#why do I always do this where it needs to be longer and more in detail but I’m too impatient | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zyafics-recs · 2 days ago

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reblogging comment review by @zyafics

ok i can't contain myself to write so i will be reading (sorry for all the tiktoks send over dms hahaha) ⬇️

He hated physical therapy, but what he hated more was sitting on the sidelines, watching his teammates on the ice while he was stuck on a cushioned table with resistance bands and an overenthusiastic sports medic, with hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail and a pair of blue scrubs that somehow still looked cute on you.

always obsessed with your descriptions and im grinning so hard knowing that's ME hehehe

It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you.

NOT FOR LONG I READ THE WARNING

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots. It was refreshing.

my dom girlyyy

You weren’t the kind of girl to fall for a player, especially one with a reputation like Rafe’s. Besides, you were already with someone. Logan—the clean-cut, dependable defenseman from a rival school. You’d been together for over a year, and things were great.

SCREAMINGGGGGGGGGG (muffled behind a pillow)

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

me rn: login who???

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

im so giddily rn, their banter is TOP TIER

“Logan’s a lucky guy.”

OH I SPELT IT WRONG LOLLLLL

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

🤭 im like a schoolgirl rn

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

imma be so honest i thought WE were gonna be cheating but i guess HE'S cheating that scumbag

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe said softly, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler, “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

I KNOW so give me that dick 😁

Rafe’s knee had healed remarkably well, and now the day had arrived: his first game back on the ice. As it drew near, a strange sense of anxiety creeped in. Your life had become so closely tied to Rafe’s recovery over the past few months that the thought of him no longer needing your help—or your company—left you with an unsettling emptiness.

i need him to SLAM into logan ohmygod

He skates straight at Logan, not bothering with any pretense. If Logan wants to play dirty, he is more than ready to play dirtier. Logan barely has time to react before Rafe drops his gloves, his intent crystal clear.

LET'S FUCKING GOOOO

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

ANGRY MAKEOUT SESSION LETS GOOO

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

oh im horny

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

oh HE'S horny

Rafe lets out a low, almost guttural sound as you rock your hips against him, the pressure making him tighten his grip on you, holding you in place as he grounds himself against you. The sensation makes your breath hitch, a needy whimper escaping your lips that only spurs him on.

ok im at a cafe, reading this smut on my 14'' screen where everyone can surely see. let me pack up and go home and i'll be back to react.

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue.

I'M BACK

Without another word, he pulls you toward the locker room, his grip firm and unyielding as he leads you through the maze of benches and lockers. Your heart races as he pushes open the door to the showers, the sound of the water echoing off the tile walls. The room is empty, the air thick with steam, and the second you step inside, he’s pouncing on you. Clothes are gone in the blink of an eye.

Oh. My. God. this is so fucking hot what the FUCK

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world.

it's me, but THAT SHOULD BE ME!!!!!!

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged.

IM GRINNING my favorite part of public sex smut is the fact they're almost caught hahahahaa

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you with a mixture of affection and desire. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

my baby my baby my babyyy

final thoughts—i'm obsessed with this. ur writing. you. ohmygod, as always, the first thing that comes to my head is your descriptions. when you were describing reader, the medical training, the equipment and the environment, i always feel so immersed by your vocabulary and imagery. next, the fucking BANTER, oh you got me clutching my chest, giggling in the middle of a cafe. thank god no one was looking over my screen. but truly, i love how lowkey smitten rafe is with reader. he's always in love with her before the story truly begins and i love how much softer this version of rafe is. don't get me wrong, he's possessive and a beast on the ice, but something about him is so baby girl. thank you, gigi, for doing my request justice, i swear i want more!!!!

looking like motivation - hockey!r.c (+18)

requested by my #1 @zya4lifers

warnings: meantions of cheating; SMUT.

Rafe’s day started the same way it had for the last two months: with a groan of pain that shot up from his knee and settled into his mood like a stubborn storm cloud.

At least that was what he thought when he first met you.

But two weeks in, his hatred had morphed into something else entirely, something way more complicated. He wasn’t sure when it happened—maybe when he caught you singing quietly along with the radio while taping up his knee, or when you’d given him that first, honest-to-God smile that wasn’t out of politeness but genuine amusement at some stupid joke he’d made. And he made a lot of those.

Now, sitting on that same damn table, Rafe found himself looking forward to PT in a way that had nothing to do with his injury. You walked in, clipboard in hand, looking as professional as always. It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you. Rafe knew he got under your skin—hell, he made sure of it. He could tell by the way your eyes flicked up to meet his for just a second longer than necessary before you quickly looked away. You tried to be cool, but he knew better.

“Alright, Cameron. How’s the knee today?”

He put on his best wounded-puppy face. “Terrible. I might never skate again.”

“Shut up.”

“And I could be better,” Rafe drawled, his lips curling into that signature smirk. “But seeing you always helps.”

You rolled your eyes, but he saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You say that every time.”

“And I mean it every time,” he shot back, winking at you.

You tried to ignore him, busying yourself with adjusting the equipment. “Let’s focus on your knee, alright?”

“Whatever you say, Doc,” Rafe said, stretching out on the table with a lazy grin.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched up. “We’ve got to work on your pain tolerance.”

He couldn’t resist. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to keep me on my toes.”

Finally, you looked up, your expression deadpan. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to avoid actually doing your therapy, Cameron.”

Touché.

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots. It was refreshing.

The first few minutes of the session passed in relative silence as you guided him through the exercises, your hands expertly working his injured knee. Rafe winced, but it wasn’t all from the pain. It was from trying to resist the urge to say something that might actually cross the line. But resisting wasn’t really his style.

“So, what’s your boyfriend up to this weekend?” Rafe asked, his voice casual, but his eyes sharp, watching your reaction.

You looked up at him, a little caught off guard. “Out of town.”

Rafe snorted, unable to help himself. “Figures.”

You frowned, straightening up to give him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rafe shrugged, feigning innocence. “Nothing.”

“He’s busy,” you said defensively.

“Too busy for you?” he pushed, his tone dripping with faux concern. “That’s a shame. If you were mine, I’d make time.”

You gave him an unimpressed look, “I’m sure you would.”

“You don’t think I would?”

“I think you’ve already got your hands full with the cheerleading team.”

He liked to pretend you sounded jealous and not critical.

Rafe chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Cheerleaders are fun and all, but they’re not really my type.”

Okay, that was half a lie, but in his defense, he hadn’t slept with anyone on the cheer squad since sophomore year.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest as you adjusted the strap on his knee brace. “And what exactly is your type, Cameron?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “Complicated. Smart. Gorgeous.”

You didn’t miss a beat, even as your pulse quickened. “So, basically the opposite of you?”

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

You shook your head, trying to hide the smile threatening to break through. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Only when it comes to you,” he replied smoothly, his eyes locked on yours.

There was no denying the chemistry, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. But you were with someone else, someone who, despite his flaws, you cared about. Still, Rafe made it hard to remember why you were trying to resist in the first place.

“Rafe, we really should focus on your PT,” you said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory.

“Trust me, I am focusing,” he replied, his tone suggesting he wasn’t talking about his knee.

You rolled your eyes, standing up straighter to put some distance between you.

“Right. Well, you need to focus on this next exercise. We’re going to work on your range of motion.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue, watching you with a lazy smile as you moved to demonstrate the exercise. He couldn’t help but admire the way you carried yourself—confident, knowledgeable, and completely fucking beautiful. It was a challenge, and Rafe Cameron loved a challenge.

As you guided his leg through the motion, your hands firm but gentle, Rafe couldn’t resist pushing a little more. “You know, you never answered my question.”

“What question?” you asked, though you had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“What you’re doing this weekend,” he said, his eyes locked on yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch.

You glanced away, focusing on the movement of his knee, your fingers brushing against his skin as you adjusted the angle. “I’ll probably just catch up on some work. Maybe relax.”

“Sounds boring,” Rafe remarked, though there was a playful lilt to his voice. “You should let me take you out.”

You looked up sharply, caught off guard by his directness. “Rafe, I’m—”

“Taken, I know,” he interrupted, his tone still light but with an undercurrent of something more serious. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun, does it? Just as friends.”

“Just as friends?” you echoed skeptically, knowing full well what his idea of ‘just friends’ probably entailed.

Rafe shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “We could get dinner, maybe hit up a bar, talk about something other than my knee for once. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“No.”

His smirk faltered, just for a second, before it came back stronger, more determined. He leaned back on the table, pretending to stretch as he tried to mask the sting of rejection. "No?" he echoed, as if the concept was foreign to him.

You crossed your arms, standing firm even though his eyes on you made your heart race. "No. We both know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to happen."

"And what exactly am I trying to do?" he asked, feigning innocence with a smirk that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to get drawn into his game. "You know what. I’m here to help you with your injury, not to entertain whatever fantasy you’ve got going on."

"Who says it’s a fantasy?" he shot back, his voice lowering, taking on a more serious tone that caught you off guard. "Maybe I just want to get to know you better."

You paused, searching his face for any sign of sincerity. But Rafe was hard to read when he wanted to be, his playful exterior a well-practiced mask that he rarely let slip. "Rafe, you're a good guy, but—"

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

"Fine," you conceded with a small smile. "Maybe ‘good’ is a stretch. But you’re not as bad as you want people to think."

Rafe’s smirk faded. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and it made you hesitate, made you wonder if there was more to him than just the cocky, relentless flirt.

But before you could dwell on it, he was back to his usual self, flashing you that devil-may-care grin that made it hard to stay mad at him. "You know, I’d actually take that as a compliment if it came from anyone else."

"Don’t get too excited," you replied, trying to keep things light. "I still think you’re a pain in the ass."

"Yeah, but I’m your pain in the ass," he teased, stupidly blinking his lashes up at you.

You shook your head, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up. "You really don’t give up, do you?"

"Not when it comes to something I want," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Cameron, this isn’t going to happen. I have a boyfriend."

He shrugged, unbothered. "And? You’re no fun. You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

You handed him a water bottle, expression neutral. “You’re just out of shape.”

“Out of shape?” He looked at her, incredulous. “Do you see this body?”

You didn’t take the bait. “I see a guy who’s been slacking off on his conditioning.”

He laughed, low and warm, as he took a sip of water. “You’re tough. Tougher than most of the coaches I’ve had.”

You shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

“Logan’s a lucky guy.”

The hockey world was small, and word got around, of course he knew his name.

“Logan’s great,” you said, a little too quickly.

Rafe nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, I’m sure he is.”

He didn’t push it further, though. Instead, he fell back into his usual routine of teasing and flirting. Every time you guided his leg through a stretch or adjusted the equipment, he found his mind wandering, imagining what it would be like if things were different. If he were the one you were coming home to after a long day, if he were the one you smiled at without that guarded look in your eyes.

But you were with Logan, and as much as he hated to admit it, Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to cross that line. Not when you were clearly trying so hard to keep things professional between the two of you.

As the session wrapped up, you handed him his schedule for the next few days, your demeanor as cool and composed as ever. “I’ll see you on Thursday. Make sure you keep up with the exercises over the next couple of days, and don’t overdo it.”

He took the paper from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments. It was enough to send a jolt of electricity through him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be good,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

“Can’t make any promises.”

He spent the weekend bored out of his mind, thinking about you—wondering if you were with Logan, if the guy was actually smart enough to know what he had.

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

The guy was too perfect, too dependable, too fucking boring. And Rafe had been praying, in a way he wouldn’t admit to anyone, that something would happen—something that would make you see Logan for the jackass he really was. It wasn’t that he thought he was a better guy; he knew his own flaws better than anyone. But he also knew that he could make you happier, make you laugh harder, make you feel things that Logan never could.

So when you walked in late to the next session, he was ready to make a joke, to tease you about finally deciding to show up. But the words died on his lips when he saw you. You weren’t looking at him, not really, just muttering a half-hearted apology as you dropped your bag in the corner. But when you finally met his gaze, his chest tightened.

Your eyes were bloodshot red, the kind of red that came from hours of crying, from tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard you tried. You looked exhausted, like you hadn’t slept in days, and your usual spark was nowhere to be found.

His first instinct was to make a joke, to lighten the mood the way he always did, but he couldn’t. Not when you looked like that.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice void of its usual cockiness. “You okay?”

You nodded, but it was the kind of nod that was meant to shut someone up, not because you actually meant it. You were far from okay.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone teasing, but even he could hear the concern underneath.

“I know, sorry,” you replied, your voice small, almost defeated.

Rafe frowned, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. This wasn’t like you. You were always so put together, so in control, and seeing you like this was…so unsettling.

“What happened?” he asked, more serious now, the joking tone completely gone.

You shook your head, avoiding his gaze as you busied yourself with the equipment, but Rafe wasn’t going to let it go that easily. Not when he could see the pain written all over your face.

“Come on, what’s going on?” he pressed, his voice soft but insistent. “Did something happen with Logan?”

The way you flinched at his name told him everything he needed to know. His chest tightened, protectiveness swelling inside him. He’d always thought Logan was too good to be true, but seeing you like this confirmed it.

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice cracking slightly as you finally looked at him, “I mean, yes, but… it’s not like that.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “What did he do?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat as you tried to hold it together. But there was no point in pretending anymore, not when Rafe was looking at you like that—like he actually cared, like he was ready to go to war for you if that’s what it took.

“He cheated,” you finally whispered, your voice trembling as the tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill over. “I found out through a fucking DM on Instagram. Some girl… she just messaged me out of the blue and told me everything. And when I confronted him, he didn’t even deny it. He just—just said it wasn’t a big deal.”

Rafe’s vision blurred with red-hot anger. He wanted to find Logan and beat the shit out of him for making you cry, for being stupid enough to let you go. But more than that, he wanted to make you feel better, to make the hurt go away, even if he didn’t know how.

“That fucking asshole,” He growled, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. “I swear to God, I’ll—let me get on that ice and I’ll wipe the entire ring with his face.”

“Rafe, don’t,” you said quickly, cutting him off. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it, okay?”

His heart twisted at the broken look in your eyes, the way your voice wavered as if you didn’t quite believe your own words.

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe said softly, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler, “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. It wasn’t like him to be so serious. But here he was, looking at you like you were the most important person in the world, and it made your heart ache even more.

“I don’t know what I deserve anymore,” you admitted, your voice small and lost.

He reached out, hesitating for just a second before he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tear that had finally escaped.

“You deserve someone who knows what they have when they have you,” he said, his voice steady, his eyes locked on yours. “Someone who would never make you cry like this. Someone who would never, ever cheat on you.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over at his words. “Rafe…”

“I’m serious,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re… you’re amazing, you know that? Any guy would be lucky to have you, and Logan’s a fucking idiot for not seeing that.”

You shook your head, trying to keep it together, but it was no use.

You started to cry, the kind of deep, gut-wrenching sobs that you’d been holding in all weekend. And before you knew it, you were collapsing into his arms, letting him hold you as you cried, his arms strong and steady around you.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to shush you or tell you everything was going to be okay. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back as you let it all out, crying into his chest until there were no more tears left.

When you finally pulled back, your face red and puffy from crying, you only uttered a small, “Thank you.”

Rafe nodded, his eyes soft as he looked down at you. “Anytime.”

And then, without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a soft, hesitant kiss to his cheek, lingering for just a second before pulling away. He blinked, a little stunned by the gesture, but before he could say anything, you stepped back, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“Do you mind if we reschedule for tomorrow?” you said quickly, your voice still shaky. “I’m not sure I-“

“Of course not.”

You breathed out in relief, “Thank you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He wanted to tell you to stay, to tell you that it was okay to not be okay, that you didn’t have to face this alone. But he knew you needed space, needed time to process everything that had happened.

“Yeah,” he said softly, nodding as you turned to leave. “Tomorrow.”

He wanted to be there for you, to be the one you turned to when everything fell apart. But more than that, he wanted to be the one to put you back together again, to show you that not all guys were like Logan—that he wasn’t like Logan.

And as you disappeared down the hallway, he made a silent promise to himself: he was going to make you see that. No matter what it took.

⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ

The weeks passed, each session with Rafe seamlessly flowing into the next. What started as this totally professional thing, strictly business, slowly morphed into something way more personal. His cocky jokes and playful banter had shifted into these deep conversations that actually mattered, and somewhere along the way, you found myself getting closer to him than you ever expected.

You had prepared yourself for the possibility that he might distance himself once he was back on the ice. After all, athletes had their own lives, their own routines, and you were just the therapist who had helped him get to this point. But when he invited you to his first game, the gesture came as a welcome. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, he’d slowly lurked his way into your heart.

It was after a particularly intense session, where you’d pushed him harder than ever before, that he brought it up. You were finishing up, wiping down the equipment while he caught his breath, stretching out his legs on the bench.

“You know,” Rafe started, his voice casual but with a hint of something more in it, “I’ve got my first game back tomorrow night.”

You looked up, catching the subtle edge in his tone. “Yeah, I’ve heard. You must be excited.”

“Excited? Nervous as hell, more like it.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, “It’s been a long time coming. A lot of pressure to perform, y’know?”

You nodded, understanding him. You’d seen how hard he’d worked, how much this comeback meant to him. “You’ll do great, Cameron. You’re more than ready.”

He smiled at that, but there was something else in his expression, something hesitant. “I was thinking…maybe you could come. To the game, I mean. It’d be nice to have someone there who’s seen the whole process, who knows what it took to get back on that ice.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. It wasn’t just the invitation—it was what it represented. He didn’t just see you as the therapist who’d helped him heal. He saw you as someone important, someone he wanted by his side as he took this next step.

“I’d love to, Rafe. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Relief washed over his face, followed by a grin that was equal parts gratitude and something else— “Good,” he said, his voice quieter now, “because I’d hate for you to miss it. You’ve been a big part of this, more than you know.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you found yourself blushing under his gaze.

“I’m just doing my job,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, but the look in his eyes told you that he saw right through your attempt to downplay it.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad it’s you,” Rafe said, his voice earnest. “I don’t think I could’ve done this with anyone else.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you as if you were the only person in the world at that moment, made it hard to breathe. This was more than just an invitation to a game. This was him telling you, in his own way, that you mattered to him—that you were more than just his therapist, that you were someone he wanted to keep around.

“I’m glad it was me too,” you whispered back, unable to tear your eyes away from his.

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“Tomorrow night.”

Now, as you sit in the stands, watching Rafe skate out onto the ice, you feel a nervous anticipation that has little to do with the game itself.

Just before the puck drops, Rafe catches your eye, giving you a confident wink that sends your heart racing. He knows what this game means, not just for him, but for you as well.

Logan is there, playing on the opposite team. You haven’t seen him in exactly two months. Whatever feelings you had for him disappeared the moment you found out about his betrayal, but your ego still hurts like hell.

The energy in the arena is electric, a buzz that makes his blood hum with anticipation. His first game back, and the stakes couldn’t be higher—not just because of his injury, not just because it’s a rivalry match, but because Logan is on the other side of the ice. Rafe’s jaw clenches at the thought of that bastard, the memory of your tear-streaked face still fresh in his mind.

During warm-ups, he spotted Logan, skating like he didn’t have a care in the world, like he hadn’t just thrown away the best thing that ever happened to him. Rafe’s grip tightens on his stick, his knuckles white against the black tape. The rage simmering beneath his skin isn’t just about the game. It’s personal.

His focus is razor-sharp, every movement precise, every play calculated. But no matter how much he tries to concentrate on the game, his eyes keep drifting back to Logan, who skates circles around the ice like he owns it.

The first period passes without incident, but by the second, the tension is boiling over. Rafe feels it building, that need to do something, to break Logan’s face in half. He doesn’t just want to beat him; he wants to humiliate him, to knock that smug look off his face once and for all.

Then it happens.

Midway through the second period, Logan makes a hard hit on one of Rafe’s teammates, sending the guy crashing into the boards. The hit is clean, but it’s the arrogance in Logan’s smirk that pushes Rafe over the edge.

He doesn’t hesitate.

“You think you can just get away with that?” He snarls, his voice low and menacing as he shoves Logan hard in the chest, the force sending him stumbling back on his skates.

Logan’s eyes flash with surprise, quickly followed by anger. “What the hell’s your problem, Cameron?”

He doesn’t bother with a reply.

He swings, his fist connecting solidly with Logan’s jaw. The satisfying crunch of bone against bone is drowned out by the roar of the crowd, but Rafe doesn’t care. He’s been waiting for this moment, waiting to unleash all the pent-up anger and frustration that’s been eating away at him since the day you walked into that PT room with your heart shattered.

Logan staggers back, his expression twisting with fury. He recovers quickly, launching himself at Rafe with a wild swing, but Rafe is ready. He dodges the punch and counters with another one of his own, this time aiming for Logan’s ribs. He can feel the impact reverberate up his arm, but it’s not enough. He wants more.

“Come on!” He shouts, face red from all the pent-up anger simmering inside him. “Is that all you’ve fucking got?”

Logan grits his teeth, struggling to keep his balance. “You’re fucking crazy, Cameron!”

“You haven't seen shit," He spits back, landing another punch to Logan’s midsection. “But at least I know how to treat someone right.”

Logan’s eyes widen, the realization of what this is really about dawning on him. “This is about her? You’re seriously going to throw down over some girl?”

Rafe’s vision goes red at the mention of you, the casual way Logan dismisses you as “some girl.” He doesn’t care that he’s going too far, doesn’t care that the refs are probably going to break this up any second. All he cares about is making Logan feel a fraction of the pain he caused you.

“You don’t get to talk about her,” He growls, grabbing Logan by the collar and yanking him close. “You don’t even get to think about her.”

Logan tries to shove him off, but Rafe is relentless, landing punch after punch, each one fueled by the memory of you crying in his arms, by the way your voice trembled when you told him what Logan had done.

By now, the refs are on them, trying to pull Rafe away, but he isn’t finished. Not yet.

“You don’t deserve her,” He hisses through clenched teeth, his fist connecting with Logan’s face one last time before the refs finally manage to separate them. “You never did.”

Logan stumbles back, his face a bloody mess, and for a brief moment, he feels a little satisfaction. But it isn’t enough to stop the anger, the frustration, the overwhelming need to protect you from ever being hurt like that again.

He sits in the penalty box, his chest heaving as he tries to calm the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He can barely hear the crowd over the sound of his own heartbeat, but he knows they’re going wild. The fight has been brutal, and he’s given Logan exactly what he deserved. But as the rush of the fight starts to fade, he starts to overthink: how will you react?

The game ends with a hard-fought win for his team, but the victory feels hollow. As his teammates celebrate on the ice, Rafe’s thoughts are miles away, fixated on you. What if you’re pissed? What if you think he’s overstepped?

After the final whistle, he makes his way to the locker room, his mind racing. He’s about to strip off his gear when he hears footsteps approaching, quick and determined. Before he can even turn around, the locker room door flies open, and there you are, marching straight toward him with a look on your face that he can’t quite read.

Shit. You’re mad.

“Hey, listen,” he starts, his voice low and uncertain as he holds up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I know that might’ve looked bad out there, but I swear—”

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

His mind goes blank as all he can focus on is the way your mouth moves against his. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before—raw, heated, desperate.

His hands instantly find your waist, gripping tightly as he pulls you flush against him, the heat of your bodies mingling in the small space between you. Your kiss is wild, all tongues and teeth, and when you bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to make him groan, he realizes this is real.

You’re kissing him.

“Fuck,” he gasps against your mouth, his voice ragged with need. But you don’t give him a chance to catch his breath, your hands threading through his hair as you deepen the kiss, your lips moving with a feverish intensity that makes his head spin.

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

The way you say it, half-growled, half-breathed, sends a shiver down his spine, and he can’t help the sound that escapes him, somewhere between a moan and a groan. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he fights to keep control, but you aren’t making it easy.

You press yourself even closer, your body flush against his as you kiss him again, harder this time, more demanding. Your tongue sweeps into his mouth, claiming him, and Rafe is more than happy to let you take the lead. He’s never felt anything like this before—this urgency, this hunger that makes him want to lose himself in you completely.

You tug on his hair, tilting his head back to give yourself better access, and Rafe nearly loses it right then and there. He can feel his self-control slipping, can feel the primal need to devour you taking over, but he doesn’t care. All he can think about is how badly he wants you, how desperately he needs to feel more of you.

When you pull back, your lips are swollen and glistening, your breathing just as ragged as his. You stare at him, your eyes dark with lust, and Rafe feels his heart hammering in his chest, each beat echoing with the desire pulsing through him.

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

Rafe’s hands roam up your back, tracing the curve of your spine as he leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. When he reaches the curve of your ass, he doesn’t stop. His fingers grip you there, kneading the soft flesh with a pressure that makes you gasp into his mouth, your hips instinctively pressing against his.

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

His hands are everywhere, sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts before moving back down to cup your ass again, pulling you even closer against him. You can feel him, hard and ready, pressing against your thigh, and it sends a wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You want him—more than you ever wanted anyone—and the way he’s looking at you tells you he feels the same.

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue.

His reaction is immediate. He groans, a sound so deep and full of need that it sends a shiver down your spine. His hands flex against you, his fingers digging into your flesh as if he’s trying not to loseg control completely.

But you can feel it—the way he’s trembling, the way his breath is coming in harsh, uneven pants against your neck. He kisses you again, hard and desperate, his mouth moving against yours with a fervor that matches the wild pounding of your heart

But just when you think you can’t take it any longer, the sound of footsteps echoes outside the door, snapping you both back to reality. You pull back, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, your mind spinning with the intensity of what had just happened. He’s just staring at you, his eyes glazed with desire, his lips swollen and red from your kisses. He looks as wrecked as you feel, and it takes everything in you not to drag him back down for more.

But you know you shouldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Except there’s no fucking way Rafe is letting you go now. He doesn’t say a word. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and filled with a raw need that makes your breath catch.

He doesn’t ask; doesn’t need to. He’s done waiting, done pretending he can hold back.

He presses you up against the cold tile wall, his body flushes against yours as his lips find yours again, hands running over your wet skin. His mouth moves from your lips to your neck, his tongue tracing a path down to your collarbone as he kisses, licks, and nips at your sensitive skin. You whimper, fingers threading through his hair as he drops to his knees in front of you, his lips trailing down your stomach.

The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of the hot water and his hot mouth on your skin driving you insane. "If you don’t-" your voice trembles with need as he spreads your thighs apart, “Fuck.”

He looks up at you, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

His hands grip your hips firmly. Without another word, he buries his face between your legs, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sudden, intense pleasure makes you cry out, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders as he licks and sucks, his tongue working you over with a skill that leaves you gasping for breath. It’s not fair.

This man can’t possibly be real. The water splashes against your back, masking the sounds of your moans as he takes his time, driving you closer and closer to the edge with every swirl of his tongue. Your body trembles, your legs barely able to hold you up as he pushes you higher, his hands tightening on your hips as he holds you in place.

"Oh my god," you moan, your voice breaking as you feel the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until you are crying out his name, your body shuddering as your orgasm crashes over you, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure rips through you.

Rafe keeps his mouth on you, drawing out your release until you are trembling, your legs shaking as you struggle to catch your breath.

Truth is, he doesn’t want to stop. He can’t get enough now that he has finally gotten a taste. He stands back up, his hands running up your sides as he kisses you again, the taste of you still on his lips. You can feel him, hard and ready against your stomach, and it only drives you crazier. Of course, this man had to be fucking huge.

Without breaking the kiss, he spins you around, pressing you against the wall as his hands grip your hips, pulling them back slightly. You brace yourself against the tile, your body arching as you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

"Oh Rafe," you groan out his name, your voice low and needy and he growls softly in response, his breath hot against your ear as he slowly pushes inside you, filling you inch by inch until he is buried to the hilt.

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world.

“So fucking pretty.” The feeling of him stretching you, filling you completely, is almost too much to bear, and you let out a long, low moan as he begins to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace that drives you wild. The water cascades over your bodies as he thrusts into you, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he fucks you with a steady, unrelenting rhythm.

Each thrust pushes you harder against the wall, the cool tile a pleasing contrast to the heat between you. You can barely think, barely breathe, lost in the sensation of Rafe moving inside you, his cock hitting all the right spots with every thrust. The sound of the water mixed with the wet slap of skin against skin, your moans and gasps echoing off the walls as the pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to consume you.

"God, you feel so fucking good," He groans, his voice rough with desire as he leans over you, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Faster," you gasp, your voice pleading as you push back against him, needing more, needing everything. He doesn’t hesitate. His pace quickening, his thrusts coming harder and faster as he drives you both toward the edge. The intensity of it is overwhelming, every nerve in your body on fire as he fucks you with a raw, desperate need that matches your own. Just when you think you couldn’t take any more, you heard footsteps outside the shower, followed by a voice calling out.

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged.

"Yeah, I’m here," he calls back, trying to keep his voice steady, though you could hear the strain in it.

"We’re heading downtown to the bar. You coming?"

He looks down at you, all too pleased with himself, "Not tonight," he replies, his voice thick with lust. "Got something else to take care of."

There’s a pause, then a chuckle from the other side of the door. "Alright, man. Have fun."

The footsteps retreat, and the moment the door closes, he’s moving again, thrusting into you with a renewed urgency, the near-interruption only heightening the intensity of the moment. You moan loudly, your body quaking as he drives into you with a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending you spiraling closer and closer to another orgasm.

The combination of the heat, the steam, the feel of Rafe fucking you so hard is too much, the almost getting caught. You feel yourself losing it, your entire body tightening as you reach the edge once again.

"Come for me," He growls, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you are sure there will be bruises tomorrow. His words push you over, and you cry out as your orgasm tears through you, your body convulsing around him as the pleasure crashes over you in waves.

Rafe follows right behind you, his hips slamming into yours one last time as he comes, his body shuddering as he fills you to the brim with a low, guttural groan.

For a long moment, neither of you move, both of you panting, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all. The water continues to pour over you, washing away the evidence of your encounter as you slowly come down from the high.

Finally, he pulls out, turning you around to face him as he cups your face in his hands, his lips brushing softly against yours in a tender kiss that’s so different to the rough, desperate way he just fucked you.

"You’re a fucking idiot," you whisper against his lips, a small, breathless laugh escaping you.

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you with a mixture of affection and desire. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

He was fighting every fucking player on that ice ring if it meant having you again.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron (by @itneverendshere)

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gwaynesprincess · 2 days ago

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Good Boy

Content: NSFW, face riding, cunnilingus, praise kink, poor self-image, discussions of BDSM etiquette, safewords, handjob

Note: This exists in a modern, alternate universe where Aemond is very submissive. I intend to turn this premise into a collection of loosely related drabbles with little to no plot. Also, thank you to @peachysunrize for encouraging me and for making the GIF that I used! 💚

Aemond fucking loved when you sat on his face. There was something absolutely wonderful about you smothering him with your cunt and using him for your pleasure. He hooked his arms around your legs, pulling you closer, prioritizing eating your pussy over breathing. Above him, you moaned, rocking your hips as his nose ground against your clit deliciously.

“You’re doing so well,” you gasped, clutching the headboard desperately as your third peak drew closer and closer. “Aemond, you’re so good.”

He groaned happily, working his tongue inside of you as you praised him. He had always thought that he would never enjoy letting someone else be in control of him in such a vulnerable state, but you always seemed to know exactly what he needed. You were so gentle, so kind to him, that he was afraid that you would leave. How could someone like you want someone like him? He could never understand, but he could try to convince you to stay by committing to making you cum until you physically couldn’t anymore.

You had made him promise to tell you if he couldn’t breathe, but he was tempted to ignore the lack of oxygen in favor of bringing you pleasure. He wanted you to tell him that he was good, and he wondered if you would do so if he told you that his head was spinning. What if you were upset with him? He could tell that you were getting close, and he didn’t want you to be disappointed in his weakness. However, he remembered the last time that he had tried to keep going. He had almost passed out, much to your horror. While he had been more than alright, he was completely confused why you had been so saddened by his willingness to suffer for your pleasure. You hadn’t told him that he was good, despite him making you cum four times, because you were so concerned for him. But that had been four times, and this would only be your third…

He whined in panic; he didn’t know what to do, so he desperately tapped on your thigh and tried to pull your cunt closer at the same time. You pulled away from him immediately, searching his face for some kind of hint as to what was wrong.

Fuck. He was suddenly afraid that he shouldn’t have tapped your leg. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled, trying to pull you back down. “I’ll try again, ‘m sorry. I’ll do better, I’ll fix it.” Gods, what was wrong with him? He should’ve just let you ride his face until he passed out, but he had to go and fuck it up by being pathetic and weak.

To his horror, you crawled off of him. He froze, fear coursing through him. Were you going to leave him? He needed you to stay and care for him. What did he need to do to make it up to you? Whatever it was, he could take it.

And then, you did the most surprising thing: you pulled him into your arms and began to caress his hair. “There’s nothing to fix,” you said lightly, gently kissing his temple as you carefully wiped your own slick off of his chin. “You did the right thing by asking me to stop. I’m very proud of you, Aemond.”

A warm feeling erupted in his chest at your words, one that he didn’t quite know what to call. He was very confused why you were telling him that he did a good job, but he liked the way that you were holding him. He hesitantly nuzzled you, a lovely feeling encasing him when you pulled him closer. He let himself enjoy the sensation for a moment longer, then swallowed hard. “I don’t understand,” he mumbled, loathing himself. “I’m sorry, I don’t get it. I must be stupid.”

“Oh, Aemond,” you whispered. “No, you’re not. What don’t you understand?”

He whimpered, squirming until he was able to hide his face in the crook of your neck. “Why are you proud of me?” he asked, his voice small. “I made you stop; I didn’t make you cum again.”

You gently stroked his hair. “You didn’t need to. This isn’t good for me if you’re hurting. Stopping isn’t bad. You were very good because you let me know that you couldn’t breathe.”

Aemond felt warmth pool in his stomach when you told him that he was good. He was quite certain that he was being bad now, since you were trying to help him understand and his cock was hardening. “I just want to make you happy,” he said softly.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” you murmured, “I will always be happy when I am with you.” Aemond felt a smile threaten to make itself known on his lips at your words. He blushed slightly when you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, and he gasped when you slowly wrapped your hand around his swollen cock. “We will need to talk more about this later,” you told him, “but I wish to pleasure you now. Would you like that?” He nodded vigorously; you shook your head. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” he blurted. “Please, yes. Stroke my cock, please, I beg you.”

“Good boy,” you said, slotting your mouth against his own as he whimpered in delight at the praise.

You began to slowly jerk him off, your grip wonderfully tight. