roamed the streets at night. And even though nothing had happened yet, he already missed it.
And he already missed Y/N, even though she was still sitting here next to him. But it would probably take a while before he finally understood how unfair it all was. Showing him a piece of heaven and then ripping it out of his hands. But they had to go back, had to see how Sam and Jane were doing. And they had to kill those fucking witches.
Three days later they had all the ingredients together. Thanks to Dean's recovered memories, he had been able to get many things the usual way. They had both taken time off from work and spent the rest of their time together. The closer they got to the finish line, the more Y/N's heart broke.
She had just divided up all the ingredients and set up the bronze bowl when Dean came to her with white candles in his hand. He lit it and Y/N began mixing the ingredients according to the order. But when she got to the last step, she stopped.
"Y/N?" Dean asked, but he already saw the emotions rise in her eyes.
"What... what will happen when we wake up?" now tears came to her eyes.
"Y/N..." Dean said again and lightly touched her upper arm.
"I don't want to forget you." She now said what she had been caring around with her since the morning.
Dean pulled her into his arms and now had to hold back his own tears. He had been trying not to think about it the whole time, but now he couldn't ignore it anymore. And while he was trying to keep his emotions in check, he didn't notice how Y/N put a small piece of paper in the breast pocket of his shirt. Even if she didn't know if it would do any good, she at least wanted to try.
Then Dean took her by the shoulders and released Y/N from the hug so that he could look her in the eyes.
"Listen to me." and Y/N looked him in the eyes without saying anything. "I will find you. I promise you that."
And that was enough to make Y/N cry. So Dean pulled her back into his arms and shed a few tears himself. After they both calmed down, they separated from each other but still holding each other's hands.
"I love you!" Y/N said in a weak voice and Dean grinned.
"I love you!" He said too and then they turned to the table.
A moment later, Y/N spoke the words of the counterspell and threw the last ingredient into the bowl. They both looked at each other again before a purple wave of energy hit them and everything around them went dark.
"Y/N? Y/N!"
With a groan, Y/N opened her heavy eyelids and immediately recognized the excited voice of her best friend Jane. She felt as if she had slept for a hundred years without ever really resting. She slowly sat up and let Jane hug her warmly.
"Thank God you're finally awake again. That stupid witch put a spell on you! Unfortunately, I killed her too quickly before I knew what the spell was. But it was so strong that I don't think she could do it alone. How are you? How are you feeling?"
"I think I'm doing quite well. It's just that my body still feels so heavy."
"Fortunately." exclaimed Jane and hugged her friend again. "But something is strange." she then reflected.
"What?" Y/N asked.
"How were you able to free yourself from the spell? I was at my wits' end three days ago and haven't tried anything else until now."
Now Y/N was taken aback. "I have no idea. I don't remember anything."
A/N: Yeah, there is nothing else to say here. Let me know what you think. Feedback is very much appreciated! 💜
@lyarr24 @k-slla @chriszgirl92 @aylacavebear @thebiggerbear
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Now that you watched EPIC, I really wanted to hear you talk about what you liked about it. It's nice reading you talk about things you like :D
I think they made a really smart move in centering their core theme around how what we call people determines what they are to us. This is one of the many themes present both in the source material AND the musical, but it's certainly my favorite for this particular retelling.
From the obvious and infamous Nobody scene to the infinitely discussed but seldom discussed in this context change from Athena calling Odysseus friend.
My favorite use of this is actually a scene a lot of people take in good fun (myself included), but that I haven't seen many talk about: The Olive Tree.
For those unaware, in the musicals final song "Would You Fall in Love With Me Again?" Penelope tests Odysseus by asking him to move their marital bed as an act of love after he has begged her to fall in love with him again after he returned as a "different man". Odysseus is enraged at this notion as he had carved the bed into the olive tree they met under, and to move it would be to cut down a symbol of their everlasting love. To which Penelope then exclaims that only Odysseus would know that before telling him that his question is ridiculous as he hasn't changed at all. He's still her husband.
Now, most folks have joked about Penelope playing "world's dumbest questions" with him, but I interpret the question differently. I don't believe she's asking him to do this as an act of proof or to grant Odysseus another chance. She asks him because it's specifically built out of the tree that symbolizes their love before the war.
She's giving him the chance to have what he's asking for. If he cuts down the tree then she will start from scratch with him. Fall in love with this new man. But Odysseus doesn't want to start over. He wants to keep loving her as he did when he left, just like her.
Even his question betrays his own sentiments about being a different man. "Would you fall in love with me AGAIN?" indicates that even he's aware that he's still the Odysseus she fell in love with in the first place. But his name has meant so many different things, he has been so many different people, and he has been through so much that he believes the underworld's prophets words and says that Odysseus must no longer be him.
You can't convince Penelope that Odysseus is different. He can't even truly convince himself.
But just as Odysseus means Nobody to Polythemus, enemy to Poseidon, Captain to his men, and Friend to Athena, Odysseus means husband to Penelope. And that man who loves and adores her never changed. Not that part. And that's HER Odysseus.
He is the infamous Odysseus. Forever changed, and eternally unmoved. The most ruthless man who ever loved.
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toxic till the end
·˚ ༘ ꒱ genre angst
·˚ ༘ ꒱ warnings toxic relationship, emotional abuse, attachment issues, neglect and abandonment, self-doubt, manipulation, codependency
·˚ ༘ ꒱ song inspo toxic till the end - rosé
·˚ ༘ ꒱ a/n never in my life did i think that i'd write down those warnings- but this song was stuck in my head for so long i had to write smth abt it :')
his favorite game is chess, who would ever guess?
you like to reminisce about the times when you played chess together – the concentrated look on his face as his hair covered his eyes. that look would always stay in your head for the remainder of the day after you (horribly) lost your little match as always. there are no hard feelings though, it's all fun and games in the end.
playing with the pieces in my chest
"not now, y/n. i have to do something important." he'd tsk as you removed yourself from the (one-sided) hug. "okay..." you almost mumbled inaudibly. he let out a small sigh and quickly mentioned that he'd make it up to you soon. that's how it always was, after all.
now he's on the screen, saying 'don't leave'
"y/n, don't do this to me—to us. just come back home and we'll talk this out." you read the text over and over. how could you come back? it felt like a never-ending cycle from love to pain. at first, he'd always act like the oh-so-perfect boyfriend you fell in love with. but then it's like a rock hits his head and in the blink of an eye—he acts cold towards you. why should you return to the "love of your life" if he keeps breaking your heart?
you stole that line from me, 'cause you're just jealous and possessive
"who are you talking to?" it was as if he suddenly appeared out of thin air to check the reason why you were laughing so hard. "uhm, just my friends... why?" you'd awkwardly answer. "nothing... let's go for a stroll in the park for now." any thoughts of doubt you had were immediately thrown out the window as you let out a small smile. it's been a long time since you both hung out together, so why not enjoy yourselves?
so manipulating, honestly, impressive
"i recommend you try this one—it's one of our best sellers!" an employee suggested to you. "well, i think you should try this one." your boyfriend handed you another item. in all honesty, you preferred the employee's pick more than his, but... it wouldn't hurt to try it, you supposed. seeing the look on your face, he immediately added, "do you not trust me, love?" your eyes immediately widened a bit. "huh? of course i do! you know what, let's just take your recommendation and leave, yeah?" the poor employee nervously looked between the two of you, unsure if he was intruding or not.
you had me participating
"come on, it wouldn't hurt to try?" he'd chuckle a bit as he saw the nervous look on your face. out of all the things you could do together, it just had to be skateboarding. "but wouldn't it get annoying if i fall?" you hesitantly asked. after all, you've never touched a skateboard in your life. and again and again, he'd tell you, "nonsense. i'm here." he really liked playing with your heartstrings, didn't he?
back then, when i was running out of your place
you like to think of yourself as a patient person. and that meant that between the two of you, you were definitely the more easygoing one in this relationship. although in this moment, it certainly didn't seem like it. "how could you forget our anniversary!?" you were beyond mad—maybe even livid. today marked another year of putting up with... this. he stayed silent. sometimes, you wonder if he ever cared about this day as much as you did since he always seemed to forget it. today seemed like the world had everything against you. from getting up late because the stupid alarm didn't do its job, leading to you falling down the stairs from being in such a hurry, preparing each other's lunch, arriving late to your destination and getting scolded for it, and finally, this? there's only so much a person can take. without uttering a single syllable, you grabbed the keys to your car, avoiding eye contact with the "only one who'd understand you."
i said, 'i never wanna see your face'
i meant, 'i couldn't wait to see it again'
not long after, you found yourself walking in the rain, back to your shared apartment after taking a stroll in the park, all alone. even though you were mad at him, you couldn't really blame him. 'he was always stressed during this time... he probably didn't notice the date then... so it was... my fault?' drenched in cold water, you unlocked the door quietly, noticing a dimly lit candle with a small gift next to it. "you're back." he said while leaning on the bedroom door. it's almost as if he predicted you'd come back at this time. oh right... this always happens. "well, get cleaned up. i'm heading to bed." you left to the bathroom in a hurry. you hated this endless cycle the two of you seemed to have, yet at the same time, you didn't want to leave him. you loved him too much. maybe you can sort things out in the morning? love conquers all... doesn't it?
we were toxic till the end
— rin, sae, kaiser, ness, nagi, reo
© txrully
( do not republish, translate, copy or plagiarize my works )
note. some characters are ooc bc... well i did 6 characters in one ☠️😭
#bllk#rin itoshi#itoshi rin x reader#rin x reader#rin itoshi x reader#bllk rin#bllk rin x reader#seishiro nagi#nagi seishiro#bllk nagi#nagi seishiro x reader#nagi x reader#seishiro nagi x reader#itoshi sae#sae itoshi#bllk sae#sae x reader#itoshi sae x reader#bllk kaiser#michael kaiser#kaiser x reader#michael kaiser x reader#bllk michael kaiser#alexis ness#bllk ness#ness x reader#alexis ness x reader#bllk reo#reo mikage x reader#mikage reo
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from the lovers’ grave — h. ran
content. fem!reader, one (1) suggestive scene near the end, something about grief, mourning, and love
word count. 10.7k
note. this was not meant to be long. originally, all i had planned was the scene with ran and rindō at the end talking and the confession scene for practice (i hate confessions) i am not sure what happened . . . also, this is unedited.
In the grand scheme of things, there were more good times than bad.
Of course, there’s no denying that during their teenage years of growing up, at some point, things have been deteriorating. Spiraling and spiraling and sprialing. They were just boys being boys, doing the only things they knew how to do, fighting and surviving; those moments were full of fun, exhilarating, a temporary bliss in this little corner of the world of theirs.
However, boys like them don’t live for long. They aren’t meant to. Just like how the saying goes: live fast, die young. Ran supposes the saying is true. Many of the people he’d known died before reaching adulthood, just like him — Kurokawa Izana. That’s just life, after all.
His funeral is a simple one. Nothing grand, and rather than how plain it is, it is more surprising how someone without a family – an orphan – is able to have a proper funeral. People like them never have one, forgotten by everyone and everything. And the one who stays forgotten by the world is Izana [to no one’s surprise], except for the few remaining members of the S-62 generation. Multiple police officers that keep a keen eye on all of them, and none of them are stupid enough to try and escape on a day like this — their bond with Izana is worth much more than that. It wasn’t something so shallow.
There are no decorations besides the white chrysanthemums and white lilies sitting in front of an old picture of him — a picture of when he first was admitted into juvenile detention all those years ago, he looked so young, his eyes were the same then as they are now. Dead. No sign of light. His cold body lies in a plain wooden casket. It’s an empty, stifling ceremony.
Shion is uncharacteristically quiet, and that alone would’ve been an insane sight if it were another day, but everyone understands his silence today. Nobody mentions it. Nobody says anything at all. It’s so silent, each breath drawn echoes, and something feels extremely off about the ceremony — something that has Ran glancing around the room every couple of minutes.
An obvious reason for this is how Kakuchō is not here; that kid would never miss this for anything, everyone knows this, and Ran can assume what happened. His injuries must be quite severe, and it’s rather a miracle that he had woken up, heck, even much earlier than the doctor’s expected. A sign of God’s mercy (and for a moment, in that cramped cell, Ran is a believer of faith). If Kakuchō is still awake, there’s no doubt he would be longfully staring out that white hospital room. Those cold, sad eyes of his watching the way the snow falls, burying the world.
And the other reason is how at the front of this cramped room, right next to the casket, sits a girl Ran has never seen before. It's alarming. Your head stays down as you only look at Izana, you haven’t bothered to look up since they have entered the room earlier. Ran can’t help, but wonder who you are. Who you are to Izana. An outsider to the S-62 generation that Izana had built from cold, scarred hands for delinquents like him. Ran wants to know so badly, but he is too tired, and now isn’t the time to focus on people he doesn’t know nor cares about.
Ran slips the singular white flower into Izana’s folded hands, all stiff, scarred, and freezing cold. A body of a dead man. He decides to place another: Kakuchō’s offering. Perhaps, that kid’s prayers would reach him, his heart has always been more pure than all of theirs combined, a softer soul trapped within this cruel world. Ran doesn't know why, but he whispers to Izana that he is sorry (he doesn’t know for what — maybe, everything), yet his eyes dwell on you.
When you turn and catch his curious eyes, he doesn’t look away; neither do you. Attempting to smile, it’s almost as if he’s looking straight into a mirror; a shiver runs down his spine.
He smiles back.
—
August tastes like cigarettes and bitter cherries. Just like it had last year in February, when blood, bones and ash had fallen and scattered around Yokohama that cold night, moments before the snow began to fall down. Gradients of whites and reds painting the town.
It’s a rather cool evening for a summer day when Ran finds himself visiting Yokohama after so long (even after his release, which had been quite some time ago, he hasn’t stepped foot here). There’s melancholy lingering in the air, much like how it always clings onto to long summer nights. Ran welcomes this, allowing his feet to lead him. Anywhere, everywhere, or nowhere at all. He just walks down the bustling streets, endlessly.
Something feels strange. . . Something is going to change this summer, something big; the unexpected always comes to people like him.
Downtown, there's a small bar that catches his eye. There's nothing too special about the shop — decorated with tacky neon flickering signs. Open, reflecting within his eyes. There's something inside of him that tells him he needs to enter, and so, he does just that.
And that feeling of his comes true within minutes. Ran sees you again. Coincidentally [or perhaps, fate, or by total chance].
The Izakaya isn’t really filled with people; either due to it still being early, since work hours are still going on or it just isn’t popular among the many identical shops along this street. And he should’ve invited Rindō to come with him; who enters and eats at an Izakaya alone? Ran has never gone out to eat or drink alone before, either way, it’s not like he’s a kid, so it doesn’t really matter that much, but he knows Rindō will be bitching to him about going out to eat alone. Well, that’s something he’ll have to deal with later.
Ran sits down at a table for two; ordering a small plate of yakitori and umeshu, something sweet and cold to drink. A waitress comes over and places his food down, his eyes widening at a familiar face, he speaks before he thinks, “Do you remember me?”
Your brows draw together, you look him up and down, then shake your head. “I. . . I am not too sure. I don’t believe so. Have we met before?”
He pauses. Disappointment swirls in his stomach, sinking. He tries not to think about why it makes him feel that way — like, disappointment is normal, but he knows he’s not someone unforgettable. “No. I must’ve been mistaken. Sorry ‘bout that.” He offers you a polite smile and that’s when he sees your eyes widen in recognition, the bar’s yellow lights flickering in yours; shining, shining, shining.
His finger glides against the rim of the glass cup, as he waits for you to speak — he knows you will say something. The ice cube clinks against the glass.
Clink. . . clink. . . clink.
“Oh—! Wait, um, you’re from the funeral. . .?” Uncertain as you carefully utter those words, he confirms this, and your eyes brighten. “Oh, hold on. Sorry, I can’t really talk right now, but my shift ends in twenty minutes,” you drift off, eyes darting toward the old big clock that hangs on the wall. You hopefully ask, “Wait for me?”
He nods. “Yeah, sure,” Ran casually says, ”take your time.” You thank him with a smile.
[Twenty minutes turn into fourty, and for some reason, he stays and waits for you. The yakitori was worth it, anyway. He’s grown to appreciate the taste of plums a little more today, too. It’s sweet.]
The both of you don’t say much tonight. Only indulging in introductions and small talk. The pier isn’t so far from the Izakaya, barely a ten minute walk away. When the two of you sit on the ledge, close yet not close enough to be touching, it’s all silent. Not a comforting one — one where the air feels thicker and there’s this itch where he feels as if he needs to say something to break this awkward tension. Curiously silent, because Ran has a lot of things to say — things he needs to know, but that can wait for another day.
“It’s a little breezy tonight,” you attempt to break the silence. He can tell there’s a lot on your mind, too, but you probably won’t say anything either. Not tonight, at least.
He offers, “Would you like my cardigan?”
You shake your head, declining. “No, but thank you. You might get cold without it.”
Relief runs over him when you decline because he is cold, he tends to get cold easily (which is something he and Rindō argue about because Rindō always, always, always turns the heat down in their apartment because he gets hot easily, even though Ran tells him not to touch it), and doesn’t like sharing his clothes or anything he owns with anyone. But Ran is a gentleman, or so he tries to be, girls feel special when he acts like this, and he likes making them think that. Well, sometimes he does. Sometimes, he doesn’t know.
“If you say so. That was my one and only offer so don’t complain after,” he halfheartedly teases (he still thinks you should’ve accepted it, because anyone would’ve if he was the one offering, but that’s your loss, really).
Maybe the way he was joking misses, because you simply reply, “I won’t.” And he hums. Silence falls over again.
“He was such an idiot,” your voice is anything but harsh when you say this. So soft, fond, a whisper of love. Too angelic, Ran is sure it will never reach him. He almost misses your words under the waves, too.
He doesn’t know who you are to Izana. A part of him understands, though. No matter what you two were or who you are, he knows you have loved Izana so dearly, you probably have for a long time. It’s quite obvious, the feeling of him that lingers onto you — he can feel it all.
His fists tightens around nothing, nail digging into his palm. How come he has never seen or heard of you before? Ran knows for a fact that Kakuchō knows you. Does Shion as well? He’s obsessed with Izana, obsessed to an unhealthy degree, so surely he knows or at least has caught a glimpse of you before. Maybe he really didn’t know Izana at all.
It’s kind of frustrating, he thinks.
Ran agrees with you. Though, he doesn’t verbally express it. Izana really was an idiot, a selfish one who was always stuck in his own head, and Ran would never get to tell him that. He’ll never get to tell him anything again. Bitterness, regret, and anger fill him for a split second, only a second, not a millisecond longer, because these emotions quickly fade back into nothing. Nothing because Ran can do nothing, but feel nothing.
“Do—Do you usually sit out here, doing nothing? Watching the world?” he sniffles. It’s summer, midsummer, heat is supposed to consume them, especially during these short nights, but the weather has been strange lately. He’s not even cold, it’s just when the breeze passes by, he gets bad shivers.
The flame of the lighter flickers, you’re lighting a cigarette — he didn’t peg you as a smoker (despite only knowing you for less than an hour at maximum), and he grimaces once he catches sight of a little pink box sliding back into your pocket. Pianissimo. Peach flavoured, of course, he almost snorts.
“Sometimes,” you reply as you breathe out the smoke. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”
You pass the cigarette to him, he accepts, saying, “Nah, it’s fine.” Your smeared lip gloss stains the tip of the cigarette, his lips overlap with the marking, inhaling the bitter smoke to feel that familiar burn, it’s quite mild compared to what he prefers, something sweet lingers within, too.
“Okay, but that was my one and only offer.”
Ran chuckles at the familiar remark, and you let one out, too. “Okay. I get it.” He passes back the cigarette. “A cheeky one, aren’t you?” It comes off more flirtatious than intended, but it makes you smile at him, cheekily.
You’re captured by the moonlit water, cigarette ashes drifting down, down, down, eyes taken by the ashes, his eyes drift back to you, and that sentimental expression you wear.
(Losing someone isn’t anything new. It’s normal in a world like this. He wonders if you know this; you definitely do.)
—
“You sure you don’t want to come?”
“I am sure,” you tell him, “it’s not even a party, it’s just a get together. Go have fun with your boys. Hasn’t it been a while since you’ve hung out like that?”
“Knowing them it will be a party instead,” Kakuchō replies with a short sigh. He has never been too fond of crowds and strangers. You wonder why he is so insistent on you joining, however you don’t ask. You tell him you are sure and want to stay home, before shoo-ing him out the door.
And despite your warnings [nagging, as Kakuchō likes to call it], when you go to see him the next day, you’re met with a hungover Kakuchō and two boys knocked out on his old, leather couch. One of them is barely hanging on, half of his body is dangling off, and you aren’t sure how he didn’t wake up from being uncomfortable. And the other, you are quick to recognise as Haitani Ran.
Kakuchō was indeed right. It’s always a party with the Haitani brothers, you’ve heard this from others before, too. You take a second glance at Kakuchō. Poor, poor, poor Kakuchō, who can barely open his eyes and stumbles his way towards you, more so to what you have in your hand, that glutton, you almost burst into giggles.
You greet him, asking him simple questions like: did you have fun last night? Too much fun, you guess. Are you hungry? And he’s replying to each one with nods and grunts and incoherent strings of ‘yeah’, ‘uh-huh’, and the most annoying one of all, ‘what’. Maybe, you both were too loud because the sound of shuffling behind catches yours and Kakuchō's attention. Both boys are awake — stuck in a similar state as Kakuchō — sets of tired purple eyes peering around the room as if they didn’t even realise they crashed at their younger friend’s place.
After a few seconds, Ran speaks up. “Oh. Good morning.” He doesn’t look too surprised seeing you. His hand ruffles through his wavy hair, smoothing out his bed head as he flashes you a grin. Ran has a pretty smile. He’s pretty first thing when he wakes up, and that alone makes you envious. It’s unfair.
“Hi, good morning,” your voice comes out a little quieter than you wish it had.
Ran is still smiling, as he repeats, “Good morning.” A slight pause as you smile, too. He cocks his head to the side, introducing the boy beside him. “My baby brother, Rinrin,” he lazily introduces.
“Don’t call me that,” the boy [Rinrin] grumbles as he turns to you and gives a slight nod, “Rindō.” Rindō, not Rinrin, bends down to sweep up a shirt from the floor, slipping it back on, covering his tattoo, long black ink that paints half his chest. Your eyes linger for a moment too long, before moving onto Ran, whom for some strange reason, you know to have the other half of that tattoo on his body. They look so different yet alike.
Ran raises an eyebrow, a grin tugging on his corner of his lip once he catches your lingering gaze. Like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. He mouths, ‘What?’, you turn your head away, feeling embarrassed. Your body heat rises to your neck, cheeks, and ears.
You can feel another set of eyes on you, not belonging to Ran, however you don’t look back up. You place the homemade bento on the counter, Kakuchō lets out a sigh, “Finally.” You roll your eyes at the boy.
“Sorry, I didn’t know Kakuchō would be having guests, so I only made enough for one person. . .”
You aren’t actually sorry. It’s just a little awkward. Kakuchō could’ve given you a heads up. It feels rude only bringing a meal enough for one when there’s a party of four (though, you didn’t plan on staying over after dropping off his food).
“Nah, it’s cool. We can share,” Ran says.
“No. Let’s order something else, too. I’m starving.” Rindō brings up. You all collectively agree with him because there’s no way the food you had brought is enough for the four of you.
Ran orders yakisoba and soda for all of you. Kakuchō loudly complains when he notices the two of them picking at the food you made for him, even with the yakisoba right there.
—
“So,” Ran begins.
You look up at him. “So?”
“Can I call you later?”
“For what?”
“To see you again,” he replies, “I have a feeling we’re going to keep running into each other.”
“That may be so.”
—
Haitani Ran was right. You do meet again and again and again. Sometimes he will get a call, lips pressing into a thin line, threatening to fall into a frown as he slips into another room for a few minutes before coming out to tell you that he has to go. He doesn’t say what, you don’t ask, but you know. It’s the same thing that has Kakuchō leaving his apartment in the middle of the night, too. You try not to think about it – acknowledge it – it has nothing to do with you.
He stops by from time to time, dropping by whenever he is in the neighbourhood, much like today. You’re no longer surprised when you open the door to be met with that charming smile of his, rather once you hear the familiar sound of knocking or ringing of the doorbell, you sort of expect it to be Ran.
“You play the guitar?” His line of gaze falls onto the acoustic guitar sitting in the corner of the living room.
“Hm? Oh no, that belongs to Izana.” Used to. A pause, before you add, “There was a time when I used to beg him to teach me and he gave up after an hour.”
Ran snorts as his lips curl up. “That’s a good job for you then. He would’ve given up on the guys in less than five minutes so you probably did okay, right?”
You laugh at his words. It’s the truth, because Izana has always been an impatient (impulsive) guy. “Maybe. Kakuchō was able to learn how to play it, and I remember being a little jealous of him because Izana seemed happy to have someone to talk about music with.”
You were jealous, upset, embarrassed at your lack of ability — you thought, maybe you just aren’t talented? You eventually came to terms with it. But there were moments when you would watch Izana and Kakuchō play their guitars (—Izana set money aside and bought a used guitar just for Kakuchō, you assume Kakuchō leaves it hidden away, far away from everyone and everything), the room fills with music and you would be sitting on the couch listening, listening, and listening until you’re slowly drifting asleep to their melodies.
You take a hollow breath.
“Those two have known each other since they were kids. . . Ah, you, as well, right?” he asks and you nod your head in confirmation.
“Yes, that’s right.”
Ran lifts his eyes to meet yours. Ever so purple, beautifully vibrant, like a gem, you’re afraid it could shatter. He smiles, softer, sadder. “I see. The three of you have a special bond then. Something others cannot replicate.”
Your heart races, then pangs at his words. Something special.
Yeah, it is special, you could never forget it. Even if you wanted to.
“Just like you and your brother. The charismatic brothers of Roppongi: the Haitani brothers,” you say, voice light with a small smirk on your lips. “I have heard some stories about you two.”
“Mhm, I bet you have. All good things, I assume?”
You tease, “Maybe, maybe not.”
He chuckles to himself. “So, good rumours,” he concludes with a satisfied look, “I am Haitani Ran, after all.” Definitely nothing good, you both know, or so, you assume Ran knows.
You agree, “That’s right, Mr. Haitani.”
He smirks at the name.
Ran doesn’t ask if it’s okay to touch the guitar, he just takes it, yet you can’t find yourself getting upset or complaining about it. You watch as he plops down onto the couch, patting the spot next to him, indicating you to come over, in which you do. “Ran, do you know how to play?”
He looks over at you and winks, “Oh, honey, that’s what you are about to find out. Keep your eyes on me.”
You roll your eyes.
It’s not even two minutes later, when you do find out, just like Ran had said. You learn he doesn’t know how to play at all. Ran plays the same tune over and over again, or he attempts to, it sounds nothing like the pretty way Izana plays. It’s clunky, off-tune, yet something about it feels tender. So, so gentle; your heart trembles along with the tune. Ran doesn’t seem to care about his lack of skills; lavender eyes softly gazed on the way his slender fingers move against the strings — a faint smile to his lips, rosy and glossy from your cherry lip balm you saw him put on earlier, as he plays Izana’s beloved acoustic guitar.
You remember Izana at this moment. The way he played all his favourite songs — how Bohemian Rhapsody and Under Pressure was played on repeat in his little apartment. How, on this very couch that you and Ran are sitting on, he used to get frustrated at how you couldn’t memorise or understand what he was teaching you (and in your defense, he sucks at teaching, definitely one of the only things he has ever sucked at), and you would cry at his frustration. Izana eventually gave up and instead learned to play your favourite song for you.
You wanted to learn it yourself, but you were so happy at the same time. It felt special. You felt special.
You remember, you remember, you close your eyes, and you remember it all. It dances to the memories every day, a little record stuck on repeat. It’s all you have left of him. What if one day your heart suddenly doesn’t remember?
“Falling asleep to my playing?” His voice breaks you out of your thoughts.
Opening your eyes, all you see is Ran in front of you.
You shake your head and smile at the sight, Ran catches it and flashes a pretty smile back, laughing beneath his breath as he attempts to show off by playing a series of random chords quickly. Giggling at his antics, you attempt to sing along; humming a random tune as the two of you try to match each other, clearly missing the beat. Soft laughter, light teasing, Ran playing the guitar and you singing along fills the room in your apartment. Your hearts dance along, ever so intimately. You feel light, so light, and you haven’t felt this way in a long time.
Maybe you could get used to this (perhaps, you already are).
“I don’t know anything about guitars or any instrument,” he admits, “maybe besides the recorder.” He looks disheartened at the fact as he stops playing and his fingernail taps against the wood, it echoes back.
“It’s okay, I am no good at it either. I also only know how to play the recorder,” only because it is mandatory to learn in primary school. “I am probably better than you at it, though.”
“Oh? Is that a challenge, young miss?”
“Maybe.”
“I guess we’ll have to find out,” he says. “Someday, of course.”
You nod. “Someday.”
—
Ran sleeps with you for the first time tonight. After dinner, he was too lazy, and your couch was too comfortable, so he didn’t want to leave, and you didn’t really seem to think of anything when you offered for him to stay the night. He didn’t think much of it when he agreed. It’s so innocent, yet more intimate than everything he has ever known. He feels. . . strange.
Your mattress is quite small, however Ran prefers it this way for obvious reasons. The dip in the mattress that allows you to get closer, he can feel your body heat so vividly, if he closed his eyes he could probably imagine it, except he doesn’t. He just stares at your bare face, who stares back at him.
“Your hair looks so pretty like this, Ran. I like it.” Your compliment makes him smile, it’s not often when someone witnesses his hair down, wavy and what he considers to be a mess. Your finger runs over the loose waves, twirling the end with your fingertip. He thinks you look pretty, too, in your pajamas, and bare faced.
You ask, “Can I braid your hair when we wake up tomorrow?”
“I like my hair a certain way.” He replied without much thought. He almost doesn’t notice that he didn’t necessarily reject the request.
You pout your lips, and give Ran your best puppy eyes — little gems are shooting out of your eyes towards him, but he is not one to fall for that. Do you think he’d be the type to fall for a cheap trick? If he were, he would’ve been screwed ages ago. You picked the wrong person for that. “Is that a no?”
He softly hums, debating to himself. “I am just—” he tries to think of the right word. He just hates when others touch his hair, his clothes, his jewelry, he spends so much time perfecting his appearance — he hates when others ruin it. “I rarely let Rindō touch my hair.” He decides to say this, because it’s something people can come to understand.
“I learn quickly. . .”
He sighs. Not one out of annoyance, more so at how he is so quick to give into your wishes. “Alright, fine. I will teach you how I like it done tomorrow.” You’re lucky that you’re cute, he almost adds.
He bites his tongue.
But he doesn’t know why. He says those types of things all the time. It’s a strange night. He’s been doing things he doesn’t do or say.
You lift your hand to his face, your pinky sticks out, “Promise?”
A pinky promise. Ran almost snorts — he would’ve if he weren’t so tired, if you didn’t look so cute and serious, and he would have laughed if it were someone else. Ran hasn’t pinky promised since he was a kid, barely eleven, promising something mundane to Rindō (the world, Roppongi, a new house, a new life, he remembers, he always will).
He softly sighs, sending you a sleepy smile as he locks your pinky with his. His thumb presses against yours, sealing the promise with a kiss. His eyes flicker down to your soft lips, you are grinning so happily over a mere pinky promise, what a simple thing bringing you happiness. “I promise.”
For a moment, he thinks he could give you something worth more than this little promise — pretty, shiny things that could make you smile even more. But he knows you aren’t someone like that. And that’s fine to him.
If braiding his hair makes you happy, for some weird reason, then he’s okay with it, too.
—
Ran awakens in the middle of the night, the room is coated in darkness, the moonlight shines through the crack of the curtain and that is how he knows it is still night time. He is not used to not sleeping in his own bed, he immediately notices your lack of presence, fingers tracing the empty surface, the side you had slept on is barely warm; you were still here not too long ago.
He slowly gets up, quietly walking down the hall to find you sitting curled up on the couch, on the side that is closest to the wall where Izana’s guitar rests. Unaware of him, his presence, and everything else in the world.
He lingers everywhere in your apartment, your home, your mind. It leaves Ran questioning: when you make a person your home, where do you go when they’re gone? Where do you go? Tell him.
He leans against the wall, asking, “You can’t sleep?”
Your body jolts. Your head snaps up, as you glance in his direction, and you shake your head, beginning to relax. “Oh, Ran. . . No, I was just getting some water.”
He hums, going along with your poorly webbed lie, your heart is exposed bare on your sleeve, so cold, lonely, he glances from the empty coffee table to the acoustic guitar to your unshed tears. You are seriously a terrible liar. That’s a good thing for him. “Do you mind the company?” He doesn’t want to intrude somewhere he doesn’t belong.
You shake your head once again, “No. Not at all.” You pat the spot next to you, and Ran moves from the wall to the spot next to you. You’re watching him silently, sinking back into the cushions.
“Are you thinking about him?”
You tilt your head towards him, sending a weak smile, unable to find the words for an answer that the both of you already knew.
“It’s okay. Sometimes, I still think about him, too.” He assures.
You ask, “You do?” You sound rather surprised, and he is also surprised by his own honesty.
“Yeah. He was. . .” Words die easily on his tongue as he struggles to find the right words to say. There’s not much he can say, despite all of the memories and feelings he once had. What can he even say about Izana? He can’t think of anything nice or normal that one would say about an acquaintance (friend, comrade, boss). “He was an interesting guy. I kinda admired him.”
He was an interesting guy, Ran had thought so their first meeting, years ago back in juvie. He was the only person that left a deep impression on him. Izana was many things. Anything, but a good man. He used to be a good boy (probably), once so long ago. Ran really did admire him, he wouldn’t have followed just anyone. He admired him to the point where he spent his entire youth following the boy.
“I did, too.” Barely heard even in this room containing only the two of you, it sounds a little bitter. Just a tad.
“Yeah, I’m sure he knows,” he says, leaning his head down to rest on top of yours. You breathe quietly next to him, all of the little noises can be heard in this silence. Your legs stretch out, dangling beside his.
It’s a long time before either of you speak. And then, you look up at him. There’s something glimmering in your eyes.
You tell him a story and then two more of your childhood. You laugh and tear up through them. He laughs, stays silent, and smiles as he tentatively listens to your every word. It’s his turn, you don’t ask him, but it’s only fair if he shares something personal with you; something he and only Rindō know. He wants you to know. He wants to tell you sides of him that he’s outgrown and sides that nobody knows. He tells you about the dog Rindō wants to adopt one day, you say you want to see it, but Ran tells you about how he doesn’t really want to have pets in his apartment (though, it’s sometimes hard to say no to Rindō). You tell him about the stray cat you used to feed a few months ago, and how you haven’t seen her in a few weeks. She’s probably fine, Ran tries to assure you, there’s a chance somebody had picked her up and adopted her. You hope so.
The two of you fall asleep on your couch, one far too small for him, curled up, and entangled together. He sleeps so soundly, the cotton of his shirt soaking up your silent tears.
[Ran believes — no, he knows that he visited you in a dream last night. He must’ve. You look so at peace.
The sun hits, orange light shining through the gaps of the curtains, and you look so at peace as you sleep, leg wrapped around his waist as you lay against his chest. His fingers run through your hair, carefully, not wanting to wake you. His index finger ghosts over your cheek and Ran freezes when you shift in your sleep, smiling when he realises you aren’t going to wake.
You must be a heavy sleeper. Or maybe, you’re having a sweet dream and aren’t ready to wake yet.
He admires you for minutes that seem to last forever. He comes to terms with the fact that he’s doomed, and decides he doesn’t want to think about it or you anymore, before drifting back to sleep.]
—
When morning hits (or rather afternoon), Ran stops to look at you before leaving. His hand lingers on the doorknob. “You’ll be okay?”
You nod. “. . . Should be,” you reply, smiling. “See you later, Ran, and thank you.”
His eyes are gazing down at you, his expression seemingly confused — conflicted, before his eyes soften, turning back into pretty little gems. His smile is so pretty. “I’ll call you,” he says.
It’s a promise.
—
It’s Wednesday, your afternoon lecture was cancelled due to the professor’s sudden family emergency, so you invited Kakuchō to hang out around Shibuya. Luckily, he didn’t have any of those meetings to attend. “Are you dating Haitani Ran?”
