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1d1195 · 1 year ago

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Neighbors Extra IV - Merry Christmas

Read Neighbors here

I wanted to write something for the holidays and they seemed like a worthy couple to do so. I will get back to Dolcezza over the next few days and I'm sorry my posting schedule is off now. I will get that back on track too.

Warnings: fluff, cuteness, Christmassy nonsense (maybe a little angst if you read it the right way)

This isn't super proofread. I'm not sure how my timeline is matching up with the rest of the story but this is their first Xmas together as a couple. Probably before the other Extras I've written but I'm not sure time is really relevant.

~3.1k words

Surely everyone in her life showered Rory with presents. He hoped that her family spoiled her just as much.

But he had a sneaking suspicion that wasn��t the case.

“I hope Santa gets everything on my list,” Rory giggled. Harry watched as the wonderful woman helped Rory write out his list. She wrote out each item carefully, committing it to memory. He signed his name in his large six-year-old print. Once the list was decorated with stickers and glitter (and an extra drawing of the North Pole was slipped in the envelope), she stole a picture of it for her own use and memories. The three of them headed to the store to put the envelope in the North Pole mailbox and get some shopping done.

Harry smiled lazily. This was better than any Christmas he could imagine with his little family—and it had hardly started. He gazed longingly at the love of his life as she meandered down the aisles getting presents for her family, Harry’s family, coworkers, and anyone else she could think of before she would have to find a time to get all those items on Rory’s list. “Think y’ve been pretty good, lad,” Harry smiled. “Don’t you?”

He nodded. “I’ve eaten all my vegetables this year. Even the gross ones,” he wrinkled his nose distastefully. It was the same way she did it which made his heart flutter at the sight. Rory was so much like his mum it hurt in the best way.

Harry chuckled. “Mummy and I appreciate that. S’good for you,” he reminded him.

“Can you help me get Mumma a present?” Rory whispered. He wasn’t very good at it. She turned a bit toward the sound of his little voice ever so slightly. A smirk on her face that Harry didn’t miss. He ignored her attention so he could focus on Rory’s inquiry with hope that maybe the pair of them could surprise her.

As usual, she was very smart and did a lot of her Christmas shopping early in the season—almost as soon as the decorations for Halloween came down, she was out at the store buying gifts.

“Course, lad. What do y’want t’get her?”

“A racecar. So she can play with me,” he explained. It wasn’t a question in Rory’s mind. It was the most obvious choice of gift.

Harry chuckled. “I see. Do y’think Mummy has asked Santa for something else we could get her? Something a little more girly?”

By now she had rounded the corner to the next aisle. Harry and Rory had veered off to look at the racecars. “Mumma doesn’t get presents from Santa,” he shrugged heading to the section of toys that he deemed worthy of Mummy.

Harry frowned at how readily that came from Rory. “Oh? She on the naughty list?” He joked. But he would tease her about that later when they fell asleep. Right as they fell asleep.

Rory giggled. “Mumma isn’t naughty, Harry,” he rolled his eyes.

No. She wasn’t. She was the furthest thing from it. She was perfect. An angel. It was...the best thing that had ever happened to Harry—moving in across the street from someone so lovely. “Then how come she doesn’t get any gifts from Santa?” He was joking of course. Surely there would be a little white lie of how Santa left them at the North Pole or there was a promise of next year there would be double the amount for Mumma.

But he hadn’t anticipated Rory’s response. “Mumma said that she called Santa when I was born. She doesn’t want presents so I can have more. Mumma says that even his magic sleigh has a weight limit.”

Harry thought his heart might break. This was the third Christmas that Rory probably understood. His developmental psychology classes told him that age four is usually when kids start to get the gist of what Christmas is like for them. That meant for the time that they knew one another, she hadn’t gotten Christmas gifts from “Santa.”

It shouldn’t have been such a surprise to him. What else was she supposed to say to Rory? There wasn’t anyone to balance the gifts out so that she had something to open while Rory got new toys and clothes. Harry tried to think of what he got her over the last couple years. It wasn’t anything special because he couldn’t remember.

She was selfless, of course. Especially for Rory. It honestly made him fall more in love with her. Made him want to cry something awful as well. Harry wondered if she minded. Surely everyone in her life showered Rory with presents. He hoped that her family spoiled her just as much.

But he had a sneaking suspicion that wasn’t the case.

“Boys, are we ready to go get some hot chocolate and start decorating?” She called.

Rory quickly handed over the racecar he wanted to get her and pushed it behind Harry’s legs where he could reach to hide it from Mumma. The pair of them smiled like they had just stolen a cookie from the kitchen after she said no. She smirked and met Harry’s gaze with a twinkle in her eyes, herself. “Yes, Mumma,” Rory said hurried to her side. He turned and put a finger to his lips toward Harry. So, he would keep the present a secret. He winked at the little one and caught her gaze once more so he could wink at her too. With a shake of her head, she turned her attention forward toward the checkout.

Don’t forget to invite Gemma and your Mum, please.

Harry smiled at his message as he and Gemma walked the aisles of the beauty store. Harry wanted to get her everything her heart desired and more, but wanted to make sure it was right—that required reinforcements.

“Does she use a face roller?”

“A what?”

“Jesus Christ, Harry,” she sighed in exasperation. She threw one in the basket.

“I don’t know, Gem. I don’t think she has a skincare routine. She’s usually making sure Rory gets a bath and goes t’bed.”

Gemma didn’t like that response. “Then we’re going to get her a spa day too after this,” she explained. “And you need to make sure she takes some time to herself every night,” she said knowingly. Harry nodded. He didn’t care about how many stores they were going to. He wanted this to be the Christmas of her dreams and more. He would get her anything and everything. Cost wasn’t a problem. And he was going to make sure she spent an hour to herself every night for the rest of their lives. “Does she ever complain of dry skin? Or that she looks oily?”

“No...” he shrugged again. Maybe he wasn’t paying as close attention as he thought he was to her self-care.

“Does she ever do anything for herself, Harry? Or do you just let her do everything?”

“Gemma. She is a selfless person. S’impossible t’do anything for her,” he resented the idea that he wasn’t doing a good job as her boyfriend. But Gemma wasn’t wrong. It sounded like he was doing a bad job.

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” she nodded in agreement. “Mum is getting her all sorts of clothes for us to split up and give to her,” she tossed three different serums into the little basket. “She wears makeup, right?”

Harry never thought she needed it, but he couldn’t help but be hypnotized by the way she glided the various liquids and powders over her face each morning. She did it quickly—with a six-year-old everything had to be done quickly. But it was like watching an artist as she put stuff on her face and turned even more beautiful than she was without it.

“Yes,” he said confidently feeling like he finally was contributing to this whole escapade.

“Does her stuff look old? Has she ever said anything about getting new makeup?”

He thought about all the brushes and tubes she used each morning. Harry thought all of them looked on the older side. “What’s the one y’dot on y’face? Under y’eyes?”

“Concealer.”

“She said they discontinued the brand, so she keeps putting water in hers.”

“Jesus Christ, that’s sad,” Gemma remarked. “Alright, I’ll get her the kind I liked. She can always return it. Give me your phone.”

Harry handed it over immediately. Gemma examined the picture of the pair of them in his background. A selfie from the symphony. Harry felt himself warm at the sight of her even on his own screen that he looked at no less than thirty times a day. While Gemma did her best to match her skin tone, Harry simply admired how pretty she looked and how even just her picture made him feel an overwhelming amount of love for his little life.

“It’s hard to tell in pictures, but she’s tanner than I am; lucky bitch,” Gemma grumbled. Harry smirked.

“Do you want anything for Christmas?” He asked his sister.

Gemma snorted. “She’s already way ahead of you, Harry,” Gemma smiled. “You’re about a month too late.”

He chuckled shyly. “Sorry, Gem.”

“It’s okay. It’s... really nice you have someone so thoughtful. As thoughtful as you. Maybe even more so just because she does it so early. But... I wouldn’t want you to be with someone less thoughtful. So it’s nice.” Harry agreed fully and smiled even brighter knowing that his sister loved his choice in love as much as he did. “Alright. We’re meeting Mum for lunch and then we are going to the home goods store for stuff she might need around the house... what are you doing about her stocking?”

“Doesn’t some of this stuff go in there?”

“Yeah... but like... you could get her jewelry or something.”

Harry nodded. “Okay... I’ll do that on my own.”

“Harry,” Gemma smiled at her little brother—even though he was a good seven inches taller. “You’re doing great. This is...” she sighed happily. “She’s going to love it.”

Harry felt a sense of pride wash over him even though his cheeks warmed at the praise. He really hoped she would.

“Harry?” She whispered in the middle of the night. They had spent an hour setting up Rory’s new roller coaster track after she finished wrapping a few last-minute gifts and pulling the presents from various hiding places—the shed in the backyard, the back of her car, and of course across the street at Harry’s house that had hardly seen anything else Christmas related since he spent all his time with her and Rory.

“Jus’ getting some water, kitten. Go back t’sleep,” he leaned down to kiss her forehead. She didn’t need to be told twice. Her light snores started almost instantly, which boded well for Harry. All her presents were in the back of his car. The transfer had been done late in the day by Gemma while the three of them went to the Christmas Eve fair put on by the local high school. They drank more hot chocolate than Rory could dream about. She worried the sugar would keep him up and prevent them from putting the presents under the tree.

Harry found Rory at the top of the stairs. A ribbon and sign across the way telling Rory not to go down without Mumma and Harry. He was asleep on the floor. A pillow from his room and covered with the blanket she and Rory made one rainy afternoon in November. She helped cut all the little ends while he did his best to tie them together.

Harry smirked and lifted Rory from the floor to bring him back to his bed. “Harry?” Rory murmured.

“Hmm?” He hummed.

“Did Santa come?” He yawned.

“Santa won’t come if y’aren’t in y’bed, lad,” he reminded him.

“I wanted to ask him to give Mumma some of my presents,” he muttered sleepily.

Harry felt his heart warm. “I’ll go write him a note,” he placed Rory on his little mattress, tucked him in, kissed his forehead, and ruffled his hair. “Don’t get out of bed, till morning, Rory. Or Santa won’t come,” he reminded him.

But Rory was already asleep.

“Mumma!” Rory’s little voice gasped. Harry’s eyes fluttered open to meet her sleeping figure. Her lips parted as she breathed. Harry reached out and put a hand on her face.

“Hey, beautiful,” Harry whispered and inched forward to place a kiss on her forehead. “S’time t’get up,” he murmured. “Merry Christmas,” he leaned closer to kiss the shell of her ear as he spoke softly to her. Meanwhile, Harry could hear Rory bouncing up and down the little hallway between their rooms and the stairs chanting that it was Christmas and Santa came.

Her lashes fluttered as she woke up, meeting Harry’s beautiful green eyes. “Harry, Santa came!”

He winked at her as she rubbed her eye tiredly. “Yeah, lad?” He smiled at the excitement. “Y’didn’t go down, did you?”

“No way, Jose!”

Harry chuckled. “D’you want t’come give Mummy a Christmas hug?” He asked.

There was a shift in weight on the bed as Rory’s little body flung himself in between the pair of them. “Merry Christmas Mumma,” he giggled and snuggled up to her. She smiled, burying her face in his hair, and squeezing him to her.

“Merry Christmas, love bug,” she sighed sleepily but very content.

“Can we go downstairs?” He was trying to wriggle free.

“I have to brush my teeth and we’ll go right down,” she promised and threw the covers back. “Maybe you should give Harry a Christmas tickle,” she suggested as she left the bed and Rory took her word and tickled Harry well enough to make him squirm and giggle himself.

“You’ll pay for that,” he kissed the side of her face as she exited the bathroom so Harry could brush his teeth too.

Rory was now bouncing with excitement, and she smiled sitting back on the bed while they waited for Harry. “What do you think Santa brought you?” She asked.

“I hope he brought me the roller coaster,” he crossed his fingers on both hands to show her and she mimicked the gesture while Harry returned as quickly as possible.

“Alrighty, I think we can go down now,” she smiled.

Harry grinned and followed behind the two of them. Rory was squealing and laughing as he reached the bottom of the stairs before they did. He hurried to the rollercoaster set and sent the little cart flying down the track while she tilted her head at the pile of presents that seemed to increase in size by at least a half.

“Did you get him more?” She muttered under her breath.

“Mumma!” Rory shouted. “Harry wrote Santa a note for me last night! Santa brought you some presents this year.”

She seemed to freeze in place and Harry put a hand on her lower back. “C’mon, kitten. S’Christmas,” he kissed the top of her head and nudged her toward the sofa so she could sit.

“H-he did, huh?” She looked overwhelmed at the pile of neatly wrapped presents with her name on them. Most were labeled from Santa. A few from Harry and one from Rory—the racecar of course.

“We start with the stockings,” Rory explained to Harry grabbing the one with an H on it and handing it to him. It was filled with little trinkets and items that she painstakingly tied with ribbons and candies that he would undoubtedly end up sharing with Rory until their stomachs hurt.

“Oh...I had a chat with Santa last night,” he recalled sitting beside the poor thing that was struggling to make sense of all the items under their overly decorated tree. “Santa agreed that I could do Mummy’s stocking from now on,” he told Rory.

“Mumma, Harry knows Santa too!” The poor thing was having a meltdown on the inside of her mind. It was clear on her face as she tried to factor in the price of all the presents that were tied nicely with bows and ribbons. Rory handed off her stocking as well and was lucky she didn’t drop it immediately. Lucky that Harry was sitting right beside her to hold it while he placed his beside him. Rory sat himself on the floor with the stocking between his legs. “Can I start?”

She was mute it seemed as she examined all the little items poking out of the top of the oversize sock. “Go ahead, lad,” Harry encouraged and squeezed her thigh. “You too, kitten,” he murmured into her ear.

“You...” she whispered breathlessly, cleared her throat and Harry saw the well of tears filling her eyes. “Santa brought me a lot of stuff,” she murmured while Rory oohed and ahhed over the little things filling his stocking.

“He told me that y’never have t’sacrifice Christmas on behalf of Rory anymore. That was really nice of you t’do it the last few years. But...he wants you t’get whatever y’ever want,” he cupped her cheek while Rory ripped open his bag of M&Ms spilling tens of them across the floor with a little scattering that she ignored because Harry was gazing at her like she was the most special thing on the planet.

Harry really, truly believed she was.

“Yeah?” She smiled, but her eyes were so watery it made him melt.

“Very much so,” he leaned forward and swept his lips across hers briefly so as not to get Rory’s attention to their yucky kissing. “Merry Christmas, m’love.”

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” she leaned toward him, resting against his chest. His arm draped over her while they watched Rory stuff a mouthful of M&Ms between his lips. They continued watching him open each and every present that was selflessly ticked off his list.

“This is the best Christmas ever,” Rory smiled excitedly.

“I think so too, love bug,” she giggled at him.

“Absolutely,” Harry agreed.

“How about a picture, Rory?” She asked grabbing her phone out of the pocket of her leggings. “C’mere,” she handed her phone to Harry and opened her arms for Rory to hop into her embrace. Rory situated himself half on her lap and half on Harry’s. She squeezed closer to Harry while he hold the phone out for a selfie. Rory held his little jar of slime out for the picture and Harry grinned into the camera as she rested her hand on Harry’s leg around Rory’s little body as best she could. “Alright one more,” Harry smirked and leaned toward her to steal a kiss that caused Rory’s face to wrinkle in distaste forever savoring the perfect moment on film.

A Christmas for the history books, for certain.

At least their history books.

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @youdontcaredoyou @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lolyouallsuck @buckybarnessimpp @stylesfever @harrysxcarolina @haarrrys @lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles @tenaciousperfectionunknown

neighbors taglist: @claimingharrystigertattoo @mopeymousey @vmpellie

#harry #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #neighbor!harry #harry styles sad #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #one direction #one direction writing #neighbors

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umbreoncomplex · 5 months ago

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did it have to be a fucking fire?

(aka my google docs rant written from 3 to 4 am about spirit of justice and apollos backstory)

okay to preface this is not an essay. this is a yap session. my word isnt law on anything but instead by opinions based on my life and upbringing. im no be all end all for how you should view ace attorney and apollo but i cant NOT talk about him

so like, i have major fucking issues with spirit of justice. a lot of different issues. one of them is apollo. something i struggle with a lot as an adoptee is representation in media. its not that big of a deal i guess. but its frustrating what the limited pool of adoptee characters is filled with. a lot of it are these grandiose tragedies orphaning a child. which can happen in the real world. im not denying the existence of those orphaned by great tragedy. but it feels like the only type of adoptee representation out there. a lot of times, it feels like their tragedy is more of a spectacle than anything, rather than actually treated as a tragedy. after having finished aa4, before really knowing anything about aa6, i would lightheartedly talk about how i appreciated apollo and trucy not having the backstory of their parents dying in a great tragic fire on a boat out on sea wherein they had to abandon their baby in a basket and push it across the sea. you can imagine my reaction to learning how apollos dad died considering the choice of examples i tend to joke about

because, look, trucy is a good example of a way you can use some of the admittedly crazy circumstances of ace attorney while not falling into tired tropes about adoptees. she was the daughter of a single father and was abandoned by him. he didnt die some sort of heroic death or whatever. he left her. simple as that. sure, he disappeared in a magic act to escape a criminal conviction, but it was a breath of fresh air after a lot of carbon copy orphaning stories. and you know what sweetened the deal with me? thalassa coming back. thalassa regaining her memories. and still not returning to trucy. that hit such a good emotional spot for me. adoption exists in a great many different forms. some bio parents never get told the whereabouts of their children. but some do. some are only a call away from their bio children and refuse to get in contact with them. and in a world where most adoptees i saw were orphans, it hit me hard to have a character with the experience of, not only having living bio parents, but those who did not reach out to them. sure, thalassa promises to tell trucy and apollo eventually, but shes still pushing it off. still refuses it for a while. and it almost made me cry

this isnt even mentioning trucys relationship with nick and the gramaryes. a lot of stories either prioritize blood family or chosen family and refuse to let you have both. but there are children who experience both. children who do love or want to love both their biological and adopted families. and trucy is not demonized for wanting to love both. she calls zak and nick daddy and, sure, theres a joke about how it gets confusing, but its not Bad that she cares for both, that she still considers both her parents. and thats something special. especially as she wasnt adopted at birth. she did live with the gramaryes for a not insignificant amount of time. if she wants to keep her connections, her feelings, then let her

in aa4 and aa5 we hardly get any information about apollos family aside from his connection to thalassa and trucy, and honestly, i was very okay with that. i liked him serving as a mostly blank slate. i had been excited to project my own experiences on him, especially as he was from thalassa’s first marriage, meaning thalassa had very purposefully left him behind. far before her whole assumed death. thats another thing i cried about and i think its very telling of the type of experience ive had. we didnt know much about his fathers death by aa4, but i was honestly fine with the idea of apollo being left to a single father who died. i was a little wary, considering how orphaning tends to be handled, but i had hope. theres plenty of ways to die after all. and both trucy and apollo had a lot more grounded experiences than i was used to. i dont ever expect to find characters who experiences match my own by like 80% but im not that broken up about it, especially when aa4 handled apollo and trucy surprisingly well

and of course, i ended up being spoiled for aa6 before playing. and my frustration got to fester for like weeks until i finished up aa6. and it just kept getting worse. apollos dad dies in a fire. sure, ironic and mildly annoying but not that big of a deal. apollo was raised by the leader of a rebellion. okay… not the biggest fan but sure i gues. the fire was part of an assassination plot. what the fuck are you on about now. apollos foster father was the husband to the queen who was assassinated, also connecting apollo to the royalty of another country. now im sick of all this. theres a whole nother argument to be made about WHY apollo was given this backstory which im absolutely going to touch on at a later date. but it was honestly disheartening to learn about his backstory. what i loved about aa4 was how much more realistic these stories felt compared to everything else. but sure make him an illegitimate prince to a throne as well as the son of an infamous rebel. whatever man. i dont care (Cares a lot). it was just a slap in the face. and maybe thats my fault for getting too excited about any adoptees in media. but like jesus man. did you really have to do all that? i get ace attorney has a thing for these crazy plots and schemes and pieces falling together but i swear to god apollos story just feels like such a tropey mess compared to others.

i can live with jove dying in a fire. thats fine. i am MORE than okay with apollo growing up in khura’in, either being born there or not. if aa6 handled khura’in half decently, it couldve been fun to explore. unfortunately, aa6 handled khura’in Horribly. where you start adding in the plotlines about the defiant dragons and dhurks marriage to amara you just. lose me so thoroughly. i just lose my excitement an interest. because apollo is another of the hundreds of adoptee stories that couldve been good, couldve given representation to people like me, an opportunity to see a very underdiscussed part of our lives in media, but ended up falling so short. it feels like no one wants to write an adoptee unless theyre a spectacle. and yea i get it stories are stories you gotta make things interesting whatever. but so many mundane aspects of life are written about time and time again. so many life experiences are included as a Normal part of existence, rather than something you have to dramaticize so heavily. adoption in media feels like a tool rather than an author legitimately wanting to write about more diverse life experience. someone being an adoptee or an orphan is usually used to provide a narrative reason for a characters family being uninvolved in the story, to connect to them to a grand plot or scheme (orimarily through character relations), or for the beloved angst factor of a tragic childhood. and its tiring. does anyone care about the children of teen pregnancies? the children of international adoption? the rehomed or the abandoned or the neglected or the displaced? i could be here for hours concocting various types of adoptees that can exist in the world because its such a large spectrum of experience. but it feels like no one cares. maybe im making a mountain out of a molehill, but i had high hopes for ace attorney, and it hurt to have them crushed. its hard wanting to get excited about adoptee characters when theyre consistently placed in the same character templates to be repeated over and over again. i wish my story was treated as a real life possibility. as a type of person who can exist in the world. so often are adoptees and their stories mystified in media. or, on the other end, are completely ignored and disregarded. adoptee characters never feel like theyre written as, or discussed in fandom as, characters with traits that people can have, but instead as completely fictional tropes and archetypes. every day i see arguments about shipping adopted characters and so often it feels like adoption only exists as the fictional and hypothetical. and apollo just feels emblematic of this to me. because he had potential. we saw this potential in trucy. but they had to make him “interesting”. had to spice up his story. had to justify his involvement in khura’in because otherwise the story starts feeling too much like a white savior story. they didnt come here to write a realistic adoptee. and maybe i shouldnt be putting that expectation on writers. but goddamn i am sick of dining on crumbs. im sick of only finding myself in headcanons that I MYSELF HAVE TO CREATE

apollos backstory deserved better

#ace attorney #apollo justice #trucy wright #aa4 #aa6 #spirit of justice #ace attorney spoilers #aa4 spoilers #aa6 spoilers #thats all i care to tag

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yeowangies · 1 year ago

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dangerous - chapter IV

❧

Chapter I I Chapter II I Chapter III | Chapter IV: New Routine

PAIRING: Vegeta/Reader RATING: Explicit CONTENTS: Explicit sexual content, Canon typical violence WORDCOUNT: 4327

Summary:

You missed connecting with other people, other humans, so much it hurt. You missed your parents, your friends, your pet; you missed sleeping on your own bed, that was ten times more comfortable than the mattress you had in that room in Frieza’s palace. You even missed sparring with someone who you knew could give you a good punch but would still worry about your well being afterwards.

Training. That’s what you needed then. To let out some emotions.

Notes: Hello! It's been a while since I updated this fic, but it's been on my mind for a while. I have the outline of it written down, so I hope I can release a new chapter fairly often? And since this is a work in progress, I hope you can bear with me if there are any inconsistencies 😭 This story has a point, and I know where I wanna go, so please be patient!

I'm surprised of how popular this fic is among all my fics, and it remained the one with the most hits on AO3 until recently, so I hope yall stay with me until the end 💕

Vegeta was not the same man he was years back. Having destroyed planet after planet without actually meeting someone who could match him in strength had led him to a certain feeling of boredom and numbness that had engraved into his soul.

For all purposes, he was still the same, however. He was still working under Frieza, with a silly plot in mind to overthrow him someday, but at the same time knowing he wasn’t nearly strong enough to do it. His bloodlust had decreased along with his interest in purging planets, but it changed nothing because that was still his job in the Frieza Force. He trained whenever he was staying on-planet, in between missions, like he always did.

That loop he was trapped in made him wonder over the years if the time when he could overthrow Frieza would ever come. Vegeta had calculated how much stronger he needed to be to defeat him, but it seemed unreachable. Especially if his sparring partners were Nappa and Raditz, who were still incredibly inferior to him.

At least, you showing up in his life had been a pleasant surprise.

Your presence hardly changed anything. It’s not like you had some hidden power that would prove to challenge his own strength. You didn’t have any information regarding the legend of the Super Saiyan; you weren’t even a Saiyan, though your species resembled them physically, but only physically. Every time Vegeta touched you, he got the feeling you might bruise.

And you did bruise, especially the first few times he had lay with you. Vegeta was restraining himself whenever he shared a bed with you, but in retrospect, he probably wasn’t doing that much the first couple of times. He had a lot of pent up energy, anger and lust for things he couldn’t have, and it didn’t help the way you enticed him. It was a strange feeling that invaded him when he noticed the marks he’d left on you, almost like he felt bad. Almost. In any case, you seemed to like whenever he hurt you, though.

What would such a feeble being mean to him, though?

Vegeta didn’t really understand the feeling that invaded him as he got to spend more and more time alone with you. It was pleasant, that much he could tell, even the words he exchanged with you before and after sex. He had never entertained himself with any feeling that made him feel ‘warm’ like then. Violence and battle had never awoken something like this in him.

He felt vulnerable.

Which was stupid, because who could hurt him? You? Certainly not. Your power level was puny, even when you claimed not to be as weak as you looked. He could kill you with a finger if he so desired.

That was what was scary, though. He didn’t want to kill you.

Maybe not yet. Vegeta told himself that he didn’t want to kill you yet. You were a good lay and a nice distraction from the stress and ire he had whenever he was alone, or surrounded by his subordinates. He had spent over thirty years under Frieza’s wings and he was nowhere near as strong as he was, and your presence made everything else fade to nothing.

Even through all that, he sometimes still didn’t understand you.

“Vegeta, how old are you?” You asked him, as you lied beside him.

It had been a few minutes since you both had reached your peaks (you had gotten there twice, and he was proud that he knew your body so well, he could make you orgasm with simply his fingers), and you were still trying to catch your breath when you turned your face to look at him. You stared at him too often, and he felt bothered by it at times.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I’m curious?” Vegeta quirked an eyebrow in your direction, and you rolled your eyes. “I just want to know if I’m sleeping with a 100 year old man, or if it’s someone younger. Am I not allowed to know?”

“Do I really look like an old man?” He chuckled.

“Well, no. But I mean, I know a lot of species that don’t age, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Saiyans don’t reach adulthood until they reach their fifties. I will still look like this for a couple of decades.”

“Oh…” You remained silent for a few seconds before repeating your original question. “So, how old?”

“I’m thirty two.” Vegeta said, at last. The wide smile on your face made him frown. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m twenty nine.”

“So?”

“So I’m glad I’m younger.”

Vegeta didn’t understand you at all, most of the time.

When you carefully nuzzled closer, and trailed a hand down his abdomen, he did understand that. He kept his eyes on your face, staring at you with desire as you wrapped your hand around his erection. It had only taken him a minute for his cock to stir back to life after he had already spent his load; it was something that happened all the time when you were around.

Vegeta kept his eyes open even when you leaned to chastely kiss his lips before trailing lower down his neck and chest, slowly moving your hand over his length. He tried to keep his gaze on you when you licked up the underside of his dick, staring right back at him as you kittenishly lapped at the head. When your lips wrapped around his cock, Vegeta couldn’t focus on anything else, except the sensation of your warm mouth as it engulfed him entirely, almost like it was easy, like it belonged there.

He remembered the initial small fear the first time you put your lips on him. Not that you could ever really hurt him. But after he had given in that time, he couldn’t get enough. At least he never had to ask, or worse, beg, for you to use your mouth on him; you seemed more than eager and willing to pleasure him.

Shame on him. He had actually given you power over his body.

But Vegeta couldn’t care less in that moment, when you were bobbing your head up and down, humming contently as the tip of his cock grazed the back of your throat. He groaned, hips jerking upwards, seeking more of that wet heat. You gazed at him through glossy eyes as you sped up your moves, trying to hold him inside for longer, as the muscles in his abdomen tensed.

The heat inside him unraveled, making him growl as he spilled cum down your throat, feeling the intense burn of release pulsing through his veins. You swallowed all of it, and he heard you gag around a mouthful of cum as you slowly pulled back, pumping his cock with your hand to help him ride out his orgasm. He opened his eyes to look at you then, sporting a playful smile as you licked your lips clean of every drop that might have been there as you crawled back over him.

You let go of his length to wrap your arms around his neck as you kissed him, nice and slow. Vegeta returned the affection, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. He had gotten used to ‘kissing’ after the first few times he had sex with you, even when he had rarely done that with whoever he had fucked before. But you seemed eager to do it every time, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it.

Your heartbeat was going fast again, he could feel it when you pressed closer to him. You had told him it had nothing to do with fear, something he had associated with it before. Seemed like your heart was always beating that fast every time you were with him. He wondered why, what kind of emotion provoked that in you?

It must have been something good, as it did not slow down when he reached your entrance with his fingers. He was pleased to know that you were still wet, obviously from sucking him off, but also due to the previous load he had spilled inside you the first round, his cum and your slick mixing in and making it so much better for him to slide in again.

Vegeta had not expected your brash and lewd attitude to be so attractive.

If he had to be honest, he hadn’t had sex as often as his two henchmen probably had. He wasn’t as experienced, but it’s not like he knew nothing. However, he wondered how much he did not know when you were with him. You hadn’t mentioned his lack of experience at all, he tried his best to hide it and so far, you seemed unaware of it. But the things you did to him sometimes left him wondering how many things could be done in intimacy.

The first time you gave him oral sex, it intrigued him, but when you had taught him something called sixty nine, it fascinated him. And apparently sex wasn’t exclusively reserved for the bedroom. He knew that, but doing it in the shower had been pleasant.

Vegeta didn’t dwell on anything when he pushed his cock inside you, grunting against your lips as you started rocking your hips. He was overwhelmed, not only by how tight and warm and wet you were; your sweet scent invaded his nose, making him feel drowsy, and your moans were music to his ears, and even his name sounded so honeyed every time it spilled from your lips. It was like being in a haze, drowning in bliss, as he came inside you, holding tightly onto your hips, afraid you might disappear.

You were exhausted afterwards, and fell asleep minutes later.

Vegeta took that opportunity to leave. Most of the time he usually waited for you to fall into a deep slumber before taking off. He never spent the night. He already felt weak for having sex with a human more than a handful of times, but it was difficult sometimes to leave that warm bed of yours at times.

He was getting softer. He was aware, and he had no one to blame but himself. You had given him a small sense of purpose, but it was frail. He only liked to fuck you, what good would that do to him?

Grumbling in annoyance, Vegeta gathered his clothes, putting them on before leaving your bedroom.

You were used to waking up alone the morning after having sex with Vegeta. You were used to it, but it didn’t make you feel any less used. You could understand why he wouldn’t spend the night, but you were still human enough, and not sleeping together at least once made you feel disposable.

Whatever. Vegeta wasn’t your boyfriend.

Running your hands through your hair, you took a shower, getting rids of the remains of your activities from the night before.

It had already been almost two months since you got back to planet Frieza 80 (was it 80? 81? You weren’t sure). Over three months since you met Vegeta, Raditz and Nappa. Vegeta kept showing up at your door occasionally. More often than not, actually. It surprised you; it had been a shock the second time he knocked your door when you were on that spaceship months ago, it was still a surprise that he actively had been visiting you even after that mission was over. He didn’t show up every night, but he did it so often, he might as well have. The only time he didn’t were a few weeks in between when he had been on a mission God knows where along with Nappa.

You tried to keep a lot of your emotions in check frequently, but seeing Vegeta intimately so often made it difficult. You knew he wasn’t close to being emotionally invested in you, he showed it every time you interacted with him outside the bedroom; he treated you like he treated everyone else, like shit. But his ability to be somehow soft with you in private confused you. He obviously just wanted to get laid, as much as you did.

You were just lonely.

It had nothing to do with Vegeta or anyone else. You simply missed being in contact with someone who had the emotional depth of an actual sentient being, and not just slaves of Frieza’s army. You couldn’t blame anyone; being under a tyrannical reign would make you distrust your own shadow, it was only natural no one revealed anything about themselves to anyone else. It was a miracle the three remaining Saiyans even trusted each other.

And if you were honest with yourself, as much as you liked Vegeta, you weren’t sure if you trusted him at all. Sex meant vulnerability, but you couldn’t show it with someone you knew was always on guard, even when you were being intimate.

You felt like you were turning into one of those soldiers without emotional depth.

You tried not to tear up as you put on your clothes after your shower. You missed connecting with other people, other humans, so much it hurt. You missed your parents, your friends, your pet; you missed sleeping on your own bed, that was ten times more comfortable than the mattress you had in that room in Frieza’s palace. You even missed sparring with someone who you knew could give you a good punch but would still worry about your well being afterwards.

Training. That’s what you needed then. To let out some emotions.

The training rooms used by the Saiyans were reserved for only them, and other high ranking officers that might want to use it, but you knew Vegeta was the one who visited it the most (you had to repair it often because of him). You also knew he wasn’t going to be there so early after spending the night with you, so after grabbing something quick to eat, you headed to the training room.

You didn’t expect to see Raditz there, however.

“Hey, doll,” He greeted you with a grin, and you rolled your eyes. He kept calling you that and it just stuck. “What brought you here?”

You stared at him for a long minute; he had been training too, wearing only his trunks and boots as sweat ran down his body and settled in places that made you want to look at him for longer than what should be allowed.

“I wanted to warm up a bit,” You averted your eyes quickly, focusing on the wall behind him. “But if you’re using the room, I’ll come back later.”

“Warm up, huh?” Raditz asked, obviously mocking you by the way he was smiling. “I want to see what you got.”

“You wanna spar with me?” You blinked, confused.

“Yeah, or am I too much for you, human?”

He was provoking you, you knew it, but it was working. Your power wasn’t low, but you weren’t sure if you could actually match Raditz in a one on one battle. But this could be a good way to find out. His power was the lowest among the three Saiyans and he had been the nicest to you, so maybe he wouldn’t kill you if your power proved to be puny compared to his.

“Alright, I’m game.”

“Sweet!”

You took a step back to get rid of your armor, and you felt his eyes scanning your body as you adjusted your skin tight suit. He and Nappa never stopped leering at you any chance they got, and every time you had to remind yourself it had to do with the fact that you looked a lot like a Saiyan. They only seemed to like it more when you tell them to stop anyway.

Raditz changed the gleam in his eyes when you faced him; he obviously didn’t see you as a threat, if anything he seemed to be mocking you by daring you to fight him.

You launched at him, and he saw it coming easily, no matter how fast you were, grabbing your fist with one hand when you aimed it at his face, then grabbing your leg when you tried to kick him in the face again. And so on and so on with any physical attack you tried to pull off.

Raditz didn’t even flinch with any attempt you made at connecting with him, and it was starting to piss you off. You were only just getting started, but he obviously wasn’t taking you seriously, remaining on his spot with a smirk as you tried to actually deck him.

There was no point in holding back if that was how it was going to be.

Taking a few steps back, you threw yourself at Raditz, aiming to hit him in the chest with your feet. You barely touched him when he grabbed your legs with both hands, a wide smirk on his face, and you couldn’t help but smile back as you got your hands up in his face, firing a ki blast in a split second that made him stumble back. He groaned loudly, the grip he had on you loosening, giving you the chance to actually kick him in the face this time, and swiftly wrapping your legs around his neck to throw him to the ground.

A loud thud echoed in the room when his body hit the floor, and you stared down at him with amusement.

“Fuck!” Raditz grunted, a few drops of blood dripping from his nose as he pulled his hands towards his face.

“You could have easily avoided all those attacks if you had taken me seriously from the beginning.”

You took a step back as Raditz stood up again, smirking as he wiped the blood off his face.

“I won’t make the same mistake again.”

And he didn’t.

You supposed Raditz was going easy on you at first, but at least he took your attacks seriously, and once you had thrown him to the ground twice (being small and flexible in comparison was a great advantage against him), he’d seemed to have enough. He actually started to hit you back, throwing punches and kicks that left you breathless with the sheer force he was using.

Fuck it. You started this a warm up or a spar, but he was fighting for real.

Ki blasts flew from both sides until it basically looked like a firework show, and dodging them got even more difficult for the both of you. Raditz had more stamina, his body was built for that, but this confrontation had been dragging on for a while, you could tell he needed a break, and so did you; the places he had managed to connect with ached like a bitch, and you’d end up with bruises all over your body if you didn’t end this quick.

Gathering what little energy you had left in the palm of your hand, you threw a ki blast right in his face, which he avoided easily, only to be met with your fist. He grabbed it swiftly like you expected, and you consequently held onto his arm with your other hand. Using it as leverage, you lifted yourself up to land a kick on his face with both of your feet, making him fall on his side. You barely had any strength left, so you let yourself fall beside him, groaning in pain when you hit the floor.

“Time up…” You panted, struggling to even speak. “You win…”

“How the fuck is this my win? You knocked me down.” Raditz grunted, sitting up and glaring at you.

“I don't have energy left, you could easily give me the final blow…”

“I’m not pleased to ‘win’ like this against a human.” He said, and you could feel in his tone he was genuinely frustrated.

You remained quiet, unsure of what to say. Strength, battles and discipline was viewed differently in this world than it was in your planet, and you didn’t blame him. You didn’t have to actively fight for survival when you lived on Earth. When Earth still existed.

You jolted when the door suddenly opened, and Zarbon walked in, followed closely by Vegeta and Nappa. You sat up, staring wide eyed. You had only seen the guy a handful of times, but he was looking straight at you, and trepidation quickly bubbled up inside you.

“You, human girl,” He addressed you with a loud, imposing voice. “You’re a mechanic, aren’t you?”

“Yes?”

“Not anymore. You’re similar to the Saiyans, you'll be joining them in your next mission.”

“What?!” You complained as you stood up on shaky legs. “Why?!”

“Quit your whining.” Vegeta said, glaring at you. “It’s been decided, so shut up.”

You faltered, his words settling in your brain. You didn't even whine that much.

“I had no idea you had that kind of power.” Zarbon kept looking at you, scanning every inch of your body, and you felt the need to cover up, even though you were fully dressed. “Puny, compared to mine, but enough to make yourself useful.”

Your eye twitched but you said nothing until he finally left a second later.

“What is going on?!” You asked, screamed, eyes flickering between Nappa and Vegeta.

“Your little fight caught the bastard’s attention.” Nappa grumbled, annoyed. “He saw the whole thing.”

You sighed, frustrated. All training rooms had two way mirrors, though you’ve rarely seen anyone actually using them.

“You’re going to train with us starting tomorrow.” Vegeta said. You knew him enough to know how angry he was, though you weren’t sure why.

“Fine.” You grumbled.

Vegeta glared at you and Raditz before he turned to leave, followed closely by Nappa. You sat on the floor next to Raditz as he turned to look at you with curious eyes.

“Pleased to make yourself useful?”

“I am useful even if I don’t fight.” You scoffed, stretching your arms.

“The real fun starts now.” Raditz grinned at you.

You wanted to return the smile, but you couldn’t. You weren’t looking forward to the torture that was going to be training with beings who were genetically designed to fight endlessly. You were just a human; you had trained enough to achieve a level to be on the par with Raditz, but you would probably never get to go that much higher.

“I had fun training with you.” You said after a while, as you both got up. And this time, you did smile. “I think I needed it.”

“I enjoyed it, too.” Raditz replied, smiling faintly. “Let me know when you want to do it again, girl.”

You watched him walk out the room and down the corridor before you turned to leave in the opposite direction. You needed to get some painkillers and hopefully something that would make the bruises fade away quicker, if there even was such a thing, at the medical unit.

After picking up food in the dining room, you took the rest of the day off. You showered and applied ointment on every visible bruise you could find on your body (and there were many) before settling down on your bed. Tiredness settled in quickly, but it would take a while for the painkillers to kick in; both of your sides ached with every move, so you could only lie in bed and stare at the ceiling until you dozed off.

After a couple of hours, Vegeta’s ki moving towards your room woke you up. You hoped to God he wasn’t thinking of actually fucking you that night; you didn’t know how much of your fight with Raditz did he see, but it must have been obvious that you weren’t capable of moving too much that night. Not to mention that it had pissed you off that he had told you to shut up the way he did.

Vegeta stood outside your door, you could feel his ki flickering (nervously maybe?), but given that you were a little pissed at him, you waited; you wanted him to actually knock. And he took his damn time, only knocking once after a few minutes.

“Open up.” His voice ordered from the other side, making your annoyance increase.

You opened the door just enough so he could see your face and part of your body in your sleeping clothes, visible contusions tainting your skin. His eyes scanned you quickly and when he tried to push the door so he could walk in, you stopped him.

“What do you want?”

Vegeta raised his eyebrow at your tone, and you could see him struggling to find the right words to say.

“Let me in.”

“No.”

“What’s wrong with you?” He frowned, obviously irritated as well.

“What's wrong with me? You really expect to just walk in here like every other day? Like you don’t see the bruises all over my body?!” You yelled, making Vegeta scoff.

“Humans are so fragile-”

“Well, too bad you’re sleeping with one.” You interrupted him, earning one of his most heated glares in return. He obviously hated being interrupted, but you were too annoyed to care. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else to entertain yourself with.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Vegeta asked through gritted teeth. “You were begging me to fuck you the first time!”

“And now I’m saying ‘no’ because you’re a jackass. Who do you think you are?! You will never tell me to shut up like that again!” You seethed, pushing him with a hand on his chest. He did not move an inch, but he was staring at you with eyes wide open, evidently surprised about your reaction. “Goodbye, Vegeta.”

You closed the door swiftly in his face. His ki spiked briefly, and for a second you thought he might burst in. He never did, and some minutes later, you felt his presence get further away as he retreated.

#dbz fics #dbz fanfiction #dbz imagine #vegeta x you #vegeta x reader #vegeta #dbz #my writing

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stxneflxwers · 23 days ago

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fragments of heaven – prelude.

summary. In a scary, mysterious, new universe, they find themself searching for even a little bit of purpose amidst the chaos. The past will haunt them, but the future will guide them, too.

a/n. hi this is nerve-wracking to post. lol. i'm so used to being ashamed of posting OC stuff that this is somehow still difficult even after years of doing it. ANYWAY ive been absolutely fixating on this for ages now – many rewrites later, i think i've found a happy spot! anywho, this is a crossover with my original story/world. i do plan to explain as much as i feasibly and reasonably can about my original story. hopefully it doesn't leave too many people in the dark, ofc. but also you're meant to see this from an HSR perspective anyway lol also, this is more or less co-written with one of my best friends, so her character(s) are featured here! also 2, the first scene in this prologue/chapter is kinda awkward cuz i didnt bother to fix it when i started rewriting,,, oops

characters. aventurine. original character(s).

cw. this is a universe crossover/fusion!!! canon x OC. slavery. implied character death. trauma. (more tags will be added as more chapters are posted)

prologue.

Kakavasha often heard humming throughout the small, dirty prisons lined with slaves like himself. He didn’t know where it was coming from, but it brought uncanny serendipity to his angry emotions for a little while every time. When the humming would eventually stop, the onslaught of vexed emotions and thoughts would return minutes later.

And then, he finally meets the person who hums one day by what feels like a stroke of luck, pure chance. He initially expected to never see the face the voice belongs to. The only visible eye of that person never left his mind – a bright, starry blue with a white pupil and ring in their iris. Their rusty red hair covers their other eye, like they hide it intentionally.

They deliver him his rations for the day, but the plate of food seems larger than usual. They put a finger up to their lips – he needs to stay quiet if he wants it. They slide the plate into his cell and offer him a soft, patient smile.

“I hope you enjoy it, I made it myself.” The fellow slave whispers to him, “Ah… What’s your name… Kakavasha?” They ask as they shut the barred door and straighten their legs as they rise.

“…Yeah.” He nods as he warily takes the plate of food before eating it with slow, small bites. “Oh, wow… This is…really good.” He whispers before shoving a larger portion into his mouth.

“I’m glad you like it.” They nod before hearing heavy footfalls nearby, “I have to go now – may we meet again one day.” They grin before quickly sneaking away, running on the tip of their feet.

Kakavasha watches them run away with deftness and grace, like a dancer. He finishes his food quickly, not wanting to be caught with a bigger, better portion than usual.

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter how many times the older slave gets their head beaten into the wall by the slavemaster. Les Esfacier is still standing, regardless of every whip, every cut, every kick and punch. It doesn’t matter how much crimson blood pours from their new wounds, they remain standing – all with a wicked, knowing smirk on their bruise-darkened lips.

“I hope you’re enjoying the show, No.35!” The slaver barks at Kakavasha, who remains firmly tied to a chair nearby. “Because No.8 hasn’t died from a single beating – yet. But I’m more than happy to change that…” He glances at the Avgin with a twisted grin before raising his whip to lash the older teen.

Les Esfacier jumps in before the leather can meet his vulnerable body, causing the whip to crack against their cheek.

“Les Esfacier—!” Kakavasha gasps, his heart dropping into the acidic remains of his gut as he watches another trail of blood form on his fellow slave’s face. With hardly any self-control left to spare, he starts sobbing, yet unable to tear his gaze away from the gruesome sight.

“Why are you still smirking, No.8? Are you getting off on this, huh?!” The slavemaster howls with laughter, his own preconceived notions are pure entertainment.

“I’m smirking because it’s funny how much you struggle to kill me.” Les Esfacier snarks.

“You…!” The slave owner growls before yanking out his pistol, aiming right at the smart-mouthed slave’s head.

“No—!” Kakavasha tries to lurch forward in his chair before he gasps when a warm, golden-white light covers his eyes.

“Shh… It’s okay, little guy, just listen to me, okay?” A soft yet lively voice whispers in his mind as the golden-white glow permeates his vision, it’s almost enough for him to relax. “My name is Summer – I’m Les Esfacier’s friend! I…I’m here to take care of you while they’re asleep! Y-Yeah…!” The feminine voice squeaks, clearly doing her best to reassure the slave.

“...Asleep? That’s the best lie you could come up with?” Kakavasha mentally retorts with a bitter sigh.

“Hey, I’m trying!” He can practically hear the pout in her voice, “But… They aren’t dead, either. They’re just…out of commission!”

“...Right.” He groans, “They…they had to have died… No one can survive a gunshot to the head like that…”

“You’d be surprised. Ma— Les Esfacier is a super-tank!”

“A…super-tank,” He echoes, “You’re weird, Summer… If that is your real name.”

“Hey! Stop doubting me! Please, just believe me when I say they’re fine… They really are just asleep!”

“Whatever…”

That night, the moon is in its first quarter – its silver glow peeks through the small, barred window above him, filling the cell he sits in. He curls up in the shadows, though, a dark place where he wishes he could hide for eternity. He didn’t want the moon to shed light on the guilt that eats away at him, all the way to the core.

But, perhaps now is the time for action, as the moon foretells.

“Hey, little guy… You asleep yet?”

It’s that voice again, and now there’s a body made of the same golden-white light accompanying it. The figure is petite and curvy. But he couldn’t bring himself to care about any of that – it’s the least of his problems right now, or so he tells himself.

“No,” He grumbles tiredly, “How could I be? After everything…”

“It’ll be okay, I promise.”

“How can you promise something as ridiculous as that?” He sighs, he couldn’t help it anymore. He needed such a deep, heavy breath that’s been pent up to finally leave his system.

It wasn’t as relieving as he hoped it would be.

“Because I know! Trust me, okay?”

She’s so argumentative, he thinks, and at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s truly gone off the rails.

“...Whatever.”

The figure sits down in the heart of the moon’s glow on the floor, and she opens her arms to him.

“Come here! Sit on my lap. It’ll be cold tonight, like always. I’ll keep you warm.”

“Are you kidding me?” He grumbles, but upon getting no response from her, he takes it as a sign that she’s serious about it. “...Fine.” But only this once, he thinks.

With her legs crossed, she holds onto him in her lap with tender grace that only a mother knows.

Kakavasha jolts awake in Summer’s arms as the desert sun slowly rises, but he’s quick to sigh and write off his own alarm as a small nightmare he can’t recall. He looks up at the spirit that held him all night, her eyes closed and her body still as a serene statue. He briefly wonders if this is what it’s really like to be cared for by a mother. However, he quickly shrugs this thought off – knowing that there’s no hope in finding solace in the deceased.

“Awake so early, huh?” Summer murmurs; her eyes flitting open, staring down at him with a soft smile.

“...Yeah,” He rolls out of her arms before stretching his arms high above his head and his legs straight out, “Thanks… For, uhm, last night.”

“No problem, little guy!” She chirps, watching him closely. Her energy and joy are damn near infectious, but he wouldn’t dare dream of giving himself the chance to feel the same pleasures. “Hey, I have a gift for you.” She informs casually, there are sparkles of excitement dancing in her dark eyes.

“...A gift?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck, “You really don’t have to—”

“Well, I don’t care if I don’t have to, because I want to.” She nods before a gold coin with a triquetra engraved in it manifests in her hand, “Here, catch!” She tosses it to him.

He catches it despite the fumbling, he looks down at it and blinks slowly, “A gold coin? Well, at least it doesn’t look like a damn Tanba…”

“My gramps made it! And it was the last one to ever be minted by him. I really want you to have it, little guy. Think of it as a parting gift and a reminder!”

“...A reminder of what?” He asks with deliberate slowness.

“That there’s always love and kindness looking for you and that it’ll find you eventually, sooner or later. So, don’t give up on those things, or ever give up on anything! Also…”

“Also…?”

“Should we ever meet again,” She clasps her hands around his own hand that holds the coin, “Show me the coin, and I’ll know exactly who you are.” She grins, “You can do this, m’kay?”

With that said, she vanishes. And he doesn’t know if it’ll be for now or forever. He clutches the coin tightly in his hand, her lingering warmth setting a fire ablaze in his heart – a unique determination.

#🌠— my works #✨— fragments of heaven #🌠— ocs #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr oc #honkai star rail oc #aventurine

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karliahs · 1 month ago

Note

For the fic writer ask: 39, 41, 67?

thank you for asking!!

39. Share a snippet from a WIP

ahhh so this is from late on in a fic that...honestly may very well never get finished, because even just in concept it is long and I don't know if I have it in me to get consumed by a project for another 2 months right now.

but I am having a lot of fun playing around with it, so here is some shinsou-POV. hifumi is his younger sister who has a telepathy quirk:

Hifumi comes back a minute or so later, pushing a wheelchair. “That weirdo you’re obsessed with saw me take it, so we might be about to get busted.” It takes Hitoshi a second longer than it should to translate that. “Aizawa’s here?” Hifumi sends him an image of Aizawa slumped in a plastic chair, one eye open and fixed on Hifumi as she swipes a wheelchair. Hitoshi blames the drugs for the sharp little tug in his chest. “Basically hasn’t left.” Hitoshi should have figured that out, probably. Who else would have left his capture weapon at the foot of the bed? He threads his hand through its coils, savouring its weight. If he’d had it before… “If he was gonna stop us, he’d have done it already,” Hitoshi says, trying to sound more confident than he feels. Hifumi shrugs, inspecting the equipment by the bed, a careful hand tracing the line of his IV. “Well, if we get caught I’m going to say you brainwashed me into it.”

41. Do you tend to reread fics or are you a one-and-done kind of person?

I LOVE rereading fics. honestly with media in general I kind of prefer re-experiencing it to experiencing it for the first time. that familiarity is so comforting, and I'm always bringing a slightly different context to the work, and it's interesting reading earlier parts of a story again when you know what's going to happen

slight exception for a handful of my favourite fics, which I can hardly ever reread because they make me too crazy

67. Do you prefer prompts and challenges, or completely independent ideas?

I've only written a handful of things from prompts but I had a really good time doing so!! it made me explore stuff I'd have never gotten into on my own - body swap, for example. so a lot of the time now my independent ideas are me prompting myself to try stuff where my initial reaction is "hm, idk if I'd write that"

I rarely actively request prompts and can't promise I'll write anything for them, but I'm always happy to receive them!!

#asks #bnha posting #i gave shinsou a loving family in that fic to make up for the 9 other bad things i made happen to him <3 #and aizawa is actually barely in it but of course. the part I have written out in full sentences is his tiny cameo 😂

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jynrso · 1 year ago

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some of it remains (but your love is unmoved)

hey all! this is the fic that i've been working hard on over the past few weeks. it's the first fresh piece i've written in over a year – the oneshot i posted a few weeks ago ("not without me / not without you") had a rough draft and outline so i had a bit to go off. this was a completely new story and i didn't intend for it to be this long. . .13.5 and 6k words later, here we are! jyn's experiences are based on my own. i got a concussion about 3.5 years ago and i still get icepick headaches to this day (that i never got before). while i don't get migraines, they are pretty bad. when i was thinking to myself about jyn's role as a brawler, i figured she'd get hit in the head pretty often –– and from that, this fic was born. title from "as it was" by hozier read it on ao3!

Jyn Erso has always had a remarkably thick skull.

Not in the sense that she isn’t intelligent. Rather, ever since she’d learned how to fight, she’d quickly found that she could bounce back from blows to the head quicker than her comrades. Hits that would render other Partisans unconscious usually only dazed her; if she got knocked down, she pushed herself back up in seconds, returning to the fight with her brutal efficiency hindered only slightly by slight dizziness and a burgeoning headache.

As a brawler, with the reach of her truncheons keeping her in close contact with her targets, she’s more exposed than a long-distance soldier. Though her armor absorbs many of the hits she takes, by favoring hand-to-hand combat, it’s not uncommon for her skin to be littered with various bruises and abrasions from hits she’s doled out and ones she’s taken in return. Even with her gloves, her hands often take the brunt of the damage; out of every place on her body, her hands are the most heavily scarred.

But despite her fighting prowess and experience on the battlefield, she’s had her fair share of close calls. Even she isn’t completely unaffected by someone slamming the butt of their blaster against her skull. The scar snaking up from the top of her forehead into her hairline speaks to that; a few years ago, she’d been hit so hard by a stormtrooper that it had not only knocked her out but also needed stitches –– ones she had to do herself without the credits for proper medical care. It had never healed right, the scar angry and raised to this day, but she’d escaped with her life . . . and only a few consequences.

The chronic headaches –– the bad ones –– had begun during her stint in an underground fighting ring, just after Saw abandoned her on Tamsye Prime. In an attempt to earn enough credits to survive, she’d played her strengths to her advantage and fought numerous other sentients for money. Though she’d won more fights than lost, her opponents usually got in a hit or two; and, with the lack of protective gear, the blows she’d taken had often been more debilitating, especially in the aftermath.

But in the middle of a war, a headache here or there is hardly her biggest problem.

It’s not like she’s bleeding out or has any open wounds. A stim shot usually takes care of the worst of the symptoms and dims them to a more manageable level. And when that doesn’t work, in the years after Saw, she’d hole up somewhere dark and quiet and ride it out for a few days by herself. With her high pain tolerance, she can push through just about anything, even if it means spending a few hours incapacitated.

Her last . . . episode had been right after Scarif. She doesn’t remember much of what’d happened after Bodhi had picked her and Cassian up from the beach but she recalls moments of blinding pain. The agony from her burns from the blast had only just been overshadowed by the splitting in her skull, feeling as if someone had taken an axe and cleaved her in two.

Ever since, however, she’s managed to keep her headaches under control and everyone else in the dark. But with the recent destruction of Alderaan and the move from Yavin IV to Hoth, it’s only a matter of time. With the amount of pressure and stress slowly building up on her shoulders, she just hopes that she’s alone when the inevitable happens, and strong enough to ride out the pain when it comes.

When Jyn wakes, unusually bleary-eyed and out of it, Cassian’s no longer in bed next to her.

The sheets on his side have long gone cold. Faintly, in the back of her mind, she remembers him leaving earlier that morning; before his departure, he’d briefly woken her up with a kiss on the forehead and a whispered urge to go back to sleep. Not recalling much more than that, she assumes that she’d fallen back asleep and pushes herself up into a sitting position.

As soon as she moves, a slow, heavy ache makes itself known in her left eye, radiating back toward her skull. She curses softly, rubbing her forehead with the palm of her hand, hoping that the pressure will help ease the oncoming pain, but to no avail. Even when she presses harder, digs her fingers into her hairline, the steady throbbing beats in time with her heartbeat.

A pit sinks in her stomach. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, the pain of it a distraction. Even though her head doesn’t pound badly now, she knows from experience it’ll only get worse as the day goes on. And if this is one of those headaches. . .

Fuck, and she actually has shit to do today. She and Cassian are flying out in the afternoon for a surveillance and scouting operation at the abandoned rebel base on Dantooine. Bodhi’s swinging by later –– shit, maybe sooner than she thinks, glancing at the chrono and seeing what time it is –– to help her get the ship ready while Cassian takes care of the pre-flight briefing with Draven.

Okay. Okay. She exhales, throwing her arm over her eyes as she lays on her back in the messy remnants of their bunk. It’s not the ideal situation but it could be worse –– she just has to get out of bed and get ready while her pain is still manageable. Then she just has to meet Bodhi, get to the ship, and take off for Dantooine without indicating something is wrong, then find somewhere hidden and quiet to ride it out by herself.

(There’s no way in hell Cassian is going to let her get away with that, a small voice in the back of her mind reminds her but she pushes that thought away for now. Once they get into the air, she can figure out an excuse. She just has to get there first. )

Groaning, Jyn hauls herself out of bed, wincing when the simple movement jars her already tender head. Without bothering to flip on the lip, she fumbles around in the dark, picking up random pieces of clothing they’d scattered across the ground the night before.

In the bathroom, biting back a curse as the cold finally begins to hit her, the warmth of sleep finally wearing off, she quickly gets ready in the relative silence and dimness of the ‘fresher.

There’s a basic medkit under the sink, equipped with bandages, a few bacta patches, and hyposprays. It’s meant for the occasions when either of them has minor injuries but doesn’t want to go to the medbay. Though it’s here for this purpose –– and she knows she should grab something –– she still hesitates. It’s not that bad (yet) and she’s pushed through worse. And there’ll be times in the future when they have a greater need for these supplies. . .

With her thoughts feeling like static, it’s difficult to concentrate enough to make a proper decision. Before she can, someone knocks on the door and shakes her from her daze. She flinches at the sound, wiping a shaky hand down her face as her head protests the sudden loud noise.

“Fuck,” she mutters, rocking forward on her heels and leaning forward against the sink, so far that her forehead nearly touches the smudged mirror. The medkit looms in her peripherals but she ignores it, convincing herself that she’ll be fine. (She’s always fine –– she has to be ).

In a burst of strength, she pushes up and away out of the bathroom, heading toward the door.

“Jyn!” Bodhi brightens when it opens, then almost immediately falls when he looks at her properly. “You –– you look like shit!”

“Thanks, Bo,” she mutters, leaning against the doorframe as she pulls on her boots. “Good morning to you, too.”

Frowning, he rubs the back of his neck as he peers in closer, head dipping down and wide eyes scrutinizing her disheveled appearance. “Well, it’s actually closer to afternoon, now, but –– ”

“Still morning,” she grunts, straightening. The edge of her vision goes fuzzy for a few seconds, threatening to white out completely; she steadies herself on the wall once again and exhales heavily, then forces herself upright.

“Do you –– do you need to go to the –– ”

“No,” she bites out forcefully. Her voice harsher is than she intends but the pain makes her feel brittle, fragile even, and she can’t help but overcompensate. “Just –– I just had a bit too much to drink last night. That’s all.”

Both of them are keenly aware of just how well she holds her liquor and Bodhi is much more observant than people give him credit for, especially around the people he cares about. He frowns, eyebrows tugging together, and while his expression tells her exactly what he’s thinking, he’s also picking up on the hidden details in her own.

But for whatever reason, either her voice or the stubborn look in her eyes, he doesn’t comment on her flimsy excuse and nods instead, perhaps not wanting to put up a fight when it’s clear she’s looking for one.

She doesn’t miss the concerned look in his eye when she walks out of the room a little slower than usual. He stays close to her as if expecting to catch her if she falls, arms nearly brushing as he keeps her pace.

His intense attention makes her uncomfortable, her ears reddening from the unfamiliar notion of having someone care about her. She’s fine. A headache isn’t anything to make a fuss over, and really, he’s making a big deal out of nothing.

“I checked out the ship you’re taking this morning,” he says, keeping up a steady stream of chatter as they navigate through the halls of Echo Base. She only half-listens, occasionally offering up hums of agreement as he speaks, but it’s growing more difficult to keep her focus solely on him. “There isn’t too much to do but . . .”

After a few minutes, they reach their destination. When the noise and brightness of the hangar bay hall hit her full force, Jyn sways on her feet, eyes closing as nausea swells low in her stomach. Bodhi grabs her elbow to keep her steady but she just barely feels the touch, the hammering in her head overshadowing every other sensation.

“ ––yn! Are you okay?”

Bodhi’s voice grows louder and more nervous with each passing second she fails to reply. Jyn barely manages to clamp down on her flinch, forcing her eyes open and gritting her teeth as her head protests.

“Fine,” she rasps, then licks her dry lips. Just one more hour, at most, and she can lie down; she just has to get to the ship first. “I’m fine. Where –– where’s the shuttle?”

He pauses, scrutinizing her once again. “Listen, if you’re not feeling well, we can––”

“I said I’m fine!” she reasserts, a bit harsher than she intends. Her head throbs at the raised tone of her voice. She sighs. “Look, can we just –– ”

It’s clear he doesn’t entirely believe her. With all the time they’ve spent together since Scarif, he knows what her normal behavior looks like –– and this isn’t it. “Jyn, you really should –– ”

Her eyes flash in irritation. She doesn’t need to be coddled. “If you want to stay here, be my guest. But I’m going to finish up packing the ship.”

Once again, he must see something in her face that ends any possible argument. For him, this is a losing battle. Sighing, his shoulders slump in the face of her stubbornness. “All right. Come on.”

Leading her to a ship in the back of the hangar, she focuses on putting one foot in front of the other and pushing down the pain as best she can. No matter how lightly she steps, the impact of her boots against the ground sends electricity radiating up from her legs to her head, a dull thumping that seems to grow the longer she spends in the hangar bay.

She blinks and then they’re there. Almost robotically, she nods as Bodhi’s mouth opens and he begins to talk, only catching the tail end of whatever he says. He gestures toward the remaining crates of supplies that need to be loaded onto the shuttle and Jyn doesn’t bother to respond, turning toward them and setting her shoulders in preparation.

(With her back turned, she misses how his mouth thins, how he reaches out for her but drops his arm after a few seconds. She misses the determined set of his eyes, the way he seemingly comes to a decision before setting to work himself.)

It’s easy to lose herself in the repetitiveness of the task. With only the pain in her head to keep her company, she tunes out the rest of the hangar bay and loads up the ship. At least in there, the lights aren’t so bright and the noises around her are muffled some by the thick durasteel walls.

A blink and it’s done. It’s been –– how long has she been doing this, so lost in her head?

For a few seconds, she stands in the cargo bay and looks down at the crates without really seeing them. Her hands flex at her sides, fingers still primed to hold a box. But then a particularly painful jolt of pain goes through her eye and she hisses, pressing the palm of her hand against the socket. When it eases, her brain recircuits and she remembers her purpose, rocking back on her heels.

She turns to look for Bodhi, not finding him in the cockpit as expected. Instead, when she heads down the loading ramp to look for him, she sees him a few feet away, looking in her direction and talking in hushed voices with Cassian.

Jyn scowls in irritation, hands curling into fists at her side and marching over to them. She has a good idea of what Bodhi’s telling him –– that she’s been acting weird, that there’s something wrong with her, that she isn’t capable enough to go on the mission. All those thoughts jumble in her head at the same, overlapping and intensifying what’s already there.

“I’m fine!” she barks when she makes it over to them, putting her hands on her hips and tilting her chin up in defiance. Her jaw tightens, the muscles in her body bunching up and tensing. “I don’t know what he’s telling you but –– ”

Cassian holds up his hands and Bodhi takes a step back when faced with her sudden burst of rage. “We’re just going over take-off protocol since Bodhi isn’t coming with us on this one,” he explains gently.

Her anger deflates from her as quickly as it’d arrived and she closes her eyes briefly as her skull throbs in protest. Embarrassment at her outburst curls low in her gut but she refuses to let it show.

“Great,” she mutters, shoving her hands deep in her pockets and turning away from them. Her cheeks redden, ears burning beneath her hat. “I’ll be on the ship if you need me.”

If her behavior hadn’t been a cause for concern before, it certainly is now. She hunches in her coat, keeping her head down as she stalks to the shuttle, the snarl on her lips acting as armor to repel any stares from overly curious recruits that she gets on the way back.

Cassian isn’t far behind. She’s only been on the ship for a few beats before he joins her, standing close enough that there are only a few inches between them. When she looks back into the hangar bay, Bodhi’s still there, his body language anxious and worried in the distance.

She scowls, feeling betrayed and like they’re ganging up on her. She’s clearly fine –– she’d gotten everything on the ship quickly and efficiently. What complaints could they even have? When she turns away, she determinedly keeps her gaze focused on her datapad and makes a point not to look at Cassian, even when his presence

Finally, he breaks the stalemate, not bothering to pretend he doesn’t know something is wrong. “Bodhi says you’ve been off all morning.”

“Did he,” she says flatly, her eye twitching. Her mouth twists and she resolutely stares down at the datapad but not truly seeing the words on the screen.

“I’m not going to push you,” he replies steadily, his voice not changing despite the derision in hers. There’s no judgment, nothing but concern despite her growing frustration. ( Stars, she doesn’t deserve him. ) “But if something’s wrong, you can tell me.”

If he hasn’t picked up on it, then she must be successfully hiding the worst of her pain. When she turns to face him, she lets a little bit of her raggedness show, exhaustion written on her features. It’s not a lie, not truly, but a misdirection instead. Let him think this is the root of the issue. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

One of his eyebrows ticks up, likely remembering how she’d barely moved when he’d left their bed that morning. He doesn’t believe her, not entirely. But whatever he must see in her face must be enough to convince him that she’s all right for now.

He nods slowly, brows tugging together as he considers her words, but doesn’t drop the matter entirely. “You can sleep once we make it to hyperspace.”

It feels like an order rather than a request but she knows the decision is ultimately up to her. Too exhausted to disagree, the throbbing pain on one side of her head sapping all of the fight out of her body.

Cassian hesitates, giving her a chance to pull away, then reaches out to cup her cheek. She closes her eyes when his thumb brushes against her cheekbone rhythmically; it doesn’t relieve any pain but his touch soothes her, comforts her in a way that only he can do.

“Let’s finish getting the ship ready,” he says softly, and, eyes still closed, she nods once again.

It doesn’t take long for them to finish; apparently, Bodhi had gotten more done than she’d realized while she’d lugged crates of supplies back and forth. Feeling almost as if in a trance with only a dull throbbing pain to keep her company, before she even realizes it, they’ve completed everything else and prepped the shuttle for take-off.

(Dangerous, Saw’s voice barks in her head when she blinks in confusion, her body acting on auto-pilot as she buckles herself in and mechanically pulls on a pair of headphones. Just because you’re with someone you trust doesn’t mean you’re safe. Focus, my child.)

With one last wave to Bodhi, she closes the cargo bay door without another word and joins Cassian in the cockpit. Her limbs feel heavy, eyes squinting against the bright lights flashing on the dashboard. It takes her more than one try to get her seatbelt buckled in.

Numbly, she forces her awareness out of the cave in her mind and does her best to pay attention when Cassian completes the pre-flight checks. It only takes a few minutes –– she thinks, her thoughts feeling as if they’re moving through sludge –– before they’re up in the air.

“Calculating jump to hyperspace,” he says. She clenches her jaw, nods, and prepares herself.

The jump to hyperspace is worse than she’d expected. She presses the back of her head into her seat in an attempt to keep it steady and her white-knuckled hand gripping the armrests so tight she shakes. Against the roar of the engine, she inhales and exhales short puffs of air, eyes squeezed tight. It feels as if her brain is rattling against her skull, sharp pinpricks of pain hitting her through the eye in full force.

One particularly bad pulse through her head has her biting down so hard on her tongue that she draws blood. The sharp sting at least provides a distraction, the coppery, metallic taste now filling her mouth becoming something to latch on to other than pain.

But it’s getting more and more difficult to keep herself together. The combination of the lights, the noise, and the jerky movements of the shuttle around her have flayed her control almost entirely. She can’t do this, she can’t do this, but she has to, she has to keep it together for just a few more secon––

The ship stills.

The only sound in the cockpit is her sharp, rapid breathing that she struggles to quiet and the hum of the engine underneath her feet. Though she can’t see him, she’s acutely aware of Cassian at her side. She hears him take off his headset and set it down on its hook above the dashboard, then hears the creak of his seat as he turns, presumably to face her properly.

Hears the low, comforting sound of his voice when he tentatively asks, “Jyn? Are you okay?”

“`m’fine,” she mumbles after a beat, her brain taking longer than usual to comprehend his words properly. Even though it’s very clear that she’s not, she can’t quite abandon the ruse just yet, still hanging onto rapidly disappearing threads of composure. “Just. . .”

She trails off, swallowing down a wave of nausea. In the silence that follows, her stomach churns, due both to anxiety and her migraine; if she moves, even slightly, she’s going to throw up all over the floor. To tamp down on that, she focuses on her breathing: ragged inhales that catch before they make it to her lungs.

Cautiously, she cracks her eyes open, just a slit, to see Cassian leaning forward in his seat, gaze tight with worry. His fists are curled against his knees, his body tense with the effort of not reaching out to her. She imagines he wants to check her over himself and see what’s causing her pain but not without her permission.

“Are you hurt?” he asks. She can hear the desperation in his voice, likely compounded by the fact that he hadn’t pushed her to tell him what’d been wrong earlier. “Jyn, please. Did someone hurt you? Are you––”

“Fine,” she cuts him off weakly, ignoring his growl of frustration at her protests. He’d reluctantly taken her by her word earlier but that’s not going to work anymore. The ruse is up; it’s so incredibly clear that she isn’t fine, the jump to hyperspace having rattled something loose in her brain. “It’s. . .”

She pauses, licks her lips, then decides –– what the hell. She can’t physically keep her walls up much longer. Her eyes flutter close, the pressure in her head abating only slightly with the lack of light. Finally, she says, “My head.”

“Did you fall? Jyn, let me check––”

“No,” she swallows, fumbling with her words. Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth, her thoughts slow and sluggish. “It’s –– it’s a migraine. I think. I, um, get them. Occasionally.”

When Cassian doesn’t reply, she opens her eyes to see what he’s doing, feeling nervous and exposed. She watches as he gingerly stands and reaches over her, flicking off the lights in the cockpit and dimming the space as much as possible. While it isn’t completely dark, with switches on the dashboard still blinking, it’s a marked difference from how bright it’d been before. Her breath leaves her in a stuttered exhale as her shoulders relax slightly.

His voice is quiet when he asks, “Better?”

“Yeah,” she rasps. It is. “Thanks.”

A beat of silence passes between them before he tilts his head to the side, in the direction of the back of the ship. Though it isn’t large and not meant for long-term travel, there’s a small bunk room and galley just behind the crew’s quarters. Though he doesn’t say anything, Jyn knows what he’s asking.

“No,” she grits out. She keeps her head still but follows him with her gaze. It’s a struggle to get the words out. “I don’t . . . need to rest.”

“Jyn. . .”

“No.” It feels like her last line of defense. It’s a stupid hill to die on but she can’t seem to let it go, barely clinging to what little she has left. Even though she knows that Cassian would never treat her differently –– and he never has when she’s come to him injured or in the aftermath of a nightmare –– she’s not unlike a feral animal when hurting, flinching away and attacking the hand that tries to help.

He’s seen her at her worst, has held her through it, has seen more of her than anyone in this galaxy ever has. But used to a lifetime of sharing a bunk and never truly being alone, she’s learned to keep her pain quiet, to remain small and unobtrusive in moments of true vulnerability. Cassian and the rest of Rogue One have slowly broken down some of her walls but there are some things she doubts she’ll ever be able to shake fully.

But then Cassian whips out his trump card.

“Please, Jyn? For me?” And if his saying please hadn’t been enough, he adds softly, “My back has been sore all morning. Lay down with me?”

“Just for an hour,” she relents –– barely. “And you have to actually lay next to me.”

His eyes soften. “`course. Come on.”

She stands slowly to try and offset the dizziness that she knows will come, but it doesn’t work. She bites the inside of her cheeks and closes her eyes when it washes over her, her head throbbing in time with her heartbeat. For a few seconds, she worries once again she might throw up all over the ground but swallows it down. Fuck, it hurts so badly.

There’s this urgent, wild urge in the back of her mind to cry out for her mother –– she feels like a child again, scared and in pain, and wanting nothing more than Lyra’s comfort.

Finally, when it passes, she opens her eyes again, breathing heavily. Cassian stands a few feet away, one arm outstretched in case he needs to steady her. He’s not even trying to hide his worry anymore; she’d reassure him in any other situation but she’s just so tired.

Slowly, she makes her way to the bunkroom with Cassian close behind. It’s not far, and soon, she’s perched on the edge of the small cot, shoulders hunched forward.

He reaches out and touches her arm gently. That one small gesture eases a knot of tension in her body and she sags like a puppet whose strings have been cut. “I’m going to grab you some water. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable, she doesn’t like the idea of him leaving her sight right now. But at the thought of water, she swallows, her throat dry. Slowly, she nods, her head heavy and protesting the jerky movement.

She keeps quiet and doesn’t move until he returns with a glass of water in hand. Despite the position likely being hell on his back, he crouches next to the bed, offering it to her.

Silently, she reaches for it with a shaky arm, just barely managing to take a few sips without spilling before handing it back to him. He takes it, but not without a small sigh and a look of concern.

“You need to stay hydrated.” As quiet as it is, his voice is still too loud.

Not having eaten anything all day, she’s keenly aware of the hunger and thirst steadily growing in her stomach. But it’s no match for the pain in her head and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to keep anything more than water down if she tries. “No,” she manages. But then, to appease him, she adds, “Later.”

“All right,” he says finally, setting the glass on the small desk a few paces away. A pause. He shifts on his feet, and she’s just about to order him to move from his uncomfortable position when he speaks again, “I grabbed a hypospray. It’s yours if you want it.”

There’s a protest on her lips that dies when he interrupts, anticipating what she’d planned on saying, “We have more than enough supplies. It won’t be missed.”

Jyn licks her lips, then dips her chin in a slow nod.

Cassian’s jaw works briefly, clenching and unclenching before his expression finally smoothes. He knows her better than she knows herself, she thinks –– and they both know how stubborn she can get about soldiering through her pain until the last possible moment. For her to give in now without too much complaint tells him exactly how bad her pain is, what she’d been trying to hide from him all day.

Without a word, he waits until he catches her half-squinted gaze before slowly bringing the hypospray to her neck. She tilts her chin to the side slightly and closes her eyes; her breath stutters in her lungs when his warm hands brush against her skin, looking for the artery.

“Dispensing now,” he murmurs and she doesn’t have the energy to hide her flinch when the cold medicine enters her bloodstream.

The small, barely there movements of her body send shockwaves of pain through one side of her skull. Her whole body tenses, muscles rigid. She keeps her eyes squeezed to better ride out the wave washing over her, ebbing and throbbing; even as she feels the hypospray beginning to take effect, it isn’t immediate.

Now that she’s sitting, with no more tasks left to complete, she properly takes stock of her pain, it feels as if someone is repeatedly taking an ice pick to her head, stabbing her eye socket with each throbbing beat of her pulse. Before she can stop it, a small whimper leaves her mouth before she presses her lips tightly together so no other sounds can escape.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says softly. She feels him brush her cheek with his fingers lightly, then moves some of her hair off of her face. “You don’t have to hide from me, Jyn. What do you need?”

She doesn’t have to do much to convey it. Without speaking and moving as little as possible, she finds his arm in the dark and pulls him toward her. Gingerly, Cassian stands –– she can hear his joints popping as he does so –– and maneuvers himself over her and onto the cot.

He settles stiffly next to her with his back to the wall; at first, he doesn’t move, likely not wanting to cause her any more pain. But as soon as she feels him at her side, she reaches for him immediately. He is, as always, a lifeline for her, an anchor in the middle of the storm. She turns onto her side, curling into him, desperate for some sort of comfort, a distraction from the pain, if only for a few seconds. And even though it must be hell on his back for him to curl over her like this, he does so, anyway, his body a shield between her and the outside world.

Forehead pressed against his neck, her fists gripping his shirt with a white-knuckled grip, he quietly murmurs nonsense into her ear. All she can do is cling to him in a moment of uncharacteristic weakness strength and breathes.

Hours later, Jyn opens her eyes, slowly waking up. She doesn’t remember falling asleep but the combination of Cassian’s presence and the hypospray’s effect eventually lulled her to unconsciousness. She blinks once, twice, feeling a hundred times lighter than she had earlier; the pain in her head has abated to a manageable ache –– still there but not as debilitating.

She tilts her head upward, the tip of her nose brushing against Cassian’s face. He’s in the same position as he’d been in before, curled around her protectively. Still asleep, his face is relaxed, his breathing slow and even.

As much as he needs the sleep, she’s unable to resist her next impulse; she tilts her chin slightly, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. It’s short and sweet, lasting only a few seconds; and even though it’s a selfish want, her heart skips a beat in her chest when his eyes open, warm and brown, blinking down at her.

It’s a testament to how much he trusts her that he doesn’t tense upon awakening. Rather, his expression warms, mouth tugging into an indulgent smile. “Hi,” he murmurs, voice rasping.

“Hi,” she repeats, her smile a mirror of his. When he moves to brush his lips against hers again, she meets him eagerly, basking in the afterglow of the morning and the relaxed feeling that only sleep can bring.

“How are you feeling?”

She hums. “Better.”

“Good.” His arms tighten around her, firm but loose enough that she can pull away. She doesn’t. “You scared me, you know.”

She stays silent as he continues. “When Bodhi told me he didn’t think you were feeling well, I didn’t think it was that bad, not when you marched over to us a minute later. But then, after we jumped. . .” he closes his eyes briefly, licking his chapped lips. She wants to smooth the wrinkle between his brows with her thumb. “I thought you would have told me that it was that bad.”

Is that disappointment in his voice? Shame curls in her gut. Had their positions been flipped, she would have felt just as helpless. “I know. I should have.”

“Why didn’t you?” An open question. If he’s judging her for it, he keeps that out of his voice.

“I don’t know,” she says finally. “It’s. . .It’s not that I don’t trust you, because I do, but. . .” she shrugs with a shoulder as best she can while lying on her side. “Just habit, I guess.”

A habit formed after years of being alone, exacerbated due to Saw’s abandonment and how quickly her ties to the Partisans –– her foundation of self, her family –– had been ripped out from underneath her. It had been necessary to hide the vulnerable sides of herself for survival, instincts that she hasn’t quite shaken now that she once again has a team she can rely on.

He licks his chapped lips. “Have you . . . seen someone about this? A medic?”

“Once.” After her symptoms had lingered long after a particularly bad head injury, Saw had forced her (not that she had much choice with how sick she’d been) to see one of the Partisan’s medics. “With how many concussions I get, this sort of thing. . .happens, they said.”

Cassian hums. “Will you see one of the Alliance’s medics when we get back?”

“I don’t think there’s anything they can do,” she argues. She can handle it –– not to mention that, with how many injuries those doctors have to deal with on a daily basis, she’d just be wasting their time.

He stays silent but the look in his eyes tells her he doesn’t like her answer. “There might be medicine that could help.”

“The hypospray worked well enough,” she retorts grouchily, cuddling closer to him so she no longer has to meet his gaze. His heartbeat beats a steady tempo against her cheek.

He brushes her bangs back behind her ears, his hand lingering on the side of her face. Perhaps reassuring himself that she’s still in one piece, that she’s no longer in as much pain as before. “To prevent this sort of thing from happening so often.”

She scowls. “It doesn’t happen that often.”

“Jyn. . .” he sighs. “What happens if we’re out on a mission and you’re like this? If –– if something happened to you, I couldn’t. . .” His jaw clenches, eyes flashing at the thought of the hypothetical.

Knowing he’s right –– it has happened out in the field but never to this degree –– she stays silent.

“Let’s make a deal, all right?” She remains quiet, listening. He continues, “You go to the medbay when we get back, see what they can do. I’ll come with you. And then, in return, when my back is bothering me, I’ll go. But we tell each other, all right? When we’re hurting. Trust goes both ways, remember?”

“Trust goes both ways,” she echoes softly, tipping her head back from his chest and onto the pillow so she can better look at his face. Her headache has been subdued to a dull throbbing, a far cry from the agony she’d felt earlier. “You promise you’ll go?”

“If you do, I will,” Cassian says. “And you’ll tell me next time your head hurts, yes?”

“Fine,” she concedes with a grumble, though her displeasure fades when he gathers her back up in his arms and kisses her forehead gently. Her breath hitches at the feeling of his lips against her skin.

“We have a few more hours before we reach Dantooine,” he tells her softly. “We should get up, grab some food. When’s the last time you ate?”

Even though she hasn’t eaten anything all day, the remnants of nausea still remain in her system. She makes a face, wrinkling her nose at the thought of leaving the bed and Cassian’s embrace.

“You said your back was sore,” she says instead. Regardless if it had only been a ploy to get her to bed, his back bothers him more often than not. It won’t hurt to rest a little more, especially not when they’ll be in hyperspace for a while still. “Lay here with me?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles down at her. It’s the type of true smile she so very rarely sees outside of when they’re alone together, the one that never fails to make her heart swell in her chest with a type of love she’d never thought she’d ever feel. “Always.”

#rebelcaptain #jyn erso/cassian andor #rebelcaptain fic #rebelcaptain fanfic #rogue one fic #therebelcaptainnetwork #rebelcaptaindaily #dailyrebelcaptain #my writing

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strryhaze · 5 days ago

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Neil Perry : I can't talk to him this way.

John Keating : Then you're acting for him, too. You're playing the part of the dutiful son. Now, I know this sounds impossible, but you have to talk to him. You have to show him who you are, what your heart is!

Neil Perry : I know what he'll say! He'll tell me that acting's a whim and I should forget it. They're counting on me; he'll just tell me to put it out of my mind for my own good.

Among his many activities at Brown, John especially enjoyed being onstage and proved to be a talented actor. He told director John Emigh that one of the reasons he loved acting was that he believed people would cast him not because of his family background but because he fit the role best. Jim Barnhill, who taught John in a small scene study class in his sophomore year, described John as “among the best and most talented students” he ever encountered. He thought that John could have been accepted into Juilliard School or the Yale School of Drama.

While John appeared in a few plays that Emigh directed, he passed on one. It was Shakespeare’s Henry IV, which tells the story of a young man who transcends his misspent youth to become king. Even though most of his friends were in it, Emigh reflected, “John wanted nothing to do with that play. It hit too close to home.”

In January 1982 John again showed his commitment by cutting off his hair for David Rabe’s play In the Boom Boom Room. He played the role of Big Al, a foul-mouthed street hoodlum who was dating a go-go dancer. “Kennedy’s performance was really the high point of the evening,” the Brown Daily Herald critic wrote. He brought out his “more sensitive side in a very realistic manner, all this without hardly ever succumbing to the characteristic Pacino-type movements and speech patterns so many actors feel obliged to take on.

John’s final theater performance came in April 1983 for Miguel Piñero’s Short Eyes. “It was not John F. Kennedy and the guys,” recalled Richard Gray Jr. “It was an ensemble.” John, he reflected, went out of his way to be like everybody else. “It was clear in the theater community that John never wanted to get anything because of his name. He wanted to be right for the role.”

“Mrs. Onassis, who attended the opening-night performance of Short Eyes, gave them rave reviews, telling the actors, “This was as good as anything on Broadway.” Stephen Hill recalled that John’s famous mother “radiated this glow of friendliness and warmth. I remember how proud she was of John, how happy John was to be with his mom and introducing her to all of us. It made me realize Jackie Onassis is just another proud mother.”

Many people have written that John wanted to be an actor and that his mom objected and forced him to pursue a more traditional legal career. Christopher Andersen quoted a friend as saying, “His mother laid down the law. She told John in no uncertain terms that acting was beneath him, that he was his father’s son, and that he had a tradition of public service to uphold.” But not all close friends shared that opinion.

“I really think that’s just myth,” reflected Sasha Chermayeff. “I think he enjoyed acting. But he had no intention of pursuing acting professionally, ever. I never ever heard him say anything seriously about wanting to pursue it as a real life’s work.”

Although director Emigh claimed that John confessed he liked the theater because he would be evaluated based on his talent and not his family name, John was not so naïve as to believe such neutrality existed. He knew there was no escaping his past—not even when he was pretending to be someone else.

— america’s reluctant prince, stephen gillon .

#thought of this parallel and i had to get it out of my head #do i think jfk jr was as passionate about acting as neil perry was? well no but #he clearly enjoyed it immensely and happened to find a sort of refuge in it #also i always thought that whole ‘jackie forced john to quit acting’ myth felt off #miss jackie bouvier who heralded the arts . who grew up loving the arts and engaging in them herself and encouraged them in jfk …#you’re telling me SHE would have thought acting was beneath her son … yeah no #she probably indulged his love for acting herself and clearly supported him throughout it #and i think that if he hadn’t been jfk jr. he probably would have allowed himself to think about a career in acting but … he was jfk JUNIOR #but yeah at the end of the day he wasn’t naive #to ever entertain that possibility #jfk jr #jfk jr.#kennedys #kennedy #kennedy for your thoughts #jackie o #jackie bouvier #jackie kennedy #jfk #parallels #dead poets society

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dizzymoods · 1 year ago

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#The assumption that native Americans care only about being seen is a big Assumption #It’s breaking my heart that this is the fucking movie people are going to decide isn’t worth seeing because of the production company’#Because learning about ONE goddamn moment in Native history from ONE Native nation could make a difference in the lack of understanding of#Native sovereignty. Like Native lawyers literally lose important cases based on the ignorance of judges on Native Law#idk if I’m making sense but like where tf was this energy for fucking any other paramount movie#it’s not about liberal politics of being Seen for fucks sake

My post is about how capital and empire are entwined in ways we don't normally think about, in this case movie production. It tries to explain how a company releasing a film about indigenous murder while it funds indigenous murder is not contradictory.

The identitarian and representational politics im talking about is in reference to this phenomenon. That's why i qualified it with liberal. There is nothing wrong with identity politics or representation but they are easily weaponized by liberals to show "progress" has been made even as they aid and abet the fascism that erodes such progress. Consumption, in this context, has no material benefit. Paramount also has a storied history of producing anti-indigenous movies, so I'd be wary of this movie even if paramount didn’t donate a million to israel.

This film, about indigenous genocide, is relevant because it is being released at a time when Israel is genociding an indigenous population and the company which produced the film is funding that genocide. I don't think paramount is releasing any other film about indigenous people right now so why would anyone be talking about other paramount releases?

Indigenous media, across the globe, is vast and vibrant. ive written about and taught the Zapatistas use of new media; ive lectured about the Navajo using movie dubbing and subtitling as language preservation; when i teach Third Cinema i include Grupo Ukamau; and ive taught the history and politics of Palestinian cinema in Gaza, the West Bank, and throughout the diaspora. All of these histories are hardly indicative of the scope and longevity of indigenous cinema. Indigenous people don't need Scorsese to tell their history.

I hope people learn more about indigenous americans. But i don’t think just watching a narrative interpretation of a nonfiction book by a major studio is going to teach much. I think it’s more helpful to read indigenous authors and to befriend indigenous people.

I also don't think the language of the original tweet is trying to advocate for a full blackout of the film. The tweet encourages people to watch the film but in a way that doesn't give money to paramount. im not advocating for people to skip this movie either; i don’t think one tumblr post is enough to affect a successful consumer boycott. fwiw, i already bought an imax ticket before finding out this news and i don't see a point in either selling the ticket or skipping my screening.

One of my longest standing #thots on film criticism is that the text itself is sometimes not sufficient enough as a critic of a film.

There is no cognitive dissonance here. Paramount made Killers of the Flower Moon to make money and to make someone’s producer son an Oscar nominee. They don’t care about the Osage murders. They care about the profitability of it. At the same time Israel is necessary, as a glorified US military base, to maintain US hegemonic power and thus economic power, which Paramount benefits from. So of course Paramount supports Israel and its subsidiaries like CBS Entertainment Group are going to cut zionist propaganda.

This also demonstrates again that liberal identity politics and representation don’t mean anything materially. A movie might make you feel seen (whatever that means outside of narcissistic consumption) but beyond that it’s just pretty shadow puppetry.

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mrbensonmum · 5 months ago

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TV Shows - 3 Body Problem IV

At the end of the second episode, I wanted to make a separate post.

The reason is that I’m wondering if this is just a dramatic portrayal in both the series and the book, or a form of social criticism. I mean, Ye Wenjie, due to all her experiences, believes that humanity is so messed up that it’s not worth continuing.

I also wonder how Netflix will handle these questions and reflections that come up repeatedly in the book. I don't want to say that this becomes tedious in the book, because I think it’s important to think about such things. But a voice inside me says that it could become tedious in the series. Especially when I recall some critiques of the series, saying that they had never seen a series where so little happens. I’m sorry, but I think those critics lack any understanding and ability to process events that go beyond the usual standards of today's series.

In the books, an important point is that characters think far beyond their own lifetimes and make decisions based on that. The author consistently paints a very interesting picture of the future and spends a lot of time explaining it. This is another balancing act the series must manage, because in the third book, the scope of this becomes even greater, and I feel that this could easily ruin the tension and structure of the whole story.

I also hope that the cast remains the same and that no one has to be replaced due to any foolishness. I've already pictured some actors in certain scenarios while reading, and I can hardly wait to see these in motion.

And yes, as I write, I realize that the next two seasons could be challenging. The line between disappointment and fascination is very thin, and I need to make sure my own expectations don't get in the way. A disappointment might not necessarily be the series' fault but rather due to my high expectations.

Yes, it remains exciting, and I've already written so much, even though we’ve just finished episode two. This could turn out to be a longer project than I initially thought.

Hopefully, Netflix won’t take too long and will quickly produce the next two seasons. Right now, we can see with Marvel that the long wait between series and movies doesn’t do the overall experience any good.

#3 body problem #trisolaris #netflix #tvshow #rewatch #tv show #remembrance of earth's past #jess hong #benedict wong #Eiza González #netflix series #netflix shows

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pupkid · 1 year ago

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i have a fic i wrote for the game the quarry after it came out, about one character comforting a child!reader in the camp

unfortunately... i still havent actually finished editing it. :( editing fics is one of the hardest things for me, esp bc sometimes i gotta change or rewrite something etc and it rly overwhelms me

and i mean... ive had quite a lot on my plate if im being honest and also struggling too much with executive dysfunction and health

but... well... there's hope i'll actually edit and post it and that maybe i'll even write more!!!! eventually!!!!!......

(not write more for the quarry though, it was a short lived fixation, but would love to write more for other fandoms!!! with stuff like child!reader and agere!!!

another thing tho is that i hardly ever even FINISH any stories i write. like ive written sooooo many wips in my life that ended up getting abandoned and scrapped bc something with my brain just doesnt permit me to actually complete a lot of these. its like a lack of willpower or focus or something, even when i rly want to work on the thing. but welp theres always hope! i guess)

#🎀#ig this is a bit of rant #or a ramble idk

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ithisatanytime · 2 years ago

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bladee - NOTHINGG (ft. Wondha Mountain) (Official Audio)

ive been reading the illiad while i shit for a while now, and whats interesting about it is even though its over a thousand years old and is one of the oldest stories ever written, its the first war story that really effected me in a way that basically all war stories aim to ostensibly. i can hardly keep track of the characters because of their greek names and most characters are introduced only to be killed in the same sentence that they are introduced “and then the godlike polycastrus the sun of ares was smitten about the brow with hektors spear where it pierced through and black death over took him” over and over, its so fucking dumb but i am on the toilet reading this going “damn war is senseless” lmfao, this is just another proof that the so called “seinfeld effect” is pure cope and that seinfeld was never funny. i watched part of a 45 minute youtube video last night titled “seinfeld episodes were based on true stories” where the writers would explain how every bit from the show was based on their own personal experience, which makes complete sense to me because they didnt have any talent. there is a gag on the show where a man has a fancy pen from nasa and seinfeld wants it so he comments on it and then the man offers the pen, he refuses the pen out of politeness and the man is then insisting he take the pen angrily, this is the core of jewish humor and its never been funny, yes sometimes to show face we do illogical things, this “we fight over he pays for the meal” humor has been played out for a fucking thousand years, seinfeld was popular because it was unapoligetically jewish and critics are jewish.

#youtube

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somer-writes · 1 year ago

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thats crazy!!! high wpm one handed?? my friend likes to use that write or die site where it starts deleting your work if youre idle for too long. the nice thing about nano is it has a daily goal (1667 words/day) which makes it a lot more manageable than lump sum. i write when the mood strikes and am terrible at hobby fixation. like ive hardly written at all this year up until october ;-; i wont write anything and then spew out 50k in a weekend and then that goes nowhere other than ive just written A Thing. like i have at least 3 complete novel length stories just sitting in my drive bc idk what to do with them lmao

i cannot recommend camp nano enough here!! its like a training version of nano where you can set your own goal (10k is the standard starter) and work up towards full nano. they do it in april and june and treat it as its own event and it even has some winner goodies.

how many drafts i have depends on how much of a mental movie i have when i sit down to write. i always get caught up on the beginning of my drafts. if i dont like how something starts when i read it ill start over.

thats super cool! i dabbled in guitar/drums but its been years. i can sort of play the lyre and im teaching myself ocarina. i just always struggled setting aside time to actually practice XD

I’m begging you, please go take one of those typing speed tests and get back to us. To get down 2k in 15 minutes you’d have to be able to type around 133 wpm. And then you do that while also having a coherent story? I can get down about 2k in an hour if the words are really flowing, and my typing speed is already 90-100 wpm when I’m pushing myself, but I have to stop and think about where my story is going, interactions, etc. Fo you even like stop and think, or does the Muse seize you and you just go?

theyre so stressful D: i got 61 on a 1 min test i found online. I only clocked that 2k during a NaNo sprint where a prize was at stake so i consider it an outlier XD

my mother was a very strict typist. i still dont type "properly" bc small hands/ambidextrous means i keep my hands positioned differently on the keyboard. have you heard of that alternate keyboard format thats supposed to increase wpm?? instead of qwerty its like durty or something??

i do not think just write XD my brain makes moving pictures and then i put those pictures on paper (or try to). i dont go back and edit until im cleaning up after i already have the ideas down. that includes moving stuff around or thinking things out to the next step.

best advice i heard which i live by is think of the next step, not the next gap and i write that way too. i just word vomit and sometimes it turns out okay.

personally i do think my quality suffers as compared to other lovely writers such as yourself but comparison is the thief of joy so i try not to do that.

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mothandpidgeon · 2 years ago

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Helter Skelter (cult leader!Ezra x f!reader) - Chapter 6 [the end]

MASTERLIST - TAG LIST

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Pairing: cult leader!Ezra x f reader, dark!Ezra x f reader

Series summary: When you meet a mysterious thinker named Ezra, you join up with his followers and become a part of their family. Your new life is full of psychedelics, sex, and mind bending experiences. But there’s something dark lurking in Ezra’s philosophy. Will you discover it before it’s too late?

Words: ~3.7k

Rating: E 18+!

Warnings: SPOILERS dark!Ezra, elements of dubcon (this is a cult so there is psychological manipulation), cults (obviously), pregnancy, p in v sex, oral sex, pregnancy loss, violence, blood (feel free to let me know anbout anything ive missed)

a/n: This is the end of the story. I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride. I can’t believe that it took me this long to get this fic completed. I remember messaging @wordsandwhiskey about an acid trip to the Green and it feels like ages ago. My personal life has been a journey. I’m working on publishing a fucking book. But I’ve wanted to come back and finish this out. I pretty much never get into drama or get personal but here’s some tea. Before I even posted the first chapter of this fic, there was a lot of negative shit being said about its content. I was blocked by people who I’d never interacted with. I saw conversations about me bleed over to twitter. I got nasty asks (not even on anon) that I simply deleted because I knew replying would just get them off. I actually considered not posting this fic at all and when my amazing friends convinced me that was silly, I still felt so much anxiety about the asks I might get. I remember posting the first chapter not because I was excited to share a story but as evidence, to prove that whatever had been assumed about what I wrote wasn’t true. Anyway, to get to the point, I know this isn’t one of the more popular things that I’ve written but thank you for reading it. Thank you for reblogging it. Thanks for just giving it a chance. I actually love this fic for all of the reasons other people hate it. I love hearing that I’ve given readers goosebumps and that they feel the pull of Ezra’s charm despite knowing how dangerous he is. I’m really proud of this. All of that being said, I warned you from the very beginning, there is no happy ending. This story gets darker still if you can believe it. I hope it thrills you.

That night there was a bonfire. Everyone was giddy, especially Cee who’d laid her hand gently on your belly, her eyes as big as saucers. She threw her arms around your neck and your tears had come even harder.

You sat in the grass by the fire soaking in its warmth, your body deliciously exhausted from emotion. Your face hurt from smiling. Ezra was behind you, his knees outside of your own, fingers tracing the skin of your bicep. On the opposite side, Clo and Rieve had already started making out. Tracy situated herself beside Ezra but you hardly noticed. When she tried passing a joint to Ezra he waved her away.

“You’re not going to leave now, are you?” Cee asked. She perched in front of you with her knees folded under. Her cheeks glowed in the warm light of the flames.

You cupped her face in your palm.

“Of course not, birdie” Ezra’s voice came as he wrapped his arm around your middle and rocked you side to side.

You laughed and Cee let out a whoop as she stood and started spinning around. She looked beautiful and delicate like a magical woodland creature. Her silhouette was dark against the thin fabric of her dress, illuminated by orange. You could feel Tracy watching you until Cee pulled her to her feet with a bubble of laughter.

Ezra pinned you in closer to his chest, pressing a lump in the denim of his jeans at the small of your back. “I want you so desperately,” he purred against your ear. A shiver of pleasure spread over your skin. His eyes looked black as they slid across you, deep enough to fall into.

He got up and took you by the hand, leading you back to the house. It was dark inside, everything covered in shadow but you could find your way up to the bedroom blind. The bon fire shone through the bedroom windows and you could hear the far away sounds of the others singing.

Ezra laid you out on the big bed. It wasn’t Muriel’s bed anymore. This place was yours now. They’d claimed this house, your family, made a place for you, for this. You slid out of the dress, your dress, and you could barely breathe as you felt Ezra’s glinting eyes drinking you in.

“My beautiful starlight queen,” he rasped. He cupped your breast and found your nipple, sucking furiously. You moaned deeply and he made a noise of approval that set you on fire.

When he was finished, his lips were glistening and he kissed you. The sour taste from retching earlier still lingered in your mouth but Ezra didn’t seem to care. His tongue burrowed against yours eagerly as if he wanted to devour you from the inside out. He wanted all of you, even the vile parts. And you would take him the same way. Whatever had revolted you, whatever you’d feared, none of it compared to the feeling of Ezra wanting you, needing you. He’d become a part of you, one that you couldn’t cut out.

You grasped his standing cock and tugged. Ezra let out a throaty groan but his hand encircled your wrist.

“Patience, Star,” he whispered, guiding your touch away. “My most precious jewel.”

Ezra put his lips to your fingertips and then slunk down your body, his nose trailing a heated path across your belly. His hand slid up your leg towards your center and you gasped. He knelt between your legs and inhaled deeply. The feeling of his stubble against the sensitive skin of your thigh lit up your entire body.

“I want to taste you. You’re already sweet as honey,” he said as he parted your thighs. “Soon you’ll be ripe as a peach.” His mouth surrounded you, tongue coaxing more release from you. He growled into you, vibrating up your spine and making your back arch away from the mattress. “Delicious.”

His palm splayed out on your belly as his tongue swirled over you, drinking you in. Ezra continued on noisily, drowning out the sounds of the celebrations outside. Your eyes screwed shut, overwhelmed by the mounting sensation, dizzy and glorious. He edged you closer and closer with his long strokes. A tingle burned up from Ezra’s mouth to your throat and it burst out in a feral grunt through gritted teeth.

“That’s right,” he cooed as you came down from your high. He crawled up beside you, held your chin in his big hand and put his slick lips to yours.

You were still reeling, pulsing at your core, and breathless as Ezra rolled you over him. His eyes darted over your body, greedily trying to take all of you in at once. You felt needy, desperate for more of him so you rocked up on your knees and slid down onto him. The long, straining sound he made was delicious.

You threw your head back, rolling your hips over him. Ezra’s hand found places to touch and grab– the curve of your hip, the muscles in your calf. It felt like you were floating, like you could take him up to the Green with your ecstasy alone.

Ezra’s hips stuttered against you, brows twisted, lost in pleasure. You pressed your chest against his, skin sticky with perspiration. He buried his face in your hair, snarling, and you felt his nose against the sweat on your temple.

“Let me defile you once again,” he said.

His ragged voice made you come apart and, just as you crested, your body quivering and plummeting like you were sliding downhill, you felt him leave you. You clenched around nothing, a cry escaping you as you panted. Ezra put your limp body onto your back and you opened your eyes to see him up on his knees, pulling at himself. Soon he was marking your stomach with his hot release, swearing and grunting.

Ezra was still sleeping when you slid out of bed. He’d pulled you into his chest before he dozed off, a heavy arm draped across your middle.

“It’ll be a girl,” he told you. “We’ll call her Ruby.” He brushed his lips against your shoulder, the stubble on his face rough and wet. “Stay with me.”

You wouldn’t dream of being separated from him now.

Dawn was breaking, painting the room in a dull purple glow. The house was quiet and you assumed the others had gone to sleep just a few hours earlier. There was a full length mirror on the door to the armoire in the corner. You crept over and studied the reflection of your naked body.

How had you missed it? You spent so much time in your own skin and yet you hadn’t paid any attention to the swell that was growing. It wasn’t a dramatic change, a little fullness in the belly like you’d feasted on a Thanksgiving dinner. You realized now that your breasts had swollen like a balloon threatening to pop. No wonder Ezra had spent all night clutching them in his sleep.

You smoothed your open hand across your stomach. What would she look like? You hoped she had Ezra’s eyes, his thick, dark hair. A smile bloomed on your lips as you pictured him with a soft little child in the crook of his arm. You had to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from letting out a laugh.

Ezra wouldn’t let you out of bed once the mid-morning came. When you told him it was your turn to make coffee, he chuckled. “Cee can attend to that,” he said and began kissing your neck again.

You arched your back, wiggling closer to him. It could always be like this and, still, it would never be enough of him.

When you sighed you heard his deep purr in your ear. “Mhmm.”

His fingers had just began to tease between your legs when you heard the door squeak open. Tracy appeared with her hands behind her back and Ezra unwrapped himself, sitting up against the wooden headboard.

“Harmony,” Ezra said.

Irritation prickled at you as she sat herself down on the corner of the bed. You rested your head on Ezra’s shoulder, tangled your fingers into his.

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize,” Tracy said. “Star, you’re like, totally glowing.”

“She is,” Ezra agreed. “Yet Star has always been incandescent.”

“What’s it feel like?” she tried.

She looked at Ezra skittishly trying to see if he was listening. You noticed it, though she hid it well. For a moment, you felt bad for her.

“I don’t know,” you told her. “It’s special.”

“Far out,” she responded. “I’ve never held a baby before.”

The image that popped into your head made you feel nauseated again. You had the urge to snatch away a child that wasn’t there. Suddenly, you grasped at your stomach and whined, curling into yourself. Ezra was immediately attentive, concern cutting his brow. You breathed in a hiss of air and buried your face into him.

“Star,” he said.

“Hurts,” you replied.

“I’ll get her some water,” Tracy said and rushed out.

Ezra rubbed your back gently, murmuring reassurances. After a moment you sighed and wiped sweat off of your brow.

“What’s troubling you?” Ezra asked.

“It’s nothing,” you told him. Your voice sounded weak. “I feel better.”

“It appears to be a wealth of something,” he said.

You sighed. “I don’t know. I just felt this…vibration.”

You could see Ezra’s eyes harden just slightly. Tracy was in the room again.

“Drink this, Star,” she said.

You winced when she handed you the glass and when she put her palm on your shoulder you shivered.

“Harmony, allow her to rest,” Ezra said.

Tracy flushed and nodded, quickly retreating from the room. Ezra got up and slid into his jeans. He tilted your chin up for a kiss.

“Sleep,” he whispered and then he left, closing the door softly behind him.

You never saw Tracy again.

You didn’t know what Ezra said to her but she was gone the next morning. There was a part of you, the part that had wondered about old Muriel, that questioned whether she’d actually left of her own free will. But you’d been able to ignore that voice before so just enjoyed the fact that she was gone and you were here with Ezra and the family and Ruby.

You were happier than you could ever remember. Every morning you woke up with your legs tangled around Ezra’s– hot, naked skin cooled by the breeze from the open window. Occasionally Cee would sleep next to you but Ezra, he was all yours. He didn’t want anyone else, never spent the night in another bed, would leave you breathless and spent over and over again. During the day, he touched you carefully and watched you with an intense desire that made you feel dizzy. Ezra whispered in your ear about how exceptional you were, how beautiful you’d become, how he couldn’t keep his hands off of you.

The others took extra care of you, never asking you to volunteer for chores. Cee would pick flowers for you and write poems with words that rhymed with ‘Ruby.’ Even Clo was sweet to you and brought a pint of ice cream back when she and Rieve drove into town.

It was the best week of your life. If only you’d known how quickly it would all change.

You were on the porch that afternoon. The sky was the most perfect shade of blue, warm sun bathing the yard. It was autumn and the only leaves that still held onto the trees were red and purple. Cee braided Clo’s hair on the front steps. Rieve had just finished chopping wood. He laid against the painted floor of the porch, occasionally plucking a string on his guitar.

Ezra was happy that day. He had you in his lap, moving lazily in the rocking chair as his fingers slid your skirt up inch by inch with excruciating patience. Usually he’d be rambling on with one of his stories but he hadn’t spoken in a long time. Instead, he hummed a tune that was only loud enough for the two of you to hear.

“What song is that?” you asked him in a whisper.

He looked up at you with shining eyes and a mischievous smile. Your skirt wandered further up your thigh. Ezra opened his mouth to answer but he was distracted by the sound of crunching gravel. You turned to see a car pulling up the driveway.

“Who could that be, Birdie?” Ezra asked.

In the corner of your eye you saw Cee go rigid. Rieve sat up on his elbows.

The station wagon pulled to a stop close to the house. Its plates said Wisconsin or Washington, you never could quite remember. A woman in the passenger seat got out like a spring. She was somewhere in her 50s or 60s and the sour look on her face did little to make her look youthful. Her strawberry blonde perm was covered by a plastic kerchief and a little handbag bounced off of her arm.

Ezra slid you off of his lap and stood, stretching like a cat that had just woken up from a nap in the sun. “Afternoon,” he said.

The woman ignored him. Her little eyes looked over the property and you noticed how thickly she’d coated her lashes in mascara. “Harold, look at this place,” she said in disgust.

Harold unfolded himself out of the driver’s seat and had just managed to put his hat on as she berated him. He was balding and looked tired.

“How can I be of service to you?” Ezra inquired.

“Now, what’s going on here?” Harold asked.

“Where’s Muriel?” the woman demanded.

You swallowed. Ezra had dispatched with the old ladies easily but this woman was raring to fight.

Ezra looked between them he answered, “I’m afraid she isn’t at home.”

“Oh, don’t give us that malarkey,” Harold groaned.

Clo giggled quietly and you shot her a look. Cee’s body seemed to shrink on the other end of the steps.

“Aunt Muriel!” the woman began to call, craning her neck towards the windows on the second floor. “Aunt Muriel! It’s me, Rita!”

“Rita,” Ezra said, his voice as steady as ever. “You’ll have to forgive me but I have some tragic news.”

“I’ve heard all about it,” Rita snapped. She thrust a hand into her purse and pulled out a folded page. “A letter of condolence from her Rotary Club.”

Rieve started to gnaw at the corner of his fingernail.

“That’s right,” Ezra told her.

“And who the hell are you people?” Her face was blotchy with righteous anger as she peered at the letter. “Her granddaughter?” she scoffed. “She never had any children.”

“We live here,” you said. You weren’t sure how the words had come out so easily, so defiantly but you were standing tall with your arms crossed.

“Why in God’s name would a bunch of hooligans be living in my aunt’s house?” she snarled. “Where is she? What have you done with her?”

“She is deceased,” Ezra said, some of the cold irritation edging into his voice.

“What is this?” she went on. “You’ve turned the place into some kind of whorehouse?”

You could see Ezra’s shoulders rising and falling as he tried to keep his breath steady. Your jaw clenched so tightly you thought your teeth might shatter.

“Harold, get back in the car. We’re going to the police!” Rita said.

Just as you’d spoken so easily, everything that happened next came like an avalanche. Your vision tunneled. Rita turned towards the station wagon. You grabbed up the axe that had been left resting by the steps. Its wooden handle was still warm from Rieve’s grip.

THWACK.

It was kind of funny. The noise of blunt side of the axe connecting with Rita’s head was a lot quieter than you would have expected. And she didn’t immediately crash to the ground either. Instead, she reeled around, stepped towards you on wobbly feet, all while making a guttural groan.

Harold cried out and lunged for you and Clo tackled him to the ground. You hardly noticed, still incensed, smashing the axe into Rita’s skull again until she’d finally gone down.

All the while, your mind flashed hot. You weren’t going to lose Ezra because of this cunt. You hadn’t let anything come between you. You weren’t going to give up this life, not when you were finally happy, not when Ruby was on the way. You weren’t going to see your family threatened. Not by this bitch who hadn’t even noticed her aunt was six feet under. Fuck her. Fuck anybody that would keep you from what was yours.

Harold was screaming his head off, begging and scraping his fingers at the dirt. Somehow he managed to wriggle away and scramble onto his feet. You were so caught up in your fury that you didn’t see him approach, didn’t brace yourself when he leapt at you, circling you around the middle and pulling you to the ground. You landed hard on your side and you heard Cee call out your name but you didn’t feel anything at all even as the wind was knocked out of your lungs. Reive pulled Harold off you easily and Clo started kicking him in the stomach.

When Rita was finally down in the dirt, she flopped around twitching like a fish out of water until she stopped moving altogether. There was so much blood. A pool of between her matted hair and the clear plastic kerchief, smeared up the handle of the axe, staining your dress all up your belly. There was blood on your legs, too hot and sticky on your thighs.

You were breathing hard and you struggled to stand, the axe suddenly so heavy. You felt your heart beating fast in your chest, too fast. No, it was beating lower. Two heartbeats out of rhythm. You were shaking and you turned back to the porch, an eerie silence taking hold as Harold stopped whimpering. The axe handle slid from your grip and it fell with a thud against the earth. Cee was staring, a look of terror over her features. It made you laugh. There was nothing to worry about now. You’d done what you had to do but you were all safe now.

Your vision was going blurry.

Ezra was on the steps, motionless, his dark eyes on you, brows raised, lips parted. His expression was hard to read but he looked so handsome like that. He was a yard away but somehow he caught you before you fell to your knees. Everything was getting dark and you were so dizzy. Now there was yet another heartbeat pounding in your ears. You felt Ezra’s palm on your belly and the last thing you heard before you passed out was his voice saying your name.

“Star.”

You sit in the hard metal chair. How many times has he said your name?

“Where are they?” one of the doctors asks.

You begin to shake, your whole body shivering, tears budding in your eyes. The beige cinderblocks of the room seem to radiate cold, all the walls bare except for a clock. On the other side of the white table are three men, one with glasses, another taking notes.

“Where are the others?” the doctor asks.

You take a shuddering breath.

“On the Green,” you say, plastering a smile on your face but your lips twitch and quiver.

You know that’s not true. But you want it to be, desperately. You close your eyes every night before you fall asleep on the thin mattress and you see Ezra there, waiting for you. He has to be waiting for you.

“Come on, Star,” one of them says. His voice is tender but the words are cruel. “They left you there, didn’t they? They took you to the hospital but they didn’t stick around. They got out of dodge.”

Your head begins to shake back and forth uncontrollably and the tears fall down onto your cheeks. Your chest is so tight it burns.

“Ezra abandoned you.”

You nearly double over. This doctor doesn’t know anything. He’s lying to you. Ezra loves you. You and Ruby. But Ruby’s just an ache in the pit of your stomach, a punch in the fucking gut. You cry and tremble.

“Stop fooling yourself. They left you behind. Don’t you think you deserve better than that?” he asks and has the audacity to sound concerned.

You want to tell him to fuck off. He doesn’t know shit about it. But you just close your eyes.

“We’re trying to help you, Star.”

The words to one of Cee’s poems come to mind and you recite it silently over and over until you can’t hear what anyone’s telling you.

“I think we’ve put her through enough today,” someone says.

Once you settle down and stop hearing your pulse in your ears, after instructions to take deep breaths, they secure the cold cuffs around your wrists before escorting you back down the hall. You can’t be sure how long it’s been since you came here. And where here is, you’re not certain of either. They give you medicine that dulls your memories, makes you sluggish and puts the edges of things out of focus. Sometimes you wonder if this isn’t just a bad trip, a wrong turn on the way to the Green. If that’s the case it’ll end, that’s what you tell yourself.

They take you back to your room. Or is it a cell? You wait.

You close your eyes and remember the feeling of Ezra’s touch, the softness of Cee’s lips. It’s lonely here but they’re still with you.

Tonight, when you fall asleep on the threadbare cot, wrapped in the itchy smock you always seem to be wearing, you wake up again on the Green.

It’s dark and there's a chill in the air and you can hear the bugs chirping. You’re not wearing your suit but the air smells clean and moist. You make your way through the tall ferns, foliage tickling your shins, the ground plush beneath your bare feet. A glow outlines the rust colored trunks— a lantern hung outside of a tent. And you know what’s waiting inside.

THE END

#cult leader! ezra #ezra prospect #ezra prospect fic #ezra fanfic #dark!ezra #prospect fic #prospect #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic

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kidical · 2 years ago

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Been into spooky stories and creepypasta caught my curiosity. Ive looked a little into some of the characters and some things seem to differ alot, like ages and lore. Ive also noticed how ships and alternate character designs seem pretty popular. Some of this seems interesting, but also a bit confusing. Is there an easy way to understand how the differing kinds of content tend to work in the fandom?

creepypasta is very subjective, the stories tend to only give you a handful of adjectives and traits that apply to the character in question (jeff has a glasgow smile, black hair and a temper - jane is cool, collected and calculated with a black and white color palette - ben is a mischievous haunted elegy of emptiness, etc) which allows for artists to push and pull the characters in any direction they want. characters are mostly aged-up rather than vice versa mostly because the early creepypasta stories from 2013 rarely ever pinpointed characters age so people would sometimes fill in the blanks themselves with headcanons that would get spread around (jeff being 18, ben being a college student, etc) which either went against direct hints of their ages or were later debunked by the creators. headcanons have been a huge part of how the creepypasta community works with and improves on the stories within it.

some characters however were written by artists who included art pieces they made of their characters design, and when canon designs are established people don't need to fill in as many blanks so you'll hardly see those designs being changed, some noteworthy examples being laughing jack, ticci toby, sally williams, kagekao, etc. other characters however were either illustrated by inexperienced artists (nina, clockwork) or had designs stolen from other people (dr smiley) which can lead to artists in the community mass-redesigning specific characters to their liking.

theres really only one advice i can give you for the final question though, and thats just to do what youre comfortable with. if you do what makes you happy, you'll eventually attract people who enjoy what you do, the way you do it. you dont have to do what other people in the community want, its an easy way to get burned out really quickly. theres no real specific formula that ive seen works better than others, this is a community that built itself from the ground-up completely and entirely For The Fun Of It, you cant say that about a lot of things. its like a knitting club. just knit the sweater that you're wanting to knit, and people will enjoy it and some might not even know they liked that type of stitching until they saw you doing it (omg weird metaphor! not a literal sweater! lets pretend this makes sense!)

#ask

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ppersonna · 5 years ago

Text

make me - myg | m

strawberries on a summer evenin'. baby, you're the end of June. i want your belly and that summer feelin', getting washed away in you - watermelon sugar, harry styles

↳ summary- an ordinary sleepover with your best friend turns into anything but ordinary, thanks to your ridiculously loud neighbors above you.

↳ rating- explicit / 18+ / nc17

↳ word count- 4.4k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- pwp lol, smut, fluff, somehow the dirtiest fluff i have ever written bc there’s some depraved shit in here

↳ warnings- penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), unprotected sex (dont...pls), dirty talk, rough sex, degrading talk, dom/sub undertones, bratty backtalk

↳ a/n- yooooo dawg this... was fun. i hope you enjoy!! ive been in my yoongi feels lately uwu. feel free to comment, message, dm, whatever u want babes. i love you!

Yoongi thinks if he has to hear your upstairs neighbors fuck for another minute longer he might actually go crazy.

It’s been hours now. The girl is screaming like a feral cat and the man is doing a terrible impression of a porn star, trying his best to talk dirty but really just calling the howling banshee awful names.

If only his dick would be as annoyed as his brain.

He knows you’re awake next to him too. The steady rise and fall of your breathing changed when the bad porn above you began—now it’s faint and too quick to indicate anything but your wakefulness.

“Ohhhhh oppa!” The girl above you screams.

It’s finally what breaks down the silence in your bedroom. At her wanton sound, you and Yoongi are unable to stop yourselves from bursting into laughter.

Yoongi’s stomach hurts from laughing so hard. Tears form at the corners of his eyes as you make the bed rumble from the force of your combined laughter.

“God, do they think that sounds hot?” You finally ask after settling down to mere giggles.

Yoongi shrugs and wipes away his tears. “Apparently. He must like the way she sounds like a dying cat.”

His comment sends you into a spiral of laughter again, and you’re clinging to your chest as it heaves with exertion.

Yoongi is your best friend for a reason. No one makes you laugh as hard as he does. No one understands you the way he seems to be able to—it’s almost intuitive the way he can understand your feelings.

You live for your weekly sleepovers. You drink wine, watch terrible horror films, gossip about your other friend’s love lives, and fall asleep in your bed together. It’s never been anything but blissful.

Until recently…

When your heart decided it would beat too fast around him. When your brain decided to spin and weave stories of romance with your best friend.

Now, you can’t hardly think about anything else around the dirty blonde haired boy. It’s overwhelming to all of your senses when you see him, feel him near you. You want to kiss him, to love him, to tear his clothing off.

Which makes lying in your full size bed while the neighbors above you fuck and attempt to act out their wildest fantasies—badly—so much harder than usual.

“God,” Yoongi sighs and tugs the blanket up to his chin. “Does she even like it or do you think she’s faking it?”

You wrinkle your nose in disgust. “Ugh, I know I wouldn’t be into it.”

“You don’t like dirty talk?” He teases with a poke to your stomach. It makes an eruption of nerves go off in your chest.

“Oh, no I do. But that’s not dirty talk,” you shrug. “He’s just being mean. There’s no sensuality underneath it.”

He hums and lays back down to stare at the ceiling.

“Give me an example,” he asks of you. It makes your cheeks flush red and you’re thankful for the darkness in your room to provide you cover.

“Um, well,” you cough awkwardly. “He’s saying shit like ‘you fuck anything don’t you?’ which, maybe she’s into degradation, but I’m not. Not that extreme.” Your explanation sounds lame, but you continue anyway. “I prefer to hear things like ‘this slutty little pussy belongs to me’. Possessive and hot at the same time without being too...uhh...hurtful.”

Yoongi feels his cock rise with piquing interest. There’s a nagging guilt about thinking of his best friend this way, and a tinge of jealousy thinking someone who isn’t him has said that to you.

He feels his throat dry up, and you wring your hands nervously on the blanket. The moaning above you doesn’t stop, and you can hear the telltale sound of flesh slapping on flesh, indicating they’ve commenced into penetration and it makes your body throb with annoyance, and with want.

There’s moments when a louder slap echoes through the room—it’s clear the man is slapping her somewhere—and she whines desperately. Your core starts building that familiar heat, a slickness gathering you can’t stop. You press your thighs together tight and squirm as subtly as you can. You pray Yoongi doesn’t notice.

Yoongi, however, does notice. He breathes a sigh of relief internally knowing he’s not the only being affected by the commotion above. But he doesn’t understand the meaning behind it. For all he knows, you’re just turned on because—well, because it’s sex and it’s loud and who wouldn’t be a little turned on? You’re likely not at all aroused by him, or the thought of him. Right?

Another slap echoes through the room and you can tell by the way the girl gasps that her partner slapped her in the face.

“Damn,” you shiver. Yoongi turns to peek at you through the darkness.

“You into that?” He asks curiously. “Face slapping?”

It’s hard to swallow for a moment—it feels like you’re trying to down a boulder.

“Uh, yeah,” you whisper. “Yeah, I like pain.”

Yoongi doesn’t reply and it makes you fear you’ve overstepped the line. You’ve gone too far off the ‘best friend’ track and the whole train is about to de-rail.

You’re opening your mouth to apologize for taking it too far when Yoongi finally speaks.

“Fuck it,” he sighs. “You want to fuck louder and establish dominance?”

The world stops turning. You’re sure that gravity doesn’t exist anymore and the theory of relativity has been proven wrong.

Did Min mother fucking Yoongi, your best friend of over twenty years, just offer to have sex with you to...establish dominance over the neighbors above you attempting to make a cheap porn?

He’s looking at you normally, but there’s a glimmer in his eye that says more. It says he wants you. Your stomach twists in on itself. There’s no way, there is no actual plausible way that the man beside you feels the same way about you as you do.

“You want to have sex with me?”

Yoongi’s cheeks turn pink and he looks away for a minute.

“I also want to date you,” he murmurs.

If you thought the world ended before, you’re sure this is the fiery explosion that brings a new earth into life with a bang.

The noises from upstairs interrupt the romantic moment with a scream, a guttural howl from the man, and then muffled whispers and sighs.

“What do you say we keep them up all night too?” His mouth turns to a smirk as he awaits your reply.

“Yeah,” you nod as you throw the blankets off you. “Fuck those guys, lets show them what real kinky sex looks like.”

Yoongi’s eyes turn feral as he works his eyesight down your body. Your normal sleepwear outfit of a tank top and shorts looks like lingerie to him now and he’s salivating at the way he can see the curve of your breasts, and the press of your hard nipples against the fabric.

You’re throwing yourself onto Yoongi’s body in an instant, pinning him down to the bed and pressing your lips to his. You waste no time in waiting for him now that you know—now that you’ve heard with your two ears that Min Yoongi not only wants to fuck you, but date you as well. No use wasting any more time—the time for action is now.

The kiss is hot and Yoongi’s hands falter for a moment in surprise before he’s coming to his senses and tugging at your tank top quickly to pull it off your body. His hands feel hot on the bare skin of your back, rubbing at your spine and up to your shoulders. It makes you shiver, and you slide your tongue into his mouth to explore the heat inside.

His hands navigate forward to cup your breasts, fingers toying with your nipples—pinching and pulling and rolling between the pads of his fingers. It has you keening into his touch and grinding down on his basketball-shorts-covered cock.

Yoongi pulls away from you and pulls at a nipple harshly, which makes you gasp out loud.

“It’s real cute how you think you’re in charge right now,” he points out. “Real fucking cute. It’s gonna make me almost feel bad for punishing you.”

You’re sure your soul is going to leave your body at hearing your best friend’s sexy baritone voice verbalize your dirtiest fantasies. If this is how you react now…, may God have mercy on your poor little pussy.

Yoongi thinks he’s possibly never been harder than he is right now. His best friend, best girl, is sitting atop his boner and he’s twisting your pretty nipples so hard they’ll surely turn purple soon. You sound so sweet when you whine, and you’re starting to whine louder as he continues the pressure on your tits.

“You thought you could take control, didn’t you?” He asks, slipping further and further into the dominant act. He loves this, thrives off it. He didn’t think you’d ever be into it—none of the girls he’s dated before have—and he’s thrilled he doesn’t have to hide this depraved part of himself.

You nod and bite your lip, wincing as he tugs once more on a nipple before letting go.

“Cute,” he sighs. “But wrong.”

In an instant, he flips you two over and he feels his heart and cock swell at the sight of your sweet eyes widening at the quick change.

“This feels better, don’t you think?” He asks. You nod and he shakes his head. “Answer me, baby doll. You’re already about to get punished. You wouldn’t want to make me not let you cum, would you?”

The fear in your eyes increases and you clear your throat to talk.

“No sir, I don’t want that.”

Yoongi nearly moans. Hearing you call him sir, being underneath him—it’s his wet dreams come to life.

“Then tell me,” he instructs. “Tell me you need me in charge.”

You’re dying to be a brat, really wanting to pull Yoongi completely out of his shell, show him the full extent of what he can do to you. Plus, you really wanna give your neighbors a show—a taste of their own medicine, don’t you?

“What if I don’t want to?” You tease.

Yoongi’s grin turns wider and his eyes sparkle with knowing. He’s a through and through brat-tamer, and by the end of the night you’ll be crying for forgiveness.

“Little tease,” he growls as he leans down to latch his mouth on your abused nipple.

You gasp out loud, and it turns into desperate mewling as his teeth nibble and pull. You’ll be bruised up for days, surely. He sucks hard, pulls on it roughly and bites with meaning. You just know your panties are completely soaked.

“Talking back to me, huh? You think that’s going to get you where you want to go tonight, little girl?”

He turns his attention to your other nipple, eyes peering into yours as you struggle to answer with the sizzle of pain in your breast.

“What are you gonna do about it?” You send back with a shake of your hips under him.

The growl he delivers around your nipple and the quick bite makes you yelp.

“I think I should shut that loud mouth of yours up.”

You smile in response and his fingers tug down your shorts. You lift your hips and allow him to pull the clothing off and you’re left in your slicked up panties.

“Oh yeah?” You retort. “You gonna shut me up with that fat cock?”

Yoongi visibly shivers. His spine tingles deliciously for minutes after the hair on his neck settles. He’s dreamed of you like this, under him and begging to be put in your place. And now, here you are. And he can’t wait to make it a reality. He’s even forgotten about the loud neighbors. It’s now just all about you.

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Dirty little slut so horny to get her mouth on my cock.”

Yoongi allows a finger to trail down your clothed slit, and he outwardly groans at how wet you are. You’re unable to hold back your whimpers of need—he’s so close to where you need him most and where you’ve dreamed of having him.

“You talk a big game for someone who’s drenched before I’ve even done anything,” Yoongi says with a smirk.

Your legs tremble as he pulls your panties to the side to expose your drenched folds. He dips a finger in and touches your clit. You moan in unison—he’s captivated by the heat and slick, you’re feeling air escape your lungs with every swirl of his finger.

“Y-Yoongi,” you whine. He tsks and pulls his finger out.

“That’s not my name right now.” His hands start to slide your panties down and your stomach leaps with excitement.

“Sir, please.”

“Now you want to be my good girl?” He asks with a chuckle. “Where’s my mouthy little brat who wants my cock to shut her up?”

He leans back on his heels and watches you eye him. You’re nearly bursting at the seams. You’re naked while he remains completely clothed and while you’d normally feel exposed and vulnerable, all you feel is white hot heat. You’re burning for Yoongi, for him to do what you’ve dreamt he could do.

“Why don’t you show me what that sweet mouth can do?”

He maneuvers to stand at the side of the bed, dick straining against the mesh of his shorts. He waits for you to sit up, which you wordlessly obey. His cock is now eye level with you, and your mouth feels dry. You’ve dreamt about this dick, about what it looks like and how it would feel in your hand, inside you. The fact that you’re here now, about to find out all your secret fantasies is heady.

Your hand rubs at the straining material, over the thickness of his cock. He feels big, and you give it a squeeze which makes him hiss.

“Still being a tease,” he sighs with faux disappointment. “You’re in a precarious position to be such a little cocktease. Might need to fuck that right out of you.”

It makes you whimper—his direct threats sounding like smooth promises going straight to your core.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Yoongi growls and grabs a bit of your hair, tugging your head back to look at him in the eyes.

“I think you should shut this fucking mouth up.” His voice is dark, and his eyes glow with lust.

A grin pulls over your face as you gaze sweetly up at him—his hand still gripped tight in your hair.

“Make me.”

Yoongi is silent for a moment as he stares at you in wonder—his beautiful girl, so rebellious and yet so willing to comply.

“I fucking love you, you little fucking slut.”

Yoongi forces his shorts down and grips your chin, holding it hard in his hand.

“Now choke on my fucking cock.”

You open your mouth complacently and he wastes no time in shoving his entire length down your throat mercilessly.

It’s hot. It feels like fucking heaven. Your lips wrap around him and suction and he can feel your gag reflex straining against his tip at the back of your throat. Yoongi thinks his entire spine is tingling with desire for you and the way you take his cock so well has his toes curling.

You didn’t even get to have a good look at Yoongi’s cock before it was shoved into your throat, but now that it’s there you don’t even need to see it to knows he is fucking thick and long. It stretches your mouth and you know your pussy will be taken to its limit when he finally buries himself inside you where he rightfully belongs.

“Can’t talk back now, can you?” He teases as he begins to fuck your throat. “Mmmm shit—, you suck my cock so fucking good.”

His words are nothing but encouragement for you and you fight back the growing discomfort in your throat and allow him to use it as he pleases. Tears form in your eyes and slip down your face at the exertion and you soon feel his balls slap at your chin. You’ve only fantasized of being used like this by Yoongi, and now it’s actually fucking happening. You’ll be damned if you don’t give him the suck of a lifetime.

Yoongi thinks he’s staring into heaven as he fucks your tight mouth and watches as your eyes fill with tears. They leak out and he knows you’re loving this just as much as he is by the palpable enthusiasm you accept his cock with.

“Look at my little brat,” he coos mockingly. “Not so big and brave now, are you? Not with daddy’s cock wrecking your hot mouth.”

He picks up the pace and the sounds turn disgustingly lewd. It’s a wet, slurping sound as Yoongi forces his cock in and out of your drooling mouth. Saliva drips onto the bed below you as you take him all, never given a chance to breathe or swallow. Yoongi takes and you selflessly give. You’d allow the man to split you in half—and you’re actively hoping he does just that tonight.

Suddenly, Yoongi is pulling out of your mouth and leaving you panting and keening for more. He grips his cock with a fist. He strokes himself roughly and looks down at you.

“Gonna cum, baby girl. Fucking beg for it.”

Your hands grip at his thighs and you’re breathing hard to catch up on the oxygen you were denied. But it doesn’t stop you from doing exactly as he orders.

“Please, daddy. Please cum on my face. Let me taste your cum, I want to know what you taste like. Cum on me. Mark me, daddy.”

Yoongi whines and increases the speed of his pumps. His mouth falls open as he watches you pout so sweetly and wait so eagerly for his seed on your face. He wants to see your entire body covered in his cum and he plans on ensuring that happens sooner rather than later.

“My eager little bitch. Wants her daddy to mark his territory.”

You nod, tongue sticking out and wagging like a dog for his cum.

“Please, daddy. Make me messy.”

It seems to be the secret password to Yoongi’s climax. Your desperation, your eager position, the way you beg so sweetly. It sends him right over the edge and he cries out as his cock pulses white stripes over your pretty face.

He wishes he could take a picture of the way his cum covers your face. He’d make it his background photo so he could see it every day, show everyone around him the gorgeous little whore he gets to cum on every night.

“Shit, babygirl,” he groans as he attempts to catch his breath. “Look at you.”

You smile as your tongue retreats into your mouth and you savor the drops that landed on your tongue. Your eyes close in bliss as you enjoy the flavor, noting it tastes salty and sweet and you can’t wait to reacquaint yourself with the taste over and over again.

“Lay back,” he orders as he pushes his shorts all the way off.

In his haste to fuck your throat, he only pushed them halfway. He slips out of them and pulls his shirt off before he joins you on the bed.

“Let me drink this cunt.”

You whimper in agreement as you press your back in to the pillows and spread open your legs.

“Please, daddy.”

He grins as he lowers himself to lie between your legs. He blows on it, cool air pushing over your folds chilling you.

“Fuck,” he sighs. “Greedy little cunt wants it all, hm?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“So compliant for me now,” he whispers as he kisses your thighs. “I like it when you behave.”

He kisses in further, and soon he’s using his fingers to spread apart the folds and pressing the flat of his tongue to your clit and laving it over the aching nub.

“Holy shit,” he groans as he comes up and sucks his tongue back into his mouth. “Sweetest little pussy.”

You can’t reply, the capability to speak has left you now. He buries his face back into your cunt and gets to work. His tongue starts flicking against the bundle of nerves and then dips down to fuck into your channel. He works his tongue around you and your back arches off the bed and your heels dig into the mattress. You seek purchase in his hair with your hands, digits gripping at the blonde locks between your thighs.

Yoongi groans and moans into your cunt, and soon he slips two fingers in to fuck you roughly.

He pulls his lips away and licks his tongue over them to collect the slick that lingers. His fingers maintain a quick pace and he drinks in the sight of you gasping at the stretch.

“Yeah, look at you take my fucking fingers. Such a wanton little whore for me.”

He slides another finger in to join, then another, and it makes your cries echo loudly around the room. He suddenly remembers the neighbors above you and smirks. He pulls his hands from you, making you keen with desire and desperately beg for more.

“Daddy! Please, I need..” you gasp. “Need you!”

He pulls himself up to join your hips together and rolls his them against each other. His cock rubs against your soaked pussy and he bites his lip at the feel of it getting slicked up.

“I want you to be nice and loud for me, baby girl,” he demands sweetly in your ear as he licks the shell. He notes your shiver and smirks, before kissing your ear lightly. “Tell those mother fuckers upstairs who’s going to take you to Hong Kong.”

“Yes, daddy,” you agree.

It only takes the consent to leave your lips for Yoongi to spear his cock into you. He’s not slow or gentle, he pushes it into the hilt immediately.

Yoongi meant to start a pace, to begin fucking into you mercilessly, but he’s frozen inside your tight heat. You feel so good, so fucking tight and warm and wet for him. It’s better than heaven, and surely better than any pussy he’s been inside before. Maybe it’s because it’s you, and no one else.

“Fuck!” He gasps. “Holy shit I could cum right now.”

You whine and move your hips desperately.

“Fuck me daddy! Fuck me hard, please! Use me like your little cock sleeve.”

Yoongi bites his lip and feels his cock pulse.

“Shit, you’ve got a dirty fucking mouth,” he grits. “Let’s see if you’ve got a dirty little pussy too.”

He sets a pace, desperately wills his cock not to cum yet. He wants to fuck you senseless, until your eyes roll back in your head. He’s gonna make sure you get off on his cock before he comes close to his end.

Yoongi grips your chin again, like he did at the beginning as he fucks into you roughly.

“Look at you take my fucking cock so deep,” he bites out. “Your cunt is so fucking desperate for my fat cock, isn’t it? You need me to fuck some discipline into you.”

You’re nearly screaming now at the force of his thrusts. He’s pushing all the way into you with each push and his balls smack against your ass deliciously. You’re babbling, words unable to make sense as he fucks all the brain cells out of you.

“Dumb little cock slut,” he whispers as he leans down to suck a nipple into his mouth and bite at it before releasing it “Little brat turns into a perfect little fuck hole for me, so fucking good for me.”

“Yes, y-y-yes baby! S-so close!”

Yoongi’s had you near the verge since his oral, and now with his punishing pace and power in his driving hips, you’re hovering over the edge.

His hand drops down to rub at your clit, a circular motion that has you gasping and screaming his name.

“That’s fucking right,” he breathes. “Tell them, baby. Tell them who’s got the best fucking cock. Tell them who fills this pussy up so well.”

You’re eager to comply.

“You, daddy! Fuck! You feel so fucking thick in me. I need your cum, please, please. Cum on me.”

Yoongi feels his balls tighten impossibly--he knows he’s seconds away from an explosive orgasm.

“Cum on my cock, baby girl. Let me feel you cream my fucking cock. Wanna see you all over this fat dick.”

His free hand tugs at a nipple and pulls it punishingly, tugging it so far it pulls the skin around it. Your screams light up the room, echoing and bouncing off the walls and surely traveling up to your neighbors bedroom.

“Yoongi! Fuck! I’m cumming!” You warn, a millisecond before your world crashes around you.

Your cunt squeezes his cock so tightly that it causes his hips to stutter in their pace. It grips him tight, angry like a squeezed fist and Yoongi feels the air get sucked out of his lungs as his climax follows directly after yours. He didn’t even have a chance to pull out--he’s emptying his load into your womb and whining at the feeling of your pulsating walls milking every single drop greedily.

It’s several minutes later that you’re both caught up to normal breathing and resting beside each other on the bed. The room is silent, save for little pants and breaths, and Yoongi reaches over to lace his fingers into yours and hold your hand tightly.

“You wanna date me?” He asks sweetly, as if his cum isn’t dripping out of your cunt as he speaks.

It makes you laugh. It’s so classically Yoongi that you can’t help but to laugh.

“Yes, daddy, I want to date you. I want to date you every single day.”

He pulls you into his embrace and kisses at your forehead.

“Maybe we should send your neighbors some flowers for getting us together,” he teases.

As if on cue, the all too familiar sound of skin slapping against skin and screeching moans comes from upstairs and plays through your apartment like an unwanted jukebox.

“God damn it, our plan backfired.” he grumbles. “I think we turned them on.”

You press your sticky, sweaty body against him and kiss at his lips. Your hand sneaks down to his cock and grips it again, begging it to come back to life.

“Shall we try again, then?”

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