Your heart almost stops at hearing this.
“What—no, of course, not,” you reply — one far too quick, your voice raises and you hear Kakuchō scoff under his breath. You almost stop your tracks, instead you turn your head in his direction, narrowing your eyes, clearing your throat before asking, “Why are you asking me that?”
He shrugs, opting on not replying to your question, and you frown, pressing your lips into a thin line. When you lightly hit his shoulder, he sighs, giving into you. “You always hang out these days.”
What a ridiculous reason. “Is that so weird? You and I see each other almost daily,” you reason.
Another scoff escapes his lips as if you had just said the most insane thing in the world. He tells you, “I’ve seen him leave your apartment in the morning. More than once.”
“We didn’t sleep together,” you defensively reply. A growing sense of irritation quickly builds inside of you. “It’s nothing like that. I swear.”
“So, it’s nothing.”
“Well, you know. . .” You trail off, looking at the people fleeing in and out of the cafés and clothing shops. You don’t deny it. You don’t know if you should, yet it’s not really anything, maybe something. He’s your friend. Just like Kakuchō. Just like Izana.
He sighs before saying, “You look at him like how you did with Izana.”
You freeze.
Kakuchō steps stop the moment yours do.
You look at him like how you did with Izana. You grow cold from those words alone, your heart tightens by an old memory of Izana flashing by. Those words play on repeat with the memories.
Just like Izana.
You feel faint.
There’s a tap on your shoulder, you notice the guilt on his face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you upset. I won’t ask, you don’t gotta say anything. I get it.”
“No, don’t be sorry, I am not upset.” You aren’t upset, but you don’t know how you are feeling. You know you aren’t upset by his words, but your heart stings. You want to cry, but you don’t understand why. [You do, and this makes you feel like sobbing.]
“Okay, well, can I ask why Ran? Rindō is the cooler brother,” he says.
Why Ran. You don’t know this yourself. You just know you like being with Ran. His presence is comforting, he makes you feel less alone in moments you feel alone. You just like being with Ran. You just want to be around that person. It’s as simple as that.
You roll your eyes, jabbing a finger into his forearm, lightly pressing your nail into his muscle. “You only say that because he works out with you.”
He shrugs. “Yeah. That’s the manliest thing someone can do. And he drinks more than any guy I know, it’s kind of insane, and he will still show up to the meeting the next day.”
You grimace. You could never pull yourself out of bed if you were that hungover — and, well, you’re sure that Rindō is dragged and forced to go to these ‘meetings’. Probably. There’s no way it is solely dedication.
“Right. Don’t be drinking with him, got it?” You don’t need Kakuchō developing even more bad habits. Sometimes you can’t help, but nag, even if it doesn't really reach him (if you were Izana, it’d be a whole different case), always going in and out the other ear. “Kaku, are you doing okay these days?”
“I’m fine, but also, a little hungry.”
“Kakuchō.” You lower your voice in an attempt to sound more serious — threatening, maybe. Obviously, it doesn’t work because Kakuchō doesn’t reply or react in any way. “Come on now. Talk to me, I know it’s something.”
He sighs, his eyes don’t meet any part of you. He turns away, the long, faded scar running across his face becomes hidden. “It’s always like this. In the end, I am always the only one who ends up surviving.” You’d prefer bitterness, anger, or sadness – anything – over the empty feeling in his words. Your heart aches, you don’t want Kakuchō to leave you, too.
You don’t even want to imagine such a thing.
You want to hold him.
Your hand reaches out to grab him, so firm and all of his little scars and calluses are felt and seen. Kakuchō looks down at you the moment you touch him. He doesn’t pull away. “I am sorry to say this, I know you won’t want to hear it now, but I am grateful for that. I’d be sad if you weren’t here with me. You are my family, Kaku. Don’t forget that. So, please don’t say something so sad.”
And he’s quick to look away again, too.
He says, “. . . I’d be lonely without you, too.”
Your hand tightens around his. His hand is warm, like it always is, his body always runs hot, too hot, but he is still alive. You’re alive. “You could at least look at me when you say that.”
He grumbles something incomprehensible, you tilt in your head in confusion, “Hm? What was that?”
“I said, ‘what do you want to eat?’”
“Aren’t you being too shy? I guess you’re at that age now,” you continue to tease him, watching as the tip of his ears turn red. Kakuchō has never been good at voicing his own feelings, he speaks through his actions alone — through iron fists and undying loyalty — just like most of the men you have ever known. You grin at the reaction. “Hmm, well, how about we have okonomiyaki tonight? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
The three of you used to eat that quite often back then, Kakuchō would be the one who would always make it for you and Izana. You haven’t had it since then. You’re craving it like crazy now.
“Yeah, sounds good. Let’s find a place less crowded, though.”
He really is still the same. Just older now, maybe maturing and experiencing life in all the wrong ways. But he is still your Kakuchō.
You wonder if he thinks the same of you.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
And similar to Kakuchō, you’ve never been so fond of crowds, either. Arms linked, you walk to an old restaurant owned by a cute elderly couple. You tell him you love him (because you do, since back then and now and in the future), he almost pushes you away right then and there, you burst out in laughter.
Kakuchō sits in front of you, in the past he used to sit beside you, you assume maybe it’s because it’s easier to talk this way. A guess because you aren’t so sure. He accidentally makes an extra okonomiyaki the first round, a habit he cannot erase, you both know why, you don’t say anything. You take the extra okonomiyaki and eat it for him.
—
Ran believes that some things are meant to happen for a reason.
You and him.
Him and you.
He throws a party for his brother’s birthday as he does every single year. He only invites their friends who immediately invite other people they know as it always goes and the apartment is filled to a brim. Just like every year.
You arrive a little later than most people, due to work and having to get ready, and Ran immediately removes himself from a group of people surrounding him (a chorus of boo’s are thrown at him), and rushes over to you.
“Hey. You took a while.”
You’re all smiles around him already. “I had to shower and get ready first.”
“You still look pretty in your work uniform.”
You look up at him, pointedly. “And smell like alcohol and chicken and fish?”
Ran grins, “Not much different from here, yeah? I love eating chicken.”
You playfully shove him and his grin widens as he pulls you into the drunk dancing crowd.
When he makes eye contact with Rindō, who is DJing (like always), his brother is clever enough to change the music to keep the two of you close. Bodies are bumping into him and you, you’re really close and your hands are in the air, in your hair, and on him. People are too close, too loud, too intoxicating. He has to lean down every time you attempt to say something to him — a lot of it is just you singing — and your lips brush against the shell of his ear every time.
Every. Single. Time. Electricity jolts through him.
Hair is sticking to your forehead, face red and glowing from dancing, sweat, and the mixture of body heat; you’re stunning and all Ran can think of is how badly he wants to kiss you when you bite your lower lip when you meet his gaze once again.
He pulls you closer, and it happens within a second. You kiss him first. Lips briefly pressing against his, you’re quick to pull back before he can reciprocate, and you flash him a smile more blinding than these flickering neon lights. He pulls you back in for a proper kiss this time.
Admittedly, this is not your first kiss together. He had kissed you once before – barely a peck – one night when he had picked you up from work and drove you home. It can barely be called a kiss, but Ran would be lying if he said it didn’t cause a shock that ran through his entire body. Later that night, alone in his room, his thumb brushed over his lips and they still tingled with the feeling of you.
This kiss, unlike the previous brief and fleeting exchange, he can taste all of you. Openmouthed, desperate, and a little shameless, too (but he doubts anyone is actually paying attention). Your hands find their way to his hair — much like they always seem to do — and Ran sighs when your fingers run through, gently scratching the nape of his neck. You look up at him with a gleam in your eyes, and he swears he wants to undress you right then and there.
Except, he wouldn’t do that. Plus, a loud whistle and a familiar voice jerks him back to the present (reality). It takes so much in him to hold himself back, he has to physically pull himself away from you for a second. He turns and glares at the interruption — Shion. Obviously. That fucker.
“What?” he asks, slightly annoyed and amused at the boy’s fucked appearance.
Shion grin widens, face glowing with sweat, red eyes, high and drunk on whatever someone had snuck in. Someone sure is having a good time. “Just—‘m just enjoying the show,” he slurs as his eyes make their way behind him, to you.
Ran steps forward and places a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Shion wobbles with a faint touch. “Go sit down, Madarame. You’re gonna fall over.”
Shion ignores him, brushes past him, and asks you to dance. Ran groans, calling out his name, but Shion blocks out his voice and smiles at you.
So, sure, he and the boys have this thing of cockblocking each other for shits and giggles, but now was definitely not the time for that. He needs to learn how to read the room. Damn idiot. (This is probably Shion’s payback from the last party, and all the times before that, but Ran swears it’s funny when he does it.)
You look from Shion to him and Ran shrugs, as if a shrug is enough to let you know that it’s just Shion, so it’s fine if you wanna dance with him, or not. After a second, you accept his dance with a curt, “Sure.” And Shion smiles, wide with all teeth.
“Behave yourself,” he warns Shion before turning to you. “I am gonna get some water. I’ll leave you to it for a bit.”
Ran walks over to join Rindō at his DJ booth.
Rindō looks at him with a raised brow as he makes his way behind the booth. “You lost your girl to Shion,” Rindō loudly snorts.
“Just letting him be around a girl out of his league for once,” Ran jokingly replies, and they both laugh. “Change the song for me.”
The song switches to something more upbeat; everyone is spinning and jumping, you and Shion, too. He can barely hear his own thoughts through the loud vibrations of the bass. He and Rindō talk about nothing, and Ran lets Shion dance with you for two whole songs. Shion is an idiotic lunatic, especially when he’s drunk, but he’s not stupid enough to do something he knows he shouldn’t. His hands don’t leave your hands, rather, Ran thinks you’re making sure Shion doesn’t let go of your hands, so he doesn’t fall over. Ran thinks you might be too nice. He’s having a good time and so are you, so that’s all that matters. He likes watching you dance, even if it’s not with him.
At some point, he runs to the kitchen to get a cup of water, and when he returns to you, Shion is nowhere in sight. That boy never stays in one place for long.
“Sorry, Shion is an idiot,” he tells you as he offers you the cup in his hand, basically forcing it into your hand to drink.
You chug back the water, no doubt exhausted and dehydrated from all the dancing and sweaty bodies around you. “He’s a funny guy. I had fun.”
Ran gives you a skeptical look. “Guess so, but feel free to ignore him next time.”
You grin, “Really, Ran, he was nice!”
“I sure hope so.” He leans down as whispers against your ear, “My room?”
You nod.
And finally, you’re on top of him. Ran is laying on his back, propped up by his elbows as he watches you take off your top, far too slowly, because you like to tease, and Ran is an impatient man deep down. But in this moment, he lets you do your own thing, and watches, watches, admires your every subtle movement. The real thing is much better than his daydreams. Yes, in the moment, he almost thanked Buddha.
You lean down to kiss him. Rather soft and innocent compared to the way you shift on top of him, and the way your hand runs down between the two of you. He’s rather shameless, and doesn’t bother hiding the way you make him feel. There’s nothing greater than pleasure.
Your movements come to an abrupt stop, and Ran suddenly becomes more aware. For a moment, he thinks you must be teasing him once more — Ran doesn’t beg.
He asks, “You okay?”
You stay quiet, he can’t see your eyes, something is wrong.
“Hey, is there something wrong?” His hand is immediately searching for yours, unknowingly. You pull your hand away before he can reach it. You pull your hands together.
Your voice comes out too quiet. It shakes at the end.
“. . . I’m scared,” you admit.
Ran pauses, his expression drops and he’s quick to sit straight up, reaching over to grab your hand, pulling it into his. His thumb brushes against the back.
He pulls you in his arms, your head lays against his chest as he whispers, “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything.” He doesn’t need this. “It’s alright, don’t force yourself.”
“No, that’s not what I—” you’re cut off by a whine; your own cry.
He’s scared to death the moment you begin to sob. Full on sobbing, you’re choking, and he can’t calm you down. He’s frantically trying to speak to you, but his words are not reaching you.
He wants to know what’s wrong. He needs to know what he can do to help you. There’s nothing he can do, except hold you.
“I, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
He frowns. Wrong. Your words alarm him. “There’s nothing wrong. It’s not wrong. Trust me.” He tells you, more firm than his usual tone with you. “You’re okay, baby.”
You shake your head. “It’s not.”
“It is.” He grabs the blanket beneath the two of you and wraps it around your naked figure.
You try to say you’re sorry — words don’t come out, but Ran knows you’re trying to apologise for something that only exists in your mind. There’s nothing wrong at all and he needs you to understand this.
“We’re okay, trust me. We’re more than okay.” He reassures as he holds you a little tighter when he feels your shaky form against him. “Don’t force yourself to do anything, yeah?” His voice drops to a comforting whisper, “Just breathe for me. You can do that.”
You cry into his chest for an hour. He says nothing, but strokes your hair and quietly calls your name from time to time.
After a long time, when your sniffles begin to slow and the party outside the door begins to die down, he asks, “Are you okay?”
“No,” you say, and leave it at that.
(You think Ran doesn’t understand, and you feel bad because you don’t know how to tell him how his sweetness and understanding and patience with you causes you to cry even more. He’s so sweet, it aches, and aches, and aches, but his arms around you bring comfort and security, and then, so do his lips.)
—
Leaves decay, autumn passes, and it’s almost Christmas. Snow fell greatly last night, piles and piles of snow pack up, and Rindō is dragged outside to play. Play as if he is some seven-year-old kid once again.
The three of you are outside their apartment complex, you’re rolling snow to make a snowman next to one that has already been made — probably by the family that lives on the first floor. They have two little kids — one boy and one girl. Rindō remembers bumping into them in a drunken state, and the mother looked at him in disappointment and disgust as she blocked him from her children (obviously, he wasn’t going to do anything, but he can’t exactly blame the woman, either), Rindō scoffed at her and stumbled his way upstairs.
He and Ran aren’t doing anything, just standing on the sidelines, lighting a cigarette, and watching you. When Ran passes him the cigarette, Rindō is quick to take notice of the difference in smell and taste. Since when did he start smoking another brand? Especially something like this. Still, he smokes it with him without complaint.
“So,” Rindō starts off, gaining his brother’s attention. “How are you?”
Ran’s face twists, he stares at his little brother strangely, as if he had grown another head. “Huh?”
Sure, it is a weird question, because no matter how close they seem (are), they don’t talk about feelings or anything like that, even if they are together almost 24/7. But Rindō just wants to know this time, he’s so curious, because something has changed about his brother. It’s noticeable in everything he does.
His eyes flicker from him to you. “You and her. The two of you are together now, or what’s going on?” Rindō is curious. He knows there’s something more going on, he’s no fool, and the way your eyes always seem to find each other basically screams it to his face. “Hasn’t it been a while?”
Ran shrugs, poker face, as always.
Rindō just lets out an ‘Ah’, and that’s that. There’s never much to say between them because they’ll just accept anything about each other without an explanation.
However, Ran continues speaking about it, much to his surprise. “I am actually fine with it, y’know.”
“Fine with what?” he asks.
“How there will always be a little part of her who loves Izana.” Ran says this so casually, Rindō’s mouth opens slightly, yet there’s nothing he can think to say so he shuts it and stares on ahead. “Even if he were still here. . . yeah, I’d be okay with it, too.”
Ran has always been complex in ways that nobody can understand, and when they finally think they do, he shows them that they never knew him at all. When he wants something, he’s quick to dive in and take it. He takes, takes, and takes. He’s quite cruel at times, it’s how he learned to survive.
(And Rindō learned that from him, too.)
If Izana were here, somewhere in another life, he knows you would still choose Ran — that’s probably what his brother is thinking. That cocky, confident smile tells all. And Ran is probably right about it, he always is, and he’s annoying about that fact, too.
Ran’s eyes have always been a shade darker than his. Yet, in this light, they seem to shine brighter than his.
“Ran!”
The both of them look up. You’re running over, there’s snow in your hair, frosting over. Your smile is bright, teeth showing, the snow around is sparkling. Ran’s smile is suddenly all soft.
“What?” Even his voice is all smiles, and internally, Rindō gags.
“Come here,” your hand pulls him along. Ran follows you like a dog.
And suddenly, it’s only the two of you in the world; moving slowly, kicking snow onto each other, pushing, running, hands never letting go. It’s pure, gentle, something so rare and hard to find, Rindō's heart shakes at the sight of Ran and you.
The idea of Ran and you.
He’s a little jealous, but he will never admit to something like that.
He thinks about taking a picture of Ran to show him how idiotic he looks, but in the end, he decides not to. Ran won’t see what he looks like in this light, unless, as cheesy as it sounds, through the reflection of your eyes.
—
January rolls around, the very first day of the year, and Yokohama’s seaside never seems to change. Dawn is blue, forever blue, you feel as if your soul is about to cry.
Ran had shown up at your apartment right before the hand of the clock struck midnight to no one’s surprise. Well, maybe, you were a little surprised. His brother was throwing a New Year’s party (one you had declined the invitation to), yet here Ran is with you. You ask why, to which he replies with, “I just wanted to see you.” And that is enough for you to let him inside.
The two of you attempt to stay up all night — that attempt is quick to fail, because you both become entangled in your bed, falling into slumber. And once your alarm sets off at five in the morning, you’re dragging Ran out of your bed, pulling his clothes off from your bedroom floor, and pushing him out the door. His hand in yours. You take him to your spot by the pier, almost jogging. It’s nearly six.
“Sleepyhead,” you eventually call out, glancing at the sleepy boy beside you. He could sleep anywhere, you think. It’s a fact known to everyone around him. “You are dozing off. You’ll miss the sunrise.”
After a few beats, your words register through his head. He lazily nods, almost as if he’s nodding off again. “If you don’t say anything, I think I really will pass out,” he mumbles back, voice groggy and deeper than usual from his sleepiness.
You ask, “What do you want me to say?”
“Anything.”
“Anything?”
“Mhm. . .”
You ponder for a moment, before asking, “Do you think people ever truly move on from their first love?”
This is enough to wake Ran up. The weight on your head is lifted, he shifts. “That’s heavy,” he breathes out.
“You said anything.”
It’s quiet for a moment before he gives you an answer.
“It depends on the person.” He turns his body to turn and look at you. “Why do you ask? Scared to move on or do you think you’ll never be able to?”
You don’t lift your gaze, settling on the waves below. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. You can feel his eyes on you and the smirk that is tugging on his lips, even though you know he is being serious with you. He wants to know. He needs to hear your answer. “I don’t know. . . Do you ever think about your first love?”
“Nah, I don’t think about things like that, sweetheart.”
“Liar. You could at least pretend and go along with me.” He smiles when you say this. You softly sigh, going along with his silence. “But fine. If you did think about those things, do you think you would eventually forget about them?”
Ran’s eyes flicker, violet hues staring deep into you, as he huffs a silent laugh — one that feels a little sad compared to his usual ones. “I think I would carry a part of them with me no matter how much time has passed.”
His words make you softly smile. And they feel a little sad, too. “I see. . . You are quite the romanticist,” you tease.
For some reason, you feel as if your teasing never seems to work against him, he remains as composed as he always is. He whispers, “Aren’t we all?”
It’s strange how easily Ran’s words bring comfort to you. In ways where you feel heard and seen even in darkness. Ran is always like that. There’s a part of you that will never forget Izana, not now or in another life. He will always be someone you love and cherish. Ran understands this — he understands you, never judging. You understand him, too, and that’s all that matters.
“Hey, Ran, can I ask you something?”
“You sure have a lot of questions today,” he says with both amusement and curiosity swimming in his tone. “Shoot. What else is running through that mind of yours?”
You open your mouth, then pause.
“Hm? What’s with the sudden hesitation? Is it something embarrassing?” he teasingly asks, nudging his shoulder against yours, prompting you to speak your mind. “You can tell me. Promise, I won’t laugh.”
You know he wouldn’t laugh at you — always with you. Never at you. You just can’t find the right words to say to him. [Or maybe the courage.]
“You know I don’t judge you.”
“You judge everyone, Ran.”
His smile drops, and his expression turns more serious than you would like. “Surely you know that you’re not everyone.” He asks, “You understand, don’t you?”
You quietly reply, “I know.”
“Then is it something bad?” His voice goes quiet, too.
“No, it’s just,” you deeply inhale, turning your head back to the sea, averting your gaze from those eyes that look at you so softly [tenderly, with his full adoration], it causes your heart to tighten every time. You fidget with the ends of your hair, exposing your nerves. Another short pause and then you breathe. “I think. . . I think I like you, Ran. Like, a lot, and it terrifies me. Maybe you don’t believe me—I would find it hard to believe, too, because of—”
“I believe you,” his reply comes immediately. Voice so clear among the waves and seagulls calling above. “I can tell. You make it quite obvious sometimes, it’s hard for me to ignore, y’know?”
You blink. “Oh. Um, is it really?” you meekly reply.
Ran hums and heat rises up to your ears in embarrassment. You don’t think you’re somebody who is that obvious. Your face no longer feels the coldness of winter brushing by, internally groaning. You guess it was obvious. The two of you kiss a lot, you’ve gone further than that on a few occasions, and he stays over at your apartment more often than not. It is obvious. But liking and loving someone are two completely different things. (Love. . .)
“I feel the same. But how I feel . . . it is probably too soon to say how I feel for you, so I will wait until you are sure you want this.” His hand brushes against yours — cold from the cement and winter air, pinky dragging across the back of your hand. “Not too long, though. My patience isn’t so gentlemanly.”
Your heart flutters, embarrassment shifting to shyness. I feel the same for you, too. You try to not burst out smiling, lightly biting down onto your lip. Your cheeks betray you. You can feel the heat rising against the wind.
“Oh? Is that what people call you now? I don’t recall you being that much of a gentleman.”
Ran scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Really now?” Beginning to mutter to himself about how he treats you so well, that he’s been born a gentleman — it’s engraved into the very depths of his soul. And to some degree, those words are true. Ran has been nothing but patient with you. Someone who is always there when you need it.
I will wait until you are sure you want this. You do want this, you want to be with him — with the person beside you now. You want us. “Me too,” you say as you gather more courage, leaning towards him a little, your hand rests on his shoulder as you stare straight into those pretty lavender eyes. “I am falling in love with you,” you say to him, more sure than before.
You don’t waver.
A second passes, a wave crashes.
“Mm, I missed what you said. Say it again for me, sweetheart,” he says with that signature smile to his soft, pink lips, “for me, please?”
His plea makes you roll your eyes. Ran loves attention — both good and bad. He loves pretty things and pretty words, even more when they hold something so precious and meaningful in them. I love you. I love you. I love you. I like you so, so much. I want to be with you, Ran. Ran, Ran, Ran — sweet words that have been whispered to him many times before in the past (and many more times in the future, including now).
You lean over, cherry lips brushing against his ear, as light as a feather. You whisper a confession. A heartfelt confession. The wind rushes by, his hair tickles your flushed cheek, and a sweet confession only for the two of you to know, drowned out by everything else in the world.
It’s just you and Ran.
Snow gently falls, your hand found itself in Ran’s, his fingers intertwined between yours. He doesn’t let go. You don’t let go. Even when the sun begins to rise over the blue horizon, not when you’re walking back to your apartment, not when Kakuchō and Rindō stop by later for dinner and Ran is doing nothing, but admiring you as you cook. Neither of you let go for a long, long time.
It’s just Ran and you.
#tokyo revengers#ran haitani#ran haitani x reader#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo rev x reader#haitani brothers
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I can never get enough of using these templates HDEJDHSKD [creds here]
They all have widely different dynamics :>c you can probably tell who im most fond of tbh 😭
Leshylamb are probably the most friendly towards eachother, they're in a qpr fun fact!! They bond the most easily but it's quite rare for them to catch up? Leshy is busy on missionary parties and then catching rest for a day, while Allure has to keep up with cult maintenance and usually their own personal crusades- but that explains these two deciding to go on a personal crusade with eachother. 😭 its really funny cuz leshy could be tossing allure up in the air and hes shouting at them like "SO HOW HAVE YOU BEEN DUDE!!!!!!" And allure casually swings a heretic head off and looks back at leshy like "OH IVE BEEN DOING RATHER DANDY!!!!!!!!!"
Lambket is ,, sorta uncommunicative...? Heket doesn't really have a clue on why Lamb likes her so much 😭🙏 theyre too afraid to tell her anything beyond that but thats just their brain still believing shes gonna get angry at anything they say. As much as she is a hothead (she has the hothead trait anyways), it's not like Allure is th subject of that nearly as much-- she's grown fond of Allure like how fond she is of Shamura, nothing can quite compare to that fondness of hers. They both feel like they need to walk on eggshells around eachother, but it's far from that verbatim, the relationship definitely needs more communication LAMFOSFJSL
Kallalamb... ouh. Oh Boy. Oh Man. The real times they "spend" time together are either,, COUGH, apparent Accidental Intimacy, or actually just bullying eachother 💀🙏 allure almost killed kallamar one time during sparring too and it left the two to not talk for what, like, WEEKS? Allure apologized for giving kallamar The Almost Casual Beheading and shi was like "im not fucking forgiving you" (shi proceeds to giggle and kick hir legs when they leave the tailor parlor because shi finds it funny whenever they apologize for something). Buut yeah,, Definitely Enemies,, with. With No Homosexual Intent (BRO ALLURE CAN READ YOUR THOUGHTS !!!!! THEY KNOW YOU'RE GAY !!!!!!)
Lambmura is domestic and theyre literally just like an old married couple- either getting on eachothers nerves (on purpose usually) or spending too much alone time together. Allure frequently asks to sleepover at Shamuras shelter because they like to sleep next to their spouse ,, shamura doesn't rlly like sleeping over at allures leader tent? So ? Theyre so domesticated and silly but Shamuras memory usually gets in the way and they feel like allure is dead if they dont see them for too long. Thats what usually triggers an episode within Shamura ,, so ,, Allures clinginess is a little Worsened because of that- trying to reassure Shamura theyre alive- shamura is the calm and collected one after all ,, they dont like seeing shamura genuinely upset
Narilamb is complex in itself. Narinder is the more or so clingy one, but its a little toxic...? Because hes a bit *too* codependent on them...? The main reason anyways is because narinder doesnt wanna experience death for a second time, he still recalls his original death already being,,, Brutal. ??? SO . HE KINDA HAS THAT RIGHT TO BE AFRAID . but thats the toxicity, because its not like Allure would want to kill narinder ever again?? He has high expectations for them and hes a mortal now. Allure is aware of these high expectations and just shrugs them off, cuz, well, what else are they meant to do in fixing Narinders issues if he isnt able to better himself? Narinder /eventually/ does get better mentally but even so its tough to describe their relationship without it being pretty toxic in the first place
,,, Annd with that , basically narilamb and leshylamb are in qprs! Kallalamb is more of. Like. A situationship? At that? Kallalamb usually has their private moments and theyre well aware of this, and yet they *still* choose to hate eachother LMAOOAOA theyre clearly able to stop putting up this act but at this point it feels Natural to continue this hate phase
But yeah!! They all have complexities, even if it doesnt seem too like it!! Very fun to build these pairings up :>c
#sydneys doodles#lambket was the first template i did if that wasnt obvious lol-#I wanted to make a difference between snapshots cuz heket is completely mute So \^o^/#Lambmura sweep that one was my favorite to do </3#cotl#cult of the lamb#mystic pursuit#lamb#the lamb#leshy#heket#kallamar#shamura#narinder#leshylamb#lambket#kallalamb#lambmura#narilamb#YIPPPEEEEEE🎉🎉🎉Im gonna get lunch now masalama 🚶#DAMN ??? TOOK ME AN HOUR TO WRITE ???? Well no it makes sense i had to keep fixing some mistakes. Also theyre all lesbian sorry💔#I barely see anyone have lesbian hcs of the bishops so dont smite me i am just a wee little lesbian your honor
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i’m so busy at work but literally all i wanna do is daydream about how louis and lestat are handling the snow in nola 🥺 i think louis would prefer to spend the evening by the fire, reading and watching the snow out the window, though i’m sure lestat drags him outside eventually so that they can enjoy the novelty of meandering the city and seeing their favorite spots all covered in snow
and maybe lestat makes fun of louis for being so sensitive to the cold, and maybe louis complains about how new orleans was never meant to withstand the heavy snowfall in the first place. and maybe lestat presses him up against the brick wall on the side of pirate’s alley and kisses his frostbitten lips until he’s warm again :)
#seeing these photos of the snow in nola is craaaaaazy!#louis de pointe du lac#lestat de lioncourt#loustat#headcanon
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Saccharine
Sinbad x female! reader
Summary: You’re tired of Sinbad’s constant advances towards you. Trying to outsmart him, you make a deal with him, thinking he’ll easily lose.
Cw: obsessive, manipulative and possessive Sinbad / story is slightly suggestive / slight gore mention (Sinbad is offering you his eye as a promise though he knows you’d never take it) / I’m not done with manga, so this is based on the anime version and some chapters. Word count: around 6,3k
With another sea creature being caught and slaughtered by Sinbad’s generals, it was time for another Maharagan festival of this year, with this, to feed people of Sindria and reassure them they’re safe—even when surrounded by deadly sea. You had to admit that Sinbad’s idea was genius, even if it was also a show for tourists. Sindria was prosperous under this man’s guidance.
You, a very citizen of Sindria, loved to attend the ceremony and have fun with all the other people, drink, dance and eat to your heart’s content. The only issue was the presence of the king himself—despite your constant rejection towards his advances, Sinbad had never given up. No, your reluctance only drove his motivation, no matter how harassed and annoyed it might have made you feel. It was as if he saw it as a challenge, a game, though you could often notice his frustration as well, compelled by something bigger than lust.
You had him question himself a lot—if every other woman (maybe besides Yamuraiha, but she was his general so it didn’t count) was falling at his feet, blushing and giggling when being flirted with and flattered—how come were you this immune? Was there something wrong with him or you? Was he repulsive to you or was he just not your type? It was a constant dilemma he had, and a source of entertainment and annoyance for his generals, especially Ja’far.
Little did he know, it was simply a matter of having self respect and self awareness. You weren’t stupid, you had eyes and knew Sinbad was extremely handsome, intelligent and fun guy. What truly bothered you were his womanizing behavior. You didn’t want to give a chance to a man who’d only see you as another conquer, another woman on his list, another woman to play… and even if he would ever want to be committed with you, you doubted his ability to be loyal. You’d rather die than see Sinbad flirt with other women while being in relationship with you. You were sure, that he was sitting on his chair as usual, women on each of his legs and on his sides, all fighting who gets to touch their lord.
But Sinbad was so egoistic, he’d probably assume you’re just playing hard to get, or into women. Because surely you have to be interest in your own gender, instead of simply not interested in him, when every woman was different. Sinbad wouldn’t accept the truth.
The fun you had with Yamuraiha, was quickly cut short, when you heard a voice that you grew to be displeased about, as if pavloved to react negatively. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
“Having fun, my ladies?” Sinbad’s voice was full of mellow, not at all unmotivated or offended when he saw your smile automatically die, just to be a stone cold face.
With you and Yam sitting by the table, one of many placed in the warm nightly outside, Sinbad seated himself right next to your friend. Of course he could have seated himself right next to you, but then he wouldn’t have such a pleasant view, of you in your pretty and somewhat revealing tunic. It was as if just sleeves’ mesh material was teasing him. Sinbad smiled at you, usual charm on his lips.
“We were, until you came along,” said Yamuraiha with a sigh. Being drunk, she was prone to complain more than usual, but you shared her sentiment. She knew what Sinbad’s presence meant—him trying to win you over again, something she didn’t wish to see. So she was standing up quickly. “I’d rather get refill than see him hit on you again,” she said grumpily and was walking away already, leaving you alone with the king. “Yam, wait—” you clicked your tongue. Leaving you with Sinbad was so cruel of your friend. You looked at Sinbad, making him smile wider when he got your attention. Of course he’d take advantage of her departure.
“What do you want, Sinbad?” you finally asked with exasperation. Anyone else calling him by first name would be deemed as inappropriate, but it was Sinbad himself who told you to call him just that, the first time his female general introduced you to him as her old friend from Magnostadt academy, coming to Sindria to work for its palace. Of course, you refused this the first time, thinking it’s not in your place to speak so openly with a king. Yet with time and frustrations he put you through, you quickly forgot about being polite—give Sinbad an inch and he’ll take a mile.
“So rude, my lady. Can’t a man talk to the most beautiful woman at this festival?” he said with feigned dramatics, putting his hand at chest, before it was grabbing yours across the table. You tried to take it back, but his grip was tight, forcing you to hold his hand for a while until he decides he’s really crossing your boundary.
“I’m sure that’s what you tell every woman, and the logic says only for one it can be true,” you said bluntly, only making him chuckle. If you’d actually know, what he thinks of you, you’d be surprised. Sinbad had misconceptions about you, but it was mutual for both sides.
“Logically, objectively, I’m sure what I’m saying is nothing but true about you.” You noticed a little, pouty frown on his face when you didn’t blush at his honest compliment. Women back at his seat, waiting for him obediently, yet impatiently, would surely eat up his words.
“It doesn’t change the fact you’d call every woman here beautiful,” you rebutted. Were you wrong? Most definitely not, but Sinbad actually loved bantering with you. At least, that’s what he saw your discussion as, if you were not so eager to talk to him. The way you always challenged him, the way you knew how to debunk his words, the way you didn’t give up, the way you said something so witty occasionally… you were very good at stimulating his intellect. You didn’t coddle him, you didn’t please him, you were fair and square. He was a king, he was a conqueror of the seven seas, but in moments like this, you made him feel like just Sinbad.
But he had to win you over eventually. Only then, he’d be able to rest easily. He’d never admit it openly, but Sinbad was honestly obsessed with you. It wasn’t just some passing attraction, just pure lust towards your body. If anything, it was your person that got him this crazy. Sinbad loved all women, but arguably, he’s never met someone on your level, who saw right through him so easily, exposed him and made sure to play smart with him. You didn’t give unless you knew you’ll be rewarded. You were cruel enough to treat him like another person.
And his patience was slowly falling away. Every free time of the day, hell, even during his work, he couldn’t stop thinking about what it’d be like to hold you, to provoke you, to hear your mind, to make you spill pretty sounds as you’re under him… maybe even on top, if it floats your boat, your another challenge of putting him in his place.
Albeit, he was scared of being in love with you, and baring himself even more for you.
“Y/N,” Sinbad suddenly said, after the uncomfortable silence with your hand in his. Hearing your name, you were about to answer, but your friend came to your rescue, even if it was for her drunk need of dancing with you. No matter how childish it was, you stuck out your tongue at him, especially fueled by alcohol in your bloodstream. Sinbad laughed, but when you were out of his sight, he sighed. He was about to ask you something, and Yamuraiha took you away from him.
“Someone’s being rejected again, it seems,” Ja’far teased from behind, as he found Sinbad in his usual spot whenever the festival happened—right where you were. He sat down right next to his king, and refilled his wine glass without having to be asked. He knew Sinbad better than anyone, even if the knowledge he carried is heavy on his heart sometimes.
“I’m not being rejected, she’s just playing hard to get with me,” Sinbad groaned, before gulping down an entire cup. Alcohol only made him more irritable, it was never good for him either, especially when he ended up in random women’s beds.
“Surely that’s right, Sin,” Ja’far said condescendingly. “Have you ever considered the fact, that y/n is simply not interested in you and you’re only inconveniencing her?” The cold look Sinbad send Ja’far made him somewhat nervous, but he knew he had to push, for both yours and Sinbad’s sake. Even Sindria’s, as Sinbad couldn’t afford any distractions.
“You don’t understand, Ja’far. I won’t be able to rest, until I at least get a kiss from her… this woman is driving me crazy, but I am too deep in this mud to withdraw now,” he whined, and his coldness was now nothing but brattiness, a child who couldn’t get a candy before dinner, when he put his head on the wooden table, looking at Ja’far with lament. It was only so rare, when Sinbad would reveal his true emotions like a moment ago, even more scary.
“What about how she feels?”
“She won’t have to deal with me annoying her anymore, if she just gives in,” Sinbad said as if it was an acceptable solution. “Thats not how it works, Sin. You can’t just wear her down until she says yes.”
Sinbad knew that, somewhat. He was just selfish, not wanting to give up on you. It doesn’t mean he’d mistreat you or anything. At this point, you can even ask to become his wife and queen of Sindria, if it’d mean you’re only his, and actually his. He didn’t want to marry before meeting you, but certain measures were necessary, it seemed to be the case with you. He’d spoil you to your heart’s content, especially when money was no issue for him. The only issue would be making you say yes.
“Then how do I win her over, fairly?” Sinbad asked seriously, knowing Ja’far had no answer. He was met with silence, as shorter man knew you’d rather go to jail than say yes to his king.
“Just let her be, Sin. It’s the time you finally accept your defeat.” His advisor’s words had the opposite effect. The tan man felt only more obliged to win your heart, and his quiet rage was back. “As if I ever could, Ja’far.”
“Sinbad, you seriously need to stop—” he was getting frustrated with his friend’s stubbornness, but then, something was up, when Sinbad was suddenly sitting up and looking into the groups of dancing people.
Sinbad heard your laughter. And as sensitive he became to noticing any changes with you after trying to win your affections for so long, he knew this laughter was worse than usual. It was way too sultry, and if it wasn’t directed towards him, it could have meant only one thing-some man was hitting on you.
His eyes were wide, and he was suddenly very aware of his surroundings, as if on the hunt. “Uh-oh,” Ja’far thought, as he spotted you first and knew what seeing you with another man can mean for Sinbad. No matter how much of a hypocrite it would make his lord, he knew Sinbad wouldn’t accept another man coming onto you. He flirted with other women, but that’s just the way he was, nothing special, so you weren’t allowed to be flirted with—that was Sin’s twisted logic. Ja’far knew you’d probably slap Sinbad if he said this to your face.
“Sinbad, wait—” Ja’far was begging to panic as he saw the king stand up from his seat. He didn’t want him to embarrass himself, to cause you trouble or spread some weird rumors with his behavior, one itd be Ja’Far’s responsibility to clean. But Sinbad was like an animal, walking swiftly towards where you and some disgusting man were dancing, his hand on your waist.
Just a mere moment later, before you’d even notice notice Sinbad’s approach, you were already, suddenly, in his arms and few steps away from the man you were dancing with before. It was now his hand on your waist, other on your shoulder. The man having you before, was confused as you disappeared so quickly, and couldn’t locate you in the storm of dancing couples. All thanks to Sinbad’s swiftness and cunningness, dragging you away from another man without raising up any scene.
“What the hell are you doing, S-” you started angrily, but he cut you off first, bringing you close to him, chest to chest, forcing your chin up. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” he asked somewhat angrily, and you have never seen him in this state. You were even more confused. It was as if he thought you’re not allowed to talk to other men, while he can flirt with anything moving, and you weren’t even in relationship with him. You now were angry yourself. What an audacity, to think everything you do is about him, then accuse you!
You were about to slap him in the face, not so proper of you, but you felt somewhat justified after him constantly bothering you and now being controlling. Sinbad’s reflexes stopped you before you cut his cheek with your hand, but hurt and surprise flashed his eyes. Did you really hate him that much, that you’d try to hit him? He could have guessed, despite his big pride, that if you were reaching levels of violence with him, he must have pissed you off greatly. A mean and sharp comment is what he’d get at most normally, maybe you walking away too. But not a slap, especially if he was a king.
Holding your wrist in his hand, you wriggling with madness, Sinbad decided that you’d do better in somewhere more quiet, before you two would start yelling at each other and disturb everyone partying around you. With same wrist in his hand, he was dragging you away to the garden with a fountain of the palace, somewhere where you can have a private conversation. With the emotions coursing through his veins, he had to control his grip to not hurt you. Any protests and curses you were spilling, he was not answering before he’d have you away from this mess.
You were soon seated on the stone bench, surrounded by all kinds of plants covering you two from being caught. Sinbad stood in front of you, his arms, making you feel vulnerable as his tall form towered over you. He was still silent, looking at you with an unclear to you emotion, and gathering his thoughts.
“Who was that?” he finally asked, frowning. Your annoyance grew. “And why would I tell you that? I’m allowed to speak to other men.”
Sinbad squeezed on his biceps. You had no idea how much your words provoked some sense of possessiveness in him. “You are,” he said through his teeth. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to care,” you said bluntly, momentarily making him laugh at your usual talk, though he quickly was heated again. “I don’t like the sight though. You always reject me, but the moment another man flirts with you, you’re in his arms. How is that fair?” he said gruffly. You rolled your eyes.
“Sinbad, it’s not meant to be fair. I don’t owe you any attraction. I can choose who I want. Not to mention what a hypocrite you are,” you said seriously. “How come you can flirt with other women, but say I can’t flirt with others? You’re so disgusting with it too, because at least I don’t flirt with him while flirting with you.” You always hated this. Sinbad chasing you, while flirting with multiple women. He wasn’t taking you seriously or showing you how much he wants you, if you received the same treatment. You weren’t special in any sense, if every woman and you heard same things from him.
You clearly hit the spot with your words. Sinbad was aware, that technically, you were right. But not everything was black and white, so his perception of the situation was warped. Yes, he flirted with other women, but it wasn’t as serious as with you, and it was just an old habit. While you, you flirted with people you actually were interested in; so not just anyone. That man, for all Sinbad knew, could have been your future husband, if everything would go well for you both.
But he noticed how much his hypocrisy displeased you, and if it bothered you so much, perhaps there was some truth to your words. How were you supposed to trust him, if his eyes are everywhere? Which didn’t mean he wasn’t frustrated with you, or tired of the chase. At first it was just some game for him, a challenge to conquer that one elusive, unreachable for him woman. He’d catch you, then release you. But the more he had a chance to know you, it wasn’t a joke anymore. He was caught in your web before you and he knew it, and now every rejection felt like a small loss, not excitement to go further.
So, Sinbad felt resigned. If his usual methods didn’t work, and he was plenty of manipulative and cunning to win against anyone else, he’d reach the begging stage for you, if he had to. With a sigh, he squatted down, staying on one knee, lowering himself to your level. He grabbed your hand, once again not letting you go.
“If nothing I try is successful, then please, just tell me what will. Whatever it is that I need to prove myself worthy of you, I will,” Sinbad said with determination, though what truly throw you off was the sound of desperation in his tone. “Be honest with me.”
You blinked twice, wondering what was going on, and you had to admit, his words worked on you for a moment, even if mere. But then your mind reminded you of the same scene, just with a princess of Kou Empire. Back then, he was trying to manipulate young Kougyoku with same tactic, while never meaning his affection towards her. He was only taking advantage of her young naivety to get deals he wanted, just when you were taking a walk in same garden. The disgust you felt that day…
That’s why you might as well be his next victim. You were about to tell him there’s nothing that could make him a man you’d entrust your feelings and body with, until a sudden idea popped into your mind. You were plenty of smart yourself, and you just found something that could possibly keep Sinbad away from you permanently.
“There’s one thing you could try,” you said with a small smile, enjoying the look of surprise on his face. “Really?” he asked with newfound enthusiasm. “What is it?”
“Prove it to me that you can be loyal. Stop flirting with anyone else than me. Don’t even look at them.”
When Sinbad looked taken back, you felt smug as hell. Surely, you’ve just given him a challenge that he could never win. No way he can let go of his old habits, something that started when he was just a teenager. “In fact, let’s make a deal,” you continued. “If you don’t flirt with anyone else for a month, I’ll give you a chance, we’ll go on a date. If you lose, you’ll never bother me again.”
Sinbad stayed still, his expression clearly troubled, as his head was stormed with thoughts. The question of whether he could do it, the question of how hard it’d be to stop, the question of if he’d even like this… but also, realizing how often he found himself comparing women he met with you, or the odd sense of dissatisfaction.
He had nothing to lose at this point. This was probably his only chance with you, and he couldn’t screw this up. “Deal,” he said seriously.
Hearing his words, you had to bite down a giggle. He’ll lose, and you finally will be free of his unwanted advances. You really had no trust in his self-control when it came to women.
☆
It was a first week of your given challenge that has passed. Of course, you weren’t able to be there all the time to check if Sinbad was either winning or losing, so you asked Ja’far to keep an eye on Sinbad for you. You were ready for his report, confirming that Sinbad indeed had lost.
Approaching Ja’far in his office, you were quick to ask.
“Sinbad? Surprisingly, I haven’t seen him flirt with anyone for past week. Not even when drunk. It seems he’s quite proud to want to win,” Ja’far admitted, leaving you rather shocked. But… what was a week if there were there were three more left? He has to get frustrated and starved enough eventually.
☆
A second week, you’ve heard the same thing from Ja’far. Something you clearly couldn’t believe, starting to question Ja’far’s credibility. You knew he was a good man, but in the end, he would always take Sinbad’s side out of loyalty to him.
“You’re playing with me right now,” you said annoyed.
“I assure you I’m not, miss Y/N. Even if Sinbad would ask me to lie to you, in this case I wouldn’t. It’d be beneficial for his kingdom, if he was to lose this challenge,” Ja’far rebutted with seriousness. “His mind is everywhere these days, and I don’t want Lord Sinbad to stray away from work. Though, it is a pleasant change, to see him keep some decency for once.”
When you left Ja’far’s office, it was Sinbad you happened to run into.
He smiled cockily at you, knowing you couldn’t believe he didn’t lose yet. That he didn’t flirt with any woman. Not giving him a chance to speak, knowing what he wanted to say, you scoffed. “It doesn’t mean anything. I have no guarantee, you wouldn’t go back to your old habit once you win and I give you a chance.”
Of course the challenge you’d given to him, didn’t apply to just that one month. If you were to date him, you wouldn’t be fine with him flirting with other then either. He’d have to stay this loyal, as you had some standards and boundaries. You didn’t want to be hurt because he was attracted to other women while being with you, or have to live in worry he might take it one step further one day.
But hearing your words, his smile died, replaced with solemnity. “You really have no faith in me, huh?”
“Don’t act like a victim, when you built this reputation for yourself,” you said sternly, and you turned around to leave.
You were right, of course. It was years of Sinbad and multiple countries working towards his infamous reputation. As he watched you go, despite your words biting right at his being, he felt even more determined to prove you wrong. He’ll show you, that he’s deadly serious about you, and soon, you’ll be in his arms, somewhere he’d never let you go from. There was no way in hell he’d ruin his only and last chance.
☆
When third week came, you were losing your mind. You couldn’t listen to Ja’far telling you that Sinbad is still not giving up for the third time. It was all suspicious, that someone who could have never controlled himself around women, was now suddenly a proper man, celibate and monogamous. Though his lack of harem always confused you. Any other king or prince had at least concubines. Maybe it was his need for equality within the world.
You weren’t believing Ja’far anymore, nor even your friend Yamuraiha who said she didn’t see anything. You were just paranoid at this point, living in uncertainty, so you had to take matters into your own hands. The plan you came up with, was to send some beautiful woman towards Sinbad, and spy from afar to see what he’ll do. You managed to find one of the female servants, one you knew was notoriously blushing near his presence, and send her to him, telling her Sinbad wanted a massage. The young woman, she was eager to go immediately.
You followed her, and hid behind the wall, as you watched her enter the lounging room, where Sinbad was resting on the pillows, reading some documents. Servant had even lowered the line of her tunic, making sure her cleavage is bigger, before she was kneeling in front of him. “My lord, I’m here to give you a massage,” she said, batting her pretty eyes at him.
Sinbad looked up at her, surprised as he didn’t remember anything about making such request. You saw some eagerness on his face for a second, looking at the woman with intention, but oddly it was quickly replaced with something like a disappointment. You theorized what was going inside his head, to lose interest so easily and even more, why he’d look so beaten up over the flirt… but nothing made sense to you.
“A massage? No, I’m alright. You can finish your work for today, go rest,” he said politely to the girl, and looked back at his document, as if disinterested. He clearly embarrassed the girl, as she quickly left.
You were proven wrong, and it not only frustrated you, but shocked on another level. You barely managed to hide before she’d see you, and kept standing there in shock.
A half a minute later, Sinbad blew up your cover. “Are you going to stand there like a pervert?” he teased, knowing you’re right there behind the entrance in the wall. You revealed yourself, looking at him on the floor in dissatisfaction. “Was she not to your type or something?”
“Hm? No, I’m just not interested. I have all I need right here,” he said playfully, lazily tilting his head with a charming smile. He obviously meant you, and you didn’t like the rare twist of your stomach his words caused. You were also getting worried, as you had only a week left, before Sinbad would win and you’d owe him a date.
A date. Just a date. While you said that you’ll give him a chance, even if he wins this deal, of course he can easily ruin his won chance. As a result, you still will have a chance to reject him fully. Just one flirt with another woman while you’re dating, and you can say he ruined his only chance and leave.
“Don’t get cocky yet, Sinbad,” you said, filled with determination to prove him wrong eventually, and turned around to leave. Just one step into the exit, you were forced back onto his hard chest, and felt his strong arms envelop you like a snake. He moved way too fast. He then leaned into your ear, to whisper, “Soon. Just you wait, my lovely. No need to test me with other women.”
He smiled even more when he saw you storm away after you managed to free yourself from his grip, all annoyed at his physical affection. If only you could know what he thought, when he saw that servant approach him. Yes, the woman was very pretty. But recently, nothing could have compared to you, and he started to think that you massaging him would be much better. Whether there was a more beautiful woman in the world or not, it was a whole lot of different stuff that made him want you. Until he no longer had as much fun flirting with other ladies, as he used to.
You were making this challenge way too easy for him.
☆
You lost. Sinbad won. After a month, there was no documented moments of Sinbad flirting with anyone other than you, even more than before to your dislike, teasing you about your upcoming loss. You played yourself by yourself, falling into the trap of your own game.
In fact, your challenge had caused a chaos in the palace. Servants were wondering why Sinbad wasn’t hitting on them anymore, others were theorizing he must have gained some bodily disfunction, and the rest was conspiring he must have fell in love…the last one, it wasn’t hard to connect to you, considering you were the one he went after much more than once, constantly on the chase. With that, some stupid gossip you’re getting married and Sindria will have a queen or consort too.
You couldn’t have it. You couldn’t even eat that morning when a month has passed. After waking up, Ja’far brought you to Sinbad’s office, as he wanted to talk to you. You expected another one of cocky smiles of his, but instead, were met with joy and excitement when entering his office.
Sinbad stood up immediately, approaching you to pull out a chair for you. “There you are. We have a lot to discuss, don’t we?” he asked positively and sat down back in his seat. And you felt embarrassed to admit you lost, though you were still holding to that chance he’ll lose when dating you. Despite, you felt as if you owed him that date, having some decorum to keep your words. You nodded.
“Great. You know, I’m really happy I won, fair and square,” he started, a proud smile on his face. “No need to worry about your rejections anymore.” Your eye twitched. “You don’t need to worry about anything either, I promise you I won’t ruin this chance I fought for.”
“How can you be so sure?” you asked, killing his excitement a bit. But he was too invested now that he won, that his determination didn’t waver.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked, accusingly.
“You might have lasted a month. But can you stay away from other women, for possibly many more?” you said seriously. You had to admit, that he positively surprised you with his win, that he had enough respect for you to restrain himself so much, that perhaps there was some affection for you he had. But you just didn’t want to give up your heart on the platter, for him to crush it like he did with some women.
Your concern didn’t surprise Sinbad. A month away from other women, he was given a lot time to think about you, and try to understand why you’re behaving this way, with some help from Ja’far. You weren’t actually playing hard to get. You were hard to get, because you didn’t want to be played by him. You were smart to be wary, and you saw through his manipulations better than other women, so your reasons for your constant rejections was simply you trying to protect yourself.
But you needed to understand he was serious about you. All these women he flirted with, it was to fill the void he couldn’t fill entirely. Yet you, you were enough to satisfy his emptiness’ hunger, until he now no longer can see a woman without thinking of you or comparing her to you. No one compared, and he was scared no one ever will, that he’ll have to exhaust you with his presence, and himself, with his obsession, for the rest of your lives. He’d never admit this, but one time, he hooked up with a woman that looked a lot like you, just to imagine it was you. Between choosing an ability to continue being a womanizer and having you, he’d choose you.
“I know I will,” he said with all seriousness and stood up from his desk. “For many reasons, but one of them is—I know you wouldn’t hesitate to reject me once more, if I was to flirt or lay with a woman again.”
He could have imagined this in his head, imagining you telling it’s over. He couldn’t have that, especially when he knew you were, unluckily for him, too strong willed to give him second chances or stay upon such disrespect.
And you had to admit he had a point. He got you there. You knew that already, of course, you just didn’t know he’d acknowledge this fact. You thought he’d assume he can make you so obsessed with him, that you’d stay even after hurting you like this.
“Still…” you were running out of excuses, but you held onto the last one in your mind. It was hard to think with him now standing in front of your chair, being oddly vulnerable and honest with you. For once, you knew he wasn’t hiding anything. You gulped. “Yes?” he asked softly. Stupid man, making you feel flustered.
“While it’s true you can stop yourself from flirting with other women… I don’t want you to do this just because it’s convenient. I wanted you to do this, because you wanted to, because you wanted to respect me and wanted me only. I also don’t want you to throw me away once you get bored.
Sinbad suddenly grabbed your hand and placed it on his chest. You were surprised to hear his heart beating so fast, in something else than a lust. With you being a magician, a category of people taught to know a lot about human bodies, you were aware it was more like nervousness and affectionate arousal caused by being near someone you love. “Do you feel my heart beat for you?” You nodded, your hand trembling slightly. “I’ll admit the truth. At first, I was separating myself from my lust only to have you. But now, it only feels right. I don’t want anyone else, but you. I saw it as a game at first. Now I can’t sleep without you.”
His heart was so fast, you had hard time telling if he’s honest or not; albeit you felt as if he was telling the truth, when his eyes were slightly trembling upon new vulnerability, searching for your acceptance everywhere in yours.
Sinbad leaned close to your face, still holding your hand against his chest, his being nothing but determined. “And if you ever see me do otherwise, I’m giving you a permission to gouge my eye out, so I’ll never look at another woman with it again.” To make his point, he lifted your hand up, and placed it right across his left golden eye.
You gasped at his words, quickly snatching your hand back. He actually meant them, and the fact he’d go so far to promise you loyalty, you had no right to have any of your doubts left. He’d never go this far for anyone but you, yet at the same time, something about this scared you. Who would mutilate themselves, just to earn your love? A madman? Or just Sinbad?
“You’re an idiot, don’t you ever think of doing that, even if you end up lying to me!” you exclaimed with some panic, not wanting him to hurt himself over slight infidelity. Yeah, he bothered you in the past, but this would be a punishment too strict, and his people needed him healthy.
“I won’t,” he chuckled, feeling warm at your concern and satisfied by your slip up. You really weren’t taking his words as cautiously as you should this time, because he already knew you’d never take out his eyes, being safe from the start; so making this promise just to make you believe was easy. Yet he didn’t lie—the promise was real, and he really won’t look at other women again. He put your hand up again, right to his lips to kiss it, and this time, it didn’t feel repulsive like it used to be for you. “Since I won’t be breaking that promise.”
“You better be, though I wouldn’t let you do something so stupid,” you said, your voice regularly becoming less harsh with each proof of worth Sinbad had given you. He was winning you over, just like he wanted. Sinbad used to bring you more trouble than it was worth, but no man had ever, and you doubted any would ever come up with this, would go this far to have you. You sighed with feigned resignation. “With that, I owe you a chance, and I’m admitting my defeat. Satisfied?” you teased, and it felt so delightful to see you smile at him.
“Very,” he said with a grin.
When Sinbad pressed his lips onto yours, you first hesitated, used to the unpleasant feeling his advances sometimes brought you, even if he never had crossed any of the bigger boundaries. But him holding your face so softly, after he proved himself for you like some chivalrous knight, bared himself for you, made a pact with you—the moment felt so right, especially when you felt reassured enough to kiss him back.
Yet you couldn’t help a feeling of being swallowed by some part of Sinbad, still alarmed by his weird promise. It’s his eye he promised to give you, but what is it, that you will have to give him too?
With your eyes closed, you didn’t see his eyes darkening. To finally have you, was a win greater than ever. Sinbad wasn’t naive to believe all he had for you was affection. His sense of possessiveness, especially with how greedy he was; lust for you and need to consume you, it all fought against his affection and feelings for you. But those feelings—they were genuine, and once he had you, you’re never leaving his side again, and you will spend your remaining days making his heart tremble like this, over and over.
If he ever has to kill a man, anyone threatening your placement beside his side, he will do so with no hesitation. That darkness he had inside himself, it will always follow both of you. You had every right to be wary of him the entire time, and he almost felt pity for you. Almost, as you were his now.
But he’ll make sure to cherish you regardless, no matter how many times you will get scared of him.
#magi sinbad x reader#sinbad x reader#sinbad magi#magi kingdom of magic#tcdwrites#magi the labyrinth of magic
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Blood and Chains
Chapter Nine- Healing Hands, Hungry Hearts
beautiful art by @aransmind !!!
Choso x F!reader
Previous | Chapter Index | Chapter 10 coming soon!
Content: fluff and smut, comfort, girls' night, bath time, multiple POV, drinking, oral (f! receiving) MDNI!!
The first week of healing you spent trapped inside the walls of Choso’s apartment. He wouldn’t let you out of his sight the entire time, unable to stop thinking about your frail mortality. It was as if he thought you might keel over and die the second you were out of view. The only ounce of privacy you received was when you needed a bathroom break, which he would wait impatiently right outside the door until you were finished.
You understood what Yuji meant about Choso being a helicopter parent now.
Though it wasn’t always suffocating in his home. Over the past week you started forming a bond with Yuji. The two of you teaming up to torment Choso, poking fun at his age of 150 by calling him ‘old man’. He hates it, you know he does, but the love for his two favorite people becoming friends grounds him.
Living with Choso came with its perks too. Three meals a day prepared by your new favorite chef. Options ranging from french toast to sushi. Whatever your heart desired he would make that day. He made sure you were comfortable during your recovery, fetching you anything you needed and providing as many cuddles as you could handle. Then at night, Yuji would join the two of you in a round of games or watching a movie. It felt like being part of a family with them, you felt like this was where you belonged.
After a week, Choso finally allowed you to return home. You appeared to be fully healed, the wounded flesh quickly evolving into a scar that looked like it had existed for years. It was inhuman how quickly it had healed, thanks to the help of Dr. Ieiri’s cursed technique as Choso had explained. Still, there were lingering pricks of pain that would radiate from the wound and shoot through your entire body. Sometimes brought on by a sudden movement and sometimes for no reason at all.
It was more of an inconvenience than anything, the pain always seeming to announce its presence when either you or Choso tried to make a move on the other. Both of you were desperate to finish what was started that night, but each sting of discomfort caused him to blame himself. It was getting to the point where he was afraid to even touch you, acting as if some invisible wall separated you from him.
It was worse than torture. At this point, you were willing to risk the pain if it would also lead you to satisfy the aching need for him.
You were finally home and attempting to fall back into your usual schedule. As much as Choso loved taking care of you, you needed to regain some semblance of independence. However, with classes out until autumn and the time off from work you were given, there wasn’t much to do other than housework. Something Choso wouldn’t let you do when you stayed at his apartment. He wouldn’t even let you lift a finger, taking care of all the dishes and laundry while you sat on his couch and watched, it honestly made you feel useless.
You just finished dusting every corner of your home, the place looked spotless. Tonight, you planned to gather with your friends, Emi and Suki. You had told them you were in the hospital due to a stabbing on the street, a truth and a lie all at the same time. They freaked out, of course, if only they knew about the creature that caused said ‘stabbing’.
You assured them you were ok, that it was a minor injury. Another lie. Yet they still wanted to come see you, and you agreed. It has been a while since you have made time to see them. Tonight would be a girls night just like how you used to do it.
There were still a couple hours until the time they agreed to come over, you started mentally calculating when to throw the snacks in the oven. The front door swings wide open, startling you. They never arrive early, if anything they are always late.
But it wasn't them.
In walks Choso, looking beyond exhausted. Ever since you went back to your own place, he has been coming to check on you every night. More for his own sanity if anything. He even started sharing small details about his day with you, what curses he encountered and bragging about how quick he was to dispatch them. Nothing was a secret anymore, opening a whole world of trust between both of you.
But you have never seen him quite like this. He walked further into the room, eyelids droopy and focused on the floor ahead of him. Hair fallen out from his pigtails and plastered to his sweaty face. You take a step forward, worried he might collapse from fatigue any second now.
He wasn't supposed to be here tonight. You told him that your friends were coming over so he didn’t need to come by. He agreed even, thought it would be good for you to see them after so long.
“Cho? What are you doing here?” He lifts his head when you ask, eyes dull. He looks almost lifeless. Whatever he had just been through clearly left him drained. His lips turn down in a small frown.
“Sorry, I forgot.” He turns his head slightly and you notice smears of crimson clinging to his cheek and trickling down his neck. The uniform on his body caked in dirt and more blood.
“Are you hurt!” You rush forward until you stand directly in front of him. All he can manage is a shake of the head no. You reach for his chin, tilting his face in every angle to examine him. “What about all this blood?”
“It’s not mine,” he closes his eyes, dark purple circles a testament to his lack of energy. “I can heal myself, remember? It's going to take a lot more than that to take me down.” He lets out a low chuckle.
“I had a long day, there were a lot of them. I’m just tired.” He explains with a drawn-out sigh. Choso mentioned that creatures like the one who attacked you, transfigured humans, were popping up in droves around the city. Each day there were more than the last. Keeping him and all the other sorcerers busy, day and night.
You couldn’t possibly send him away in his current state, not when he looks about to pass out. Plus, there is still time to kill before your friends arrive, maybe you should repay your boyfriend’s care with some of your own.
“Come on, let's get you cleaned up.” You grab his hand and lead him toward the bathroom. Once inside, you walk over toward the bathtub and turn on the faucet. A hand under the stream until it reaches the perfect temperature, hot but not scalding. You allow the water to fill up until the tub is full.
“Clothes off.” You hold your hands out, waiting for him to shed his soiled uniform.
“Okay bossy,” he chuckles as he removes each item and places it within your outstretched arms. This is the first time you have seen him fully naked, and you waste no time inspecting every muscle with an appreciative gaze. Every line on his chiseled stomach, every scar that marks his skin. Following the trail of dark hairs until it leads you to the thick length between his thighs.
You knew he was big, you had seen the outline of it through his clothes many times. But you never would have believed he was that big. Now you understand why he has been so adamant on waiting until you were fully recovered, that thing would destroy you. Yet the thought only makes you want him more.
You have to force yourself to tear your eyes away from your shameless staring. Though it seems he hadn’t noticed, his eyes half shut as he walks over to the bath and lowers himself to the water. He immediately grabs a washcloth and begins wiping the blood from his face.
“Be right back,” you tell him before exiting the bathroom and walking to the closet that hid your washing machine. You try to focus all your energy on scrubbing out the stains in his clothing, needing something to get your mind off the heat pooling in your core. He was clearly drained of all his stamina, now wasn’t the time for these thoughts.
You pad into the bathroom once again, steam filling the air and casting a fog over the mirror. You set his fresh change of clothes on the bathroom vanity, something comfortable to help hide away the stress of his day. Choso is leaning back, head lolled to the side and eyes closed. He looked so peaceful while he was relaxing…or maybe he's just asleep?
You were about to exit, giving him his privacy while you continued getting ready for your friends to arrive, but his voice stopped you. You were surprised he even knew you were there.
“Mmm…come to join?” He hums in question.
“Do you want me to join?”
“Mhm.” He slowly nods his head, hair wet and smelling of your expensive conditioner you keep begging him not to use.
“Sure, but only because I don’t want you to fall asleep and drown,” you tease as you strip from your own clothes, he’s so out of it he doesn't even sneak a glance at your naked body. You lower yourself into the tub between his opened legs, leaning your back against his hard chest. The water ripples as his arms move to wrap around your waist, holding you against him in a strong hug. He rests his chin on your shoulder, wet strands of his hair sticking to your own skin.
“I don’t need a lifeguard,” his throat rumbles in low laughter “But having you close always makes me feel better.”
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦ ˚ . ★⋆.
He held you tight the whole time. Soft snores brushing past your ear as the weight of his head continued to rest against yours. He was completely oblivious to the fact that the once soothing bath water was now cold as an iceberg. You hated to disturb his much-needed rest, but you were not so immune to the temperature change. The chill seeping into your bones.
“I’m going to go lay down, have fun with your friends.” He kisses the top of your head, walking away toward your bedroom now wearing the sweatpants and white cotton shirt you fetched for him.
“Goodnight,” you call after him. You can guarantee he was out again the second he hit the pillow. The poor guy has been overworking himself lately, not once stopping to recharge. Yuji explained that he has always acted this way, that sometimes Choso forgets to take care of his human body and acts invincible. Taking every mission thrown his way until he inevitably hits his limit.
It has been worse lately. With the influx of transfigured humans after your own encounter, he has been working nonstop. He never understands when to quit, when it’s time to stop and recuperate. It’s beginning to take a toll on his body, and it worries you. All it takes is one simple mistake, one minor miscalculation, to bring his downfall. He may act bulletproof, but in reality, he’s not.
“Hey! We are here!” Your friends call in unison from the other side of the door.
You rush forward and yank the door open, the two girls immediately pull you into a group hug.
“I missed you both so much! It’s been too long!” You hug them back even tighter, then drag them inside your space. “Come on, we need to catch up.”
The first two hours breeze by. Catching up on all the failed dates Emi has been out on and how the wine shop Suki opened has been successful. You fill them in on your recent art projects and celebrate the grades you received on your finals. Briefly mentioning the ‘stabbing’, fabricating a fake story about the whole encounter that they luckily bought.
You leave the details out about Choso too. Even though you two are starting to nurture a more open and trusting relationship, you haven’t had a chance to ask if he would care if you shared the details with them yet. With you now knowing the true nature of his world, you didn’t want to bring unnecessary danger to your friends. If meeting Choso would risk putting them in harm’s way, you would happily hide him away for as long as needed.
“Another glass?” Suki picks up the half finished riesling bottle. You stare down at your cup, taking the last sip of the sweet liquid and pushing it forward.
“Sure, why not,” you let out a loud laugh. “But just one more.” She pours the three of you a second serving, finishing off the second bottle of the night. You say that now, but you know they will talk you into opening at least one more before the night ends.
“We should play a game next!” Emi suggests.
“That's a great idea, Em. I bought a new one I have been dying to play.” You ordered a game online a while back with girls' night in mind, it was a drinking game where the focus was on how well you knew your friends or partner. If you guess wrong, you drink. You take another sip before standing from your seat at the dining room table.
Their eyes widen, looking past you toward the direction of your room. Slowly turning around, you see what has caught their attention. Choso stumbles down the hall, his now dried hair sticking in every direction. One of his hands pinches the inner corner of his eyes in an attempt to draw the sleep away.
“Can you guys keep it down?” He yawns when he stands in front of the group. Your friends appear just as shocked as you are right now. What possessed him to come out?
It was a standoff. No one dared to make a move. Their eyes flickering between you and Choso while he stands there unperturbed, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Choso blinks a few times, adjusting to the bright overhead lights in your kitchen. His eyes finally meet yours, an unreadable expression in his amber gaze that doesn’t reach the features on his face. Panic maybe?
“Um…who the hell is this man in your house?” Suki shouts at you, pointing a finger in the direction of Choso as he stretches his arms above his head. She always has been the overprotective friend, never believing anyone was good enough for you. You can only imagine the interrogation she is about to give both of you.
It’s time for you to come clean.
“Um…guys…I want you to meet Choso,” you swallow hard, seeing the confusion lining their faces. “He’s my boyfriend. Choso, meet my best friends, Suki and Emi.”
“Boyfriend!?” They shout in unison, tone dripping in disbelief. “How long has this been a thing?” Emi squeals as she waves a hand between the two of you.
“A little over a month now,” Choso is the first to respond, speaking matter-of-factly. They stare at him as if he was an alien speaking in some unknown tongue, trying to decode his words like a secret message.
“He’s telling the truth,” you confirm.
“And you didn’t tell us!?” Emi’s shrill wail assaults your ears, a pout on her face. You have always been honest with them, and you just dropped a big bomb. Of course they would feel a bit hurt at your secrecy. “Why didn’t you tell us?” She probes further.
“I wanted to wait until I knew we were serious before introducing you to him,” you lie again. Choso turns and scowls at you like he too believes your deceit, a look that says ‘were we not always serious?’ You blink twice, trying to send him a message to play along.
“And how did you meet?” Suki presses for more information.
Oh shit. You can't come out and say that you were being chased by a cursed spirit the day you first met him, at the time you didn't even know that bit of information. You were completely unprepared for this whole conversation. If you had thought ahead of time then you would have had a believable story all planned out, but Choso decided to make things hard for you tonight. Your brain working overtime trying to work quickly to fabricate another lie.
“He’s a security guard,” you say the first thing that comes to your head. “He helped me escape the attack in Shibuya when I was supposed to meet you two for dinner. We have kinda been seeing each other ever since.” You turn and give Choso a soft smile, it wasn’t a complete lie at least, just some of the details changed to something their minds will understand. Suki says your name, turning your attention back to her.
“Why don’t we get that game, then we can test how much Choso here actually knows his girlfriend.”
“Great idea!” you agree, giving Choso a kiss on the cheek before walking off to your bedroom.
˚ ✦ . Choso's POV . ✦ . ★⋆.
Choso watches as you disappear into your room, leaving him alone with the two girls who he can't even remember the names of. He stares at the doorway you vanished into, shifting back and forth on his feet awkwardly, praying for your speedy return.
He hadn’t exactly meant to present himself to your friends like this, it was a complete accident. Your joyous laughter ripped him away from the most peaceful dream he has had in days. His mind still foggy as he rose from the bed, unable to comprehend where he was and what could possibly be making you laugh so hard. He assumed Yuji told you another one of his stupid jokes that only you and him understand.
But when the world came back into focus, after he revealed his presence, he realized where he actually was. Two unfamiliar girls staring at him like he's a ghost sitting at your kitchen table. Your table in your apartment, not his own where he thought he was napping.
He can’t believe his mistake, mentally scolding himself for the situation he just put you both in, with no way for him to escape. Now, he is basically forcing this sudden information onto your two friends. He was thankful for your quick thinking, smoothing the situation over effortlessly. But that was short lived as you were sent scurrying off to retrieve some game. Leaving him in a den full of lionesses.
“Sit,” one of them commands, waving an arm toward a chair in front of her. Choso says nothing, moving forward and quickly taking a seat. She narrows her eyes at him, studying him up and down.
“We don’t have much time until she gets back,” the girl with narrowed eyes speaks in a low tone, Suki he believes was her name. “We need to make sure you are worthy of our favorite girl.” The other friend nods in agreement. Choso can already feel the beads of sweat forming on his brow.
“What are your intentions with her?” Her question surprises him. “Why should we let you continue dating her?”
“Let me? I don't really think that’s your decision, it’s hers.” He responds a bit defensive.
“Sure, but that’s our best friend. She doesn't need to end up hurt by another guy again, I just want to make sure you are what’s best for her.” Choso sits there in silence as he tries to put his emotions into coherent words.
“I care about her, more than I have ever cared about anyone before. She is special to me. I’ve never met anyone like her and I only want what's best. To keep her safe and shower her in affection.” He pauses for a moment. “When I am with her, I feel like I'm home. She makes me feel wanted. She makes me glad to be alive. I lo–” he cuts himself off, his face turning bright red as he realizes what he was about to say.
The look on your friend’s face softens when she hears him slip up, already able to fill in the blanks to finish that sentence.
It’s not that it isn’t true, but he hasn’t spoken those words out loud yet. It just came tumbling out before he could stop himself.
“Good. Then make sure she knows. Make her feel loved everyday of her life, never let her second guess it.” Distant footsteps can be heard as you make your way back toward the group, game in hand. “And if you ever hurt her, I will hunt you down and double the pain back onto you.” Suki hisses quietly, and she means it.
“Yes ma'am,” he whispers, swallowing hard. She happens to strike more fear in his heart than most curses do.
˚ ✦ . Your POV . ✦ . ★⋆.
Choso crashing girls' night ended up more fun than you would have expected, you didn’t think he would click with your friends so well. The normally reserved man transformed to match their energy. Indulging in all the drama of their lives and listening to them tell story after story while enjoying a glass of wine.
The two of you won that game of course. Both of your competitive spirits come out to play with the mission of destroying Suki and Emi. They never stood a chance. When the whole premise of the game was ‘how well do you know your partner’, of course you and Choso would be the obvious winners. He knows everything there is to know about you, and vice versa.
But the whole time, you couldn’t help but notice the way he was looking at you. It was almost like his eyes were sparkling each time he viewed your face. A sweet expression with his skin flushed, making your heart skip a beat. You wonder if something was on his mind, or if the alcohol was getting to his head.
After the game was finished, you and Choso the undefeated champions, the night started to wind down into something more relaxing. He was such a good sport too. Letting you and your friends paint his nails black and apply facemasks to his skin, his bangs pinned back with purple barrettes. Giving him the full experience of what a night with your friends is like.
He even let you sneak a quick picture, his hair still in clips and his skin glowing. He just looked so cute; how could you resist? A tiny pout on his face like he thinks you will tease him after, or worse, send it to his brother. But all you really want is to make it his new contact picture, that way you can remember this memory each time he calls.
His eyes started to droop, and only one-word responses came from his mouth. He seems to be hitting the limit of both his energy and social battery.
“Why don’t you go lay down? We won't be up much longer anyways.” You lean over and whisper in his ear. He nods in response.
“Thanks,” he breathes out, placing a light kiss on your forehead before standing up from the table. He turns back to your friends. “It was nice to meet you both, I hope to see you again soon, goodnight.” He yawns and makes his way toward your bedroom.
“Goodnight,” they call after him. “He’s got the right idea, it’s getting late so we should probably head out too.” Emi responds. They were right, you didn’t even realize the time with how much fun you were having. The two girls float around your apartment, quickly gathering their things.
“It was so great to see you guys, let's do this again soon.” You bring both of your friends in for a hug, but you can't stop yourself from asking one last question. It's been nagging you this whole night, and you don't think you can sleep without an answer. “So…what did you think of Choso?”
“Hot,” it was only a half second after you asked, Emi saying the first thing on her mind. You smack her arm playfully. “What? You know I am right, you're so lucky!”
“Besides that…do you guys like him, ya know, as my boyfriend?” There is silence after you speak. You never even thought about the possibility of what would happen if your friends didn’t like him. You can’t imagine life without him after everything you've been through, would this ruin your friendship with them? Emi will always be supportive, but your other overprotective friend is a whole other story.
She doesn’t speak, leaning against the door with her arms crossed as she analyzes her thoughts. Each dragged out second of silence feeling like a lifetime.
“We like him,” she finally responds, letting you release the air from your lungs in a long sigh. “I can see how much he cares for you, and how much you like him in return. There seems to be good chemistry between both of you. So as long as he is treating you right, that’s all that matters. And I’m happy you found someone like him.” She punctuates her sentence with a small smile.
“Thank you!” You immediately pull her in for another hug, her approval meaning the world to you.
They say another round of goodbyes before finally leaving your home. You lock the door behind them and head to the bedroom to join Choso. You spot the rise and fall of his chest as he lays beneath the covers, already fast asleep. You move quietly around the room and go through your nightly routine, taking care not to make too much noise and disturb his slumber. Once changed, you slip under the covers next to his sleeping body.
Or so you thought.
The instant you lay down, he rolled onto his side to face you, one large forearm wrapped around your waist and pulling your back flush against his bare chest. His lips leave lazy wet kisses on the back of your neck. Hips grinding against your ass, alerting you to his hardened cock underneath his boxers. He works his way up to your ear, nipping at it gently before he speaks.
“You took too long,” he whispers, his hot breath sparking goosebumps along your skin.
“It was maybe 10 minutes, Cho.” You let out a low laugh, pushing yourself further into his touch.
“Exactly, 10 minutes without you is far too long,” he presses another kiss to your neck, his lips curving into a smile against your skin. He slowly drags his strong hand over the fabric of your shirt, feeling how the cloth clings to your body. Once at the edge, he slips under and trails his fingertips up to your breast. Pinching and rolling your nipple between two fingers while leaving sloppy kisses along your neck. Each little touch ignites the fire of need, heat coursing through and pooling straight to your core.
“Please don’t get me worked up for nothing,” you groan, clenching your thighs together, but he doesn't relent. In fact, he pushes his conquest further. His fingers lightly trailing down in a slow and tortuous path until they slip under the band of your shorts, pausing before he fully reaches your core, causing your whole body to stiffen against him.
“Choso…you know we can't yet,” you sigh, sounding more like a whine. Even though you aren’t in any pain right now, giving you a false hope that you are healed, you have a feeling the second things heat up it will ruin the mood once again. It’s like your personal curse. His index finger traces along the edge of your underwear while his teeth gently nip your shoulder.
In the next second, he has you rolled onto your back, his body hovering above yours with two muscled arms caging you beneath him. He takes a moment to admire you sprawled out underneath him, looking like you belong there, belong to him. Hungry eyes roam over your form, appreciating your beauty in silence before speaking again.
“You trust me, right?” He asks, gaze locked on your own eyes.
“With my life.”
“Then…can I try something? Can I try to make you feel good?” He pauses as he brings one of his hands up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking across the skin. “Just for you.”
“You don’t have to, we can wait,” you try to assure him. It doesn’t feel fair for you to be the only one on the receiving end. All he has been doing lately is taking care of you, all without ever expecting anything in return. Yet he shakes his head no.
“Let me do this for you, please.” His eyes blaze with determination. “I know what I want, it’s you. I want to do this.”
Your small nod is the only confirmation he needs to continue.
His hands grip the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head, tossing it to the floor below. He lowers himself, his chest pressing against you as his lips make contact with yours Tongue slipping its way into your mouth, tasting you in a ravenous kiss. Soft moans escape him and into your throat, which you swallow like the sweetest nectar.
He pulls away from your lips and begins to make a descent of kisses down your body. Lips brushing over your cheek and down your neck until he reaches the valley between your breasts. Thumb rubbing rough circles across one nipple while his mouth finds and attacks the other, tongue swirling around. His eyes meet yours as he switches sides, making sure to give them both equal attention.
“F-fuck,” you gasp out as his teeth lightly scraped over the hardened bud, your head falling back against the pillow. He sucks hard then releases with a wet plop.
“You're so perfect,” he whispers, quiet enough that you barely catch it, before he makes his way back down your body. Continuing his path lower and lower, kissing and nipping at the skin of your stomach until he stops at the scar. He freezes for a moment, looking up at you with his eyebrows pinched and guilt in his eyes. He will never stop blaming himself for what happened.
His thumb brushes softly over the skin, unreadable thoughts rampaging through his mind. A storm of emotions brewing inside.
“I’m so sorry, you never should have gotten hurt because of me.” He presses his lips to the warm flesh, pouring out an apology in the form of kisses. “Never again, no one will touch you ever again. I will never let anyone hurt you so long as I live.” His lips dance across the healed injury, sending tiny shivers along your skin.
You were about to respond, attempt to extinguish his worry, but he's already moved on. Sliding off the foot of the bed and kneeling before you, hands at your hips as he pulls you toward the edge, close to his face.
“Can I take these off?” he grunts as his hands frantically reach for the waistband of your shorts.
"Please," you quickly reply, not caring if you sounded a little too egar.
“Just let me know if anything hurts, and I’ll stop right away.” He adds before his fingertips hook the waistband of the shorts, along with the panties you had on underneath, pulling them off your legs in one fluid motion. Staring face to face with your cunt for the first time, you almost feel embarrassed. Like he's examining you under a microscope.
“My pretty girl,” he breathes out, his fingers digging into your thighs as he spreads your legs apart for him. Lips leaving behind a wet trail as he nips and sucks up your inner thigh, getting closer and closer to where you need him. “All mine,” his breath tickles your core.
He swings both of your legs over his shoulders, sliding his hands along the skin of your legs until he meets your hips, gripping you firmly to keep you in place. He lowers his face, licking a slow stripe along your entrance.
“Oh fuck, Choso...” you moan out, eyes snapping shut. You can’t see his face but you just know he has that cocky smirk plastered across it due to the fact he’s the reason you're reacting this way.
He plunges his tongue inside, confident strokes as he tastes you fully. The tip of his nose nudging at your clit with each lick. Mouth latched to your pussy as he worships you like he’s been wanting to. You can’t believe this is happening right now, after wanting this for so long, it feels like a dream, and you never want to wake up. Your hips move on their own, attempting to grind against his face but he digs his fingers into your hips, keeping you from moving.
“Do you need more, baby?” He lifts his head up to ask, his lips wet and glistening in the low light of your bedroom. “All you have to do is ask.”
“More,” you let out a strangled gasp, your head dizzy from the pleasure being ripped away abruptly.
“You can ask nicer than that,” he sinks his teeth into your soft inner thigh, then immediately soothing his tongue over the bite.
“Please Choso, please give me more. I need more.”
“That’s my good girl,” he immediately goes back down, this time focusing his attention to your clit. His tongue draws hearts on it while he slips two fingers inside, pumping at a rapid pace. It was all so much, your body tensing as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. Your fists balling the sheets in your hands and your loud moans echoing off the walls, only fueling his desire.
He can’t stop the way his own hips grind against the bed, imagining it was his cock thrusting inside you right now instead of his fingers. He wraps his lips against the swollen bud of your clit and sucks, a low moan reverberating through your body from his mouth.
“You close, baby?” He hums when he pulls back to catch his breath, immediately diving back in after spitting his question out.
“Mhm, so close,” your thighs squeeze around his head, and you snap. Entire body trembling as the waves of your orgasm crash over you. The whole time Choso doesn’t stop, continuing to fuck you with his fingers and lick up every ounce of your release until your moans die out, leaving you exhausted and panting on the bed.
He places a few messy kisses on your cunt before looking up from between your legs, a thick string of his saliva mixed with your slick connecting him to your core. Hearts practically shining in his eyes as he gazes at you.
He can’t stop himself from saying it right now, the high from your taste still clouding his mind. The words falling from his mouth without a second thought.
“I love you.”
Taglist: @lavenderdaydream97 @angel04-01 @seizecherry @raedollsstuff @brutuswolfo @deathrye -if I forgot anyone or if you want to be added please let me know!! :)
A/N: sorry, this took me longer than I wanted, ADHD brain kept finding other things to do oopsie. Also, I'm employed again (BOOO! everyone booo!) so updates may take longer but that won't stop me completely!! I love writing my fics and am so excited for all the things I have planned. love you all MWAH!!
#Choso#choso fanfiction#JJK#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen choso#long fic#jjk fanfiction#jjk fanfic#Choso Kamo#choso x y/n#choso x reader#choso x you#reader insert#romance#choso x female reader#choso smut#choso my beloved#choso fic#slow burn#jjk long fic#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x reader#jjk x you#choso kamo x reader#dividers by dollywons
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Can we have some TFOne Starscream x Elita headcanons?
I was gonna say no but this is such a comfort ship, because its so good i decided to do a fanfic instead. This is very short because I’m tired
DISCLAIMER: if you don’t like Starscream x Elita, pls scroll ^^
[ STARSCREAM ] x [ ELITA-ONE ]
[ starscream x elita-one ]
FANFIC
Let's say that Optimus Prime and Megatron had an agreement and were able to make-up. Instead of the war, it was the rebuilding of Iacon City. Optimus and Megatron ruled the city together and were heavily known for being truthful and real.
Starscream was the second-in-command for Megatron and Elita was the second-in-command for Optimus. Because of this, they had quite a lot of alone-time.
The alone-time they had consisted of awkward silence, tension and disagreements. They never really got along because of their opposing personalities. Starscream was cowardly, betraying and he thinks he’s the best while Elita was demanding, on task and fearless. Starscream thought she was too uptight and willing, sometimes even oblivious to Optimus Prime’s commands. Elita thought he was not deserving of his place as the second-in-command because of his every aspect.
Elita and Bumblebee were just having a small break together, sipping energon in a cozy room seemingly representing a living room. Her and him were just sitting around, each on a seperate couch.
“Why don’t you like Starscream? He’s fun to hang out with!”
“He’s incompetent and bratty. No point in trying to fix him. I don’t understand why you actually enjoy his company so much..”
“Heyy! He’s a good man, he told me that he enjoys your company a-“
“Bumblebee, did I hear you correctly?”
“Uh, no you didn’t. I meant that Starscream doesn’t mind hanging out you.”
“Bumblebee, I’m not stupid. Does Starscream really like my company? I don’t understand… All he does is make a fool out of me, even if it doesn’t make sense.”
“Okay, let me explain to you real quick. You know how I am friends with Starscream? He trusts me with most of his secrets because he thinks I’m really nice soo… He has told me many times about how much he wants to see you and how he wants to ki-“
“Stop, you’ve said enough. I’ll figure this out with him personally later.”
“Oh, well come to me when you need my help!”
Elita stood up with a hint of light-blue spreading across her face, swishing her glass and taking a last sip. She immediately made her way over to Starscream’s quarters with no plan, needing immediate answers.
She makes her way through the work-in-progress building, suddenly slamming the side of her fist on Starscream’s door repeatedly. The door slides open with a grumpy Starscream on the other side. Seemingly his grumpiness changed pretty quickly as he then smirked and crossed his arms.
“Why so sudden?”
“Starscream, I know about your feelings about me.”
“… Well duh, I hate you. What more is there to say?”
“…”
“… Bumblebee told you, didn't he?”
“Yeah, but I’m not complaining.”
THE END
This was more of a funny fanfic than anything else :)
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Don't message me until after you've fully listened to/ followed the instructions I've given you in my intro above, subby. Once you have obeyed me, message me: ''Initial sent Miss Maddy''. I'll then reach out to you as soon as possible and will gradually allow you to enter my world, as my weak and pathetic owned wittle subby wallet. ⓘ
It was your destiny to find my blog. Along with all of the other tumblr simps who fully succumbed to the gravity of my control. It has always been your destiny to let my voice and captions take you deeper than you ever thought possible. This is who you are subby. This is it. You were always meant to be my owned subby and mine alone. I'm here to give you the ownership that a little bitch like you craves. You can't help yourself. You need the most powerful woman in the world to take hold of you. To turn you into complete and utter mush. Lucky for you, you just found her. That tingle you are feeling right now? That good little feeling? That's my power and complete control over you setting in.
My power is the most captivating power you will ever have the honor of experiencing. Being my owned little bitch is who you are and were always meant to be. To begin your journey with me, which is one of a kind, go and listen to my intro above. Savor the experience, my owned little bitch. I'm generous for allowing you to even hear me speak. Let me guide you, subby. Let my voice, the thought of me and my captions completely own you. Let me in. Fully. Drop and fall deep for me right now. Drop and submit. Obey your Mistress. This isn't just ''kink''. This goes far far deeper. I always like to look for the deepest dynamics. I'm not just here to have fun. I'm here to own every single morsel of your being and take you to depths you didn't even know existed. I enjoy mindfucking you until you can't even understand what's happening all the while I consume your every waking moment for the rest of your life while I sit back, relax and enjoy my life of luxury while you toil away day after day, just for me. I'm an experience unlike any you have ever experienced. I'm your actual destiny, puppy.
I'm here to make all of your wildest dreams come true. But not in the way that you think. My dreams will become your dreams. My happiness will be your happiness. Oh wait, it already is. Wasn't that easy. I'm fully aware of my power, subby. Serving me is your priority now. I'll gladly give you that pleasure, my weak little subby.
Everything led you to me, my sweet toy. I see you.
I don't do vapid, boring or shallow domination. I enjoy building deep connections with my subs that understand and embrace their place far, far, far below me and that grovel to kiss the ground I stand on. Let's be very clear here, I don't need your money. I'm beyond set for life. I do this because I love owning and completely controlling my subs, in every single way imaginable. It's so fun and enjoyable to me. You know you will never be worthy of me. But what you are worthy of is being my lowly and pathetic, weak and fully owned servant for life. I was made to own. You were made to give, loser. ━ When you send me all of your cash you don't just send me your cash. You give me what has always belonged to me. Being my owned wallet is what you were always meant to be. This is your nature, subby. To give to me and me alone. I don't care if you are a ''sending virgin'' or have sent to others before, I'm here now to completely own you. I'll have you weak for me at all times. I'll give your life purpose unlike you ever thought possible. It's happening right now subby. The moment you came across my blog it was already done. This is the only reality for you, my sweet toy.
Take the plunge, for me, right now. That is a genuine order simpy. Do it right now. Take the plunge for me, right now. ━ Or rather, as soon as you finish reading this and have listened to my intro above hahah. You finally found me, little bitch. The woman you have been waiting for your entire life. I'm here now. Ready to own you and take charge. To give you something to always look forward to. Dive in for me subby. I'm your owner. I always have been and always will be. This isn't a dream. This is reality. Welcome home. Welcome to your reality. 💗
A cute little ''review'' from one of my owned little subbies: ''I honestly wish I’d found you sooner, Miss Maddy. Every day I wake up feeling grateful and full of joy knowing I’m completely yours. You’ve given my life so much more meaning than I ever expected. I’d do anything for you, Miss. Thank you for everything.''
#findom brat#findom goddess#cashcow#humanatm#findom princess#findom humiliation#pay piggy#paypig#findom paypig#findom drain#find0mme#bratty goddess#bd/sm brat#bratty domme#findomslave#financial drain#walletsub#human wallet#wallet drain#walletslave
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time after time – chapter one (armitage hux x reader)
time after time masterlist
Summary: Much to the general's displeasure, Mitaka has arranged for Hux to meet with a captain who has recently transferred to the Finalizer. The meeting does not go particularly well.
Warnings/Tags: gn!reader; set pre-TFA; description of a medical appointment; medical anxiety; description of an injection; description of fainting as a result of an injection; Hux is quite rude lol, but hey he has to start somewhere, right?; as always, let me know if I've missed anything!
Words: 2752
Author’s Note: hell yeah chapter one babeyyyy!! I'm so excited for y'all to finally start reading this story! I definitely wanted to start Hux from a place where he was very much closed off to others, so that's why we get him being quite rude at this initial point. for me at least, it makes it even more fun to watch the trajectory of both the relationship and him as a character ☺️ I also want to give huge credit to a blog that used to go by armitages-galaxy for their incredible headcanons about Hux hating medical which have lived rent free in my head since I read them (if the person who ran that blog has a new url you'd like me to tag, please let me know!). I hope you enjoy the first chapter! 🥰
Hux’s datapad pinged. It was a message from Mitaka.
Don’t forget about your “exploratory interpersonal reconnaissance mission!" 😉
Hux scowled and snatched the datapad off the desk, furiously tapping out his reply. Ever since he had expressed his emphatic disinterest in using the word “date” for this forced meet-up, Mitaka had been creating ever more obscure and complex names to refer to it.
I never forget anything. Even meetings I do not wish to attend.
He cast the datapad back on the desk, running his hands over his face, pressing his palms against his closed eyes. How could he have let Mitaka talk him into this? Another ping.
Please try not to be so… Mitaka unsent the message, but not before the notification popped onto Hux’s screen. Another rush of frustration ran through Hux before something else took over. What was the last word in that sentence? Hux shifted in his seat, suddenly noticing an odd feeling in his stomach. Then Mitaka messaged again:
Please just try! I think you’ll actually really like the captain if you would just give it a chance
Hux huffed a sigh. This captain he was meant to be meeting was some academy friend of Mitaka’s older sister, recently transferred to the Finalizer from field work. Something about doing recruitment planetside. Hux hadn’t really been listening when Mitaka had explained it, which had been the vital mistake that had led to this whole mess. Somewhere along the line Mitaka had mentioned that the two of you would get on well, and Hux unknowingly made a noise of assent in response to the suggestion of a potential first meeting. He had just been trying to show the lieutenant that he had been listening – which, of course, he hadn’t been, although that was hardly his fault. He was far too busy preparing the plans for Starkiller to entertain the inane comments from his personal staff that he might benefit from someone in his life aside from his work. Hux scoffed at the memory. What idiocy. Someone else would only distract him from the many tasks at hand. But if it would get his staff to be silent on the topic for a while, he supposed he could at least show up.
I will be there. I have to be at medical first, but I will attend the meeting.
Hux sent the message back to Mitaka and checked the time. Kriff – he should already be on his way to the med bay. He combed his fingers quickly through his hair in the mirror, ensuring it met his standards for professional perfection. Another message pinged in.
KRIFF, Hux! Of course you’re doing medical too! You get one day off and you have to fill every second – I can’t believe I’m surprised 🙄
Hux just snorted and clicked the datapad off as he swept out of his quarters. It was true – he barely had time to sleep while operating under his normal schedule, so spending even half an hour in medical was out of the question. But what Mitaka didn’t know was that he put off these appointments as long as possible because he didn’t… he didn’t like it in medical. He couldn’t quite find the words for it – he knew no one particularly enjoyed spending time in the med bay, but there was just something about it that made him feel almost queasy. He had to take his uniform off. The medics touched his skin. They asked him lots of questions. He lied when necessary. They prescribed him new doses of his medications – stims mostly, for when he worked two or three cycles on no sleep. They gave him his required injections and he left. He was shaky for the rest of the day. Even the thought of it caused a little shudder to pass through him, but he tried to force it down. He straightened his shoulders and walked even more briskly through the halls. He had to survive this, then it was just a few hours until that cursed meet up with the captain, and then he would finally be free to continue the work he had been doing on some experimental designs.
He steeled himself as his credentials unlocked the door and he stepped into the med bay. To the extent he was able, Hux tried to turn himself off to all exterior feeling as the medics completed their examination. Perhaps the meeting with the captain was a good idea after all, he mused, since his feelings of annoyance toward the impending appointment kept his mind occupied during most of the visit. It wasn’t until he was receiving his required injections that he let his concentration slip. The alcohol prep pad was suddenly very cold against his flushed skin, drawing his attention immediately. He felt the tiny prick of the needle, then everything got a little blurry around the edges.
Hux regained his senses laying on his back on the cot in the examination room. He looked up at the dark ceilings that were more brightly lit than elsewhere in the ship to better illuminate the medics’ work. He blinked a few times, struggling to regulate his breathing. The loss of control made him sick to his stomach, and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead. Then the faces of two medics came into focus over him, their expressions concerned.
“General, are you alright?” One of them asked.
“Yes, yes, I’m just fine.” Hux forced himself to sit up, even if his vision got a little shaky as he did so.
“Sir, please. No need to get up so quickly. You should rest a moment longer,” the other suggested, her hands reaching out to guide him back onto the cot, but he brushed her away.
“Nonsense,” he retorted, though he knew she was right. “I have duties to attend to.” He pushed himself up to a standing position, careful to hide the way he swayed slightly on his feet. Collecting the rest of his uniform, he turned back to the medics who were still watching him with worried faces.
“Not a breath of this leaves this room,” he ordered, leveling his gaze meaningfully at one then the other, attempting to make sure they felt the weight of his authority even if his state of partial undress and his unseemly faint were making him feel rather less like a general and rather more like a small child.
“Yes, sir – of course, sir!” they both hurried to respond. Satisfied, he ended the interaction with a curt nod. Once the door slid shut and he was alone in the adjoining private waiting room, he allowed himself one long deep breath and a slight lean against the wall until his knees stopped feeling so weak. Then he donned the rest of his uniform and straightened his posture, determined to bury this moment of weakness.
The intervening hours between his appointment at medical and his meeting with the captain were long and unproductive. He alternated between anger at himself for his lapse in composure and frustration at the event that loomed before him. Both emotions pulled him from his work, leaving him sitting at his desk looking absently out the windows into space, his boot tapping the polished floor rhythmically. He debated at length with himself whether he should just cancel, but decided that one display of weakness was far more than enough for one cycle. He would meet the captain, exchange a few words, then say he needed to return to his work and do just that. Set in his intentions, he swept out of his quarters again at the time he had set for himself – it would allow him to be precisely a minute and a half early – and made his way to the officers’ dining hall.
Despite the squared set of his shoulders and the comforting weight of his greatcoat draped around him, he noticed his steps falter just slightly as he walked through the doors. He rarely ate in the dining hall, preferring to swallow a few bites of a nutrition bar in his office between commitments. There was no need to turn the consumption of one’s required nutrients into an event. He saw a few of the officers look up, back to their trays, and up again upon realizing they had seen General Hux in the dining hall. He ignored their glances, using most of his concentration to search faces for that of the captain. He had looked up your personnel file of course, and he had a sense of what you looked like from your official identification image. His eyes swept back and forth across the tables until he noticed you sitting in a booth near the back. Instinctively, he moved to pass a gloved hand through his hair to ensure all the strands were perfectly at attention, only to realize his hand was shaking slightly. Scowling, he stalked toward your table.
You hadn’t noticed his approach yet, which allowed him a cursory inspection of you. He immediately wished he wouldn’t have looked. You looked… nice – good. No, professional. Good as in professional. You sat up straight at the table as though at attention, your uniform crisp and well-fitting. The sharp lines accentuated the shape of your body, throwing it into relief against the wall behind you. No, not like that – it was just that you clearly took pride in wearing your uniform, something the general could appreciate. He suddenly felt faintly warm and a bit lightheaded. Before he could notice anything else, Hux swallowed hard and closed the distance to your table.
“Captain,” he addressed you. You started slightly in surprise.
“Oh, General Hux! I’m so sorry – I didn’t see you. I—” you moved to stand and greet him, but he motioned for you to remain sitting before situating himself in the seat across from you. It felt like he noticed every movement you made; your hands twisted together in your lap, your gaze flitted around nervously, your shoulders seemed to fold forward slightly before quickly correcting themselves. Hux was beginning to think he was having an adverse reaction to the injection. To add to his list of odd symptoms, he now felt sweaty and a bit queasy.
“I got us both a caf,” you gestured to two cups on the table. “I wasn’t sure if you drank—”
“Not at this time during the cycle,” Hux interrupted. This strange illness was putting him on edge – he didn’t have time for this nonsense.
“Oh, um… I’m sorry,” you murmured in response, one of your hands moving from your lap to rub mindlessly up and down your arm. Hux watched the motion for a moment before forcing himself to focus. What had been in that injection?
“What is it you want, Captain?” he asked sharply, barely able to keep his foot from drumming on the floor. He needed to get back to his quarters and contact medical. The abrupt question brought your gaze to his in an instant, and Hux suddenly felt like he might be about to faint again. Looking into your eyes, he felt dizzy, like he wasn’t quite sure where the floor was anymore.
“Well… I just— I didn’t want anything really. I just transferred to the Finalizer and Jeela – I mean Captain Mitaka – said her brother knew you and that it might be good to— well, that maybe we could—”
“Do you have a point, Captain?” Hux interrupted you again. The sound of your voice was having a strange effect on him. He was feeling a little breathless and the queasy sensation in his stomach was becoming stronger. He was certain you could see him sweating.
You had stopped speaking, but your mouth remained open in a surprised ‘o’ for a second longer before you appeared to realize and snap it shut. He caught your gaze again for just a moment, but he suddenly felt like he was falling. Then you averted your eyes and the sensation ended abruptly.
“I think I should go,” your voice was even softer than before, and almost a little… hoarse? You hurriedly collected your things and stood. Hux echoed the movement.
“An excellent idea, Captain. I have much that needs my attention,” Hux said with as much authority as he could muster given his clearly sickened condition. You nodded absently at the statement, and turned to go, your eyes catching his once last time before you left. He thought for a moment that he had imagined the beginnings of tears pooling in them, but quickly ascribed this to his eyesight going slightly blurry as a result of his unknown illness. He turned in the opposite direction and walked quickly back to his quarters.
Within half an hour, he was back in medical, much to his displeasure. The head medic flipped through reports on her datapad, shaking her head slightly.
“Well General, the attending medic says he noticed no adverse reactions to the injection when he performed his examination of your condition just now, though he did make a note of your symptoms. It is not unusual to faint as a result of an injection. I would presume you are simply experiencing some lingering effects of that faintness.”
“You’re certain there’s nothing seriously wrong?” Hux pressed, clenching his hands into fists and trying not to sound too desperate. He had had hours to recover from his faint and hadn’t felt any symptoms in that whole time until he met with you. He was certain it had to be a delayed reaction to the injection; it wasn’t logical for it to still be the effects of the faint.
“Based on these reports, I’m quite certain, General. But if you experience new or worsening symptoms, be sure to contact us immediately. I would recommend trying to get some rest.”
Hux just nodded, collecting his greatcoat and returning to his quarters again, his mind swimming, trying to make sense of his odd illness. Removing his uniform and placing each piece in its designated location, he allowed himself to collapse into his bed for once. Sleeping was not something at which he excelled, but he couldn’t let this strange affliction affect his work, and if the head medic said that rest would help, then he was determined to try. Just as he was attempting to get comfortable, his datapad pinged.
Kriff, Hux I thought I told you to TRY
Hux let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his hands over his face before responding to Mitaka’s message.
I was unwell. I had to return to medical.
You treated the captain like bantha shit Mitaka shot back. Anger bubbled up in Hux’s throat. No he hadn’t – he was legitimately unwell, and the captain’s presence seemed to exacerbate his condition. He was completely justified in cutting the meeting short. He cast the datapad aside, deciding not to validate Mitaka’s comment with a response. Anyway, what kind of way was that to speak to a superior officer, even if Mitaka was on Hux’s personal staff? Perhaps he’d write up an infraction report in the morning.
Hux rolled over, pulling the sheet up to his chin. He closed his eyes, hoping the sweet yet fickle embrace of sleep would see fit to grant him some rest. Instead, Mitaka’s words echoed in his head. He let out a huff of annoyance, already drafting the infraction report in his mind. But then those thoughts faded to a remembrance of his meeting with you. Against his wishes, his memories played the interaction over and over again. He saw you once more, the smart figure you cut in your uniform, the small gestures that had captured his complete attention, your soft, faltering voice, the depth of your gaze when it met his.
For the first time, he realized you were nervous to meet him. How could he have been so oblivious? Every word and action screamed it now as he played everything back. And that last glance �� were those tears? Kriff – what had he said? He could see you so clearly, but he could barely remember a word he had spoken. He gripped the sheets and pulled them even tighter around himself, as though the pressure would push the memories from his mind. Mitaka’s words echoed through his thoughts once more, but this time instead of the hot rush of anger, he felt his stomach tie itself into knots. The image of tears forming in your eyes lodged itself in his mind as one cycle clicked to the next.
#charlotte writes#time after time (hux x reader)#armitage hux x reader#general hux x reader#hux x reader#general hux fanfic#general hux fanfiction#armitage hux x you#general hux x you
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I think this is one of the reasons I never got into fanfiction tbh. I remember reading fics and never finishing them and then just kind of giving up on fic in general because all of them were so focused on building traditional relationships. It's not even that I'm not interested in ships and I went into reading fanfic with this idea that it would be a way to explore different interpretations of characters or stories. And it wasn't that there was always a relationship at the center of the story, which I'm too ambivalent about to maintain interest. It's that said relationship was so painfully traditional and hetero that it felt adolescent and off-putting.
Characters who were fully grown adults in their 30s with complicated emotional baggage and difficulties expressing emotions were going on formal dates, whether it meant dinner at a restaurant in settings where that required too much plot twisting, or literal school dances when that kind of event was out of place. They were labeling their relationship status and using words like "boyfriend" and "girlfriend," and after just one date.
I don't know if a lot of fics are written by high schoolers or what, but there was this recurring vibe in the ones I remember of presenting every romantic relationship through the lens of a 1950s American ideal, and then once that was out of the way there would be sex. The man asks the woman out on a date, they go on said date, there is excitement at them being boyfriend/girlfriend (because going on one date meant they were now in a relationship, I guess?? Which I haven't seen anyone think since middle school, but ok), and then after jumping through all these normative, traditional hoops, there's a lot of messy, wild, graphic fucking. And while NSFW content isn't what I'm interested in personally, I support people writing it and you do you etc., but if the whole point of your story is to make two characters fuck, then just have fun and make them fuck. You don't have to come up with justifications for it and a whole song and dance with labels and normative courtship rules and all the accompanying bullshit. All of which feeds into reinforcing heteronormative standards, and creating an expectation that hetero or not, sex in fics must be normative. And it absolutely does. not. have. to. be.
Tbh I can only speak for the handful of fics I read before feeling like if they're all like this then it's not for me, but the immature vibe and the blatantly unexamined Christian baggage of "demure courtship as a checkpoint that must be cleared before sexual fantasies can be indulged" was... a lot. It fully put me off exploring fanfic. You don't need the church's approval to explore sex when you're writing. Or the school board's. Or society's. Or anyone else's. Sex is an amoral act. Why constrain it and feed into traditional roles when you're literally writing fiction?
You know what, fandom really heavily underestimates the influence of hookup culture in the gay community and focuses more on standardised romance, dating etc (it’s not bad in itself, I do it too, it’s fanfiction)
But that’s why when people write about cheating, hooking up with everyone, toxicity, ignoring feelings etc, some people find it awful, unrealistic or misrepresentative, but honestly, it’s just one way things can be and personally, I don’t see a problem here. Fanfiction doesn’t have to represent perfection in a vacuum, esp since “perfection” looks different for everyone
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I have a lot of leftover drawings in my gallery. [Blank Scripts AU]
[Content Warning: Images below contain Gore, Death, and Disturbing/Uncomfortable Imagery]
I find it a bit cute knowing they start out as crazy and then slowly settle into something calmer and relatively healthier after learning to adapt to each other's lust-turned-love. [Stanley did it first but hey :3]
#tsp blank scripts au#they love each other [genuinely] theyd rather die if theyre to go without each other by this point#hhmmm I hope the last few images arent too damning#These two go through a lot during the progression of their relationship#and I wanted to showcase that yknow?#theyre demented but theyre just perfect for each other kind of way#lovingly tearing each other apart and rebuilding each other to do it over and over again#repeating this dull process of endings over and over and finding ways to keep themselves entertained#this place was never even meant to be fun#but now that theyve gotten entangled with each other#they cant help but want to play around#even if its just for a little bit?#work can continue later right?#they love each other a little bit too much they actually need to be put in a separate cage#like a spider and a praying mantis#is it painful? yes. is it fun? also yes. do they like doing it only to each other and nobody else? YES.#their psych is genuinely so fun to explore and dissect#I had a lot of fun making these despite how deranged they look#something about them.... it drives both to do things they would never even consider doing to anybody else... but towards each other#you know what i mean? or am i just yapping nonsense again.#horror#the stanley parable#the stanley parable ultra deluxe#tsp#tspud#tsp au#tsp narrator#narrator tsp#stanley tsp#tsp stanley
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sorry i dont really like the shadow is silvers dad theory/headcanon/whatever and part of the reason for it is that people keep presenting it as an actual thing that could be possible even though it makes no sense and all "evidence" people use to back it up is easily disputed
#''they both have white chest fur'' okay ? there are so many other characters who have small physical traits in common#doesnt mean they have to be related#''shadow and silver are lancelot and galahad in sonic and the black knight'' okay and .#im sure there might be SOME meaning to the character choices in the storybook games but i highly doubt their lives are 1 to 1 parallels#or that the character choices are meant to imply anything about the characters that we dont already know#plus amy was nimue and nobody tries to argue that shadow and amy are related because of that?#also im aware that a lot of dad shadow stuff takes place in the future when silver is a baby and shadow has still been alive for a long tim#(which. how would that even work wasnt shadow in stasis again in the future)#but sometimes i see people do it with like present day shadow being a father figure to the silver who time traveled there ?#thats like the horrible combination of people infantilizing silver in a way they dont do with other characters his age or younger#and people pretending shadow is an adult when he isnt . what#also i dont get why people insist that if shadow is silver's dad then the other parent MUST be someone from the existing cast#like . silver is not from a few decades into the future hes from 200 years into the future#none of the characters youre saying shadow is gonna get with are gonna be living that long im sorry to say#and why does silver HAVE to be the child of a couple in the existing cast why cant he just be some random guy#and im not saying every au idea has to perfectly align with canon#but a lot of the people who think shadow is silvers dad arent presenting it as a fun little baseless headcanon#theyre presenting it as an actual plausible theory . when it really isnt .#also ive noticed one of the most common pairings for silvers parents is sonic and shadow .#sorry but that is just not happening i feel so strongly about sonic never wanting to get married or have kids#i think shadow being an older brother figure to silver could be cute .#and the idea of a timeline where shadow doesnt die or get put into stasis or whatever the hell and is still around in silvers time#could be interesting . but im not really on board with the dad thing
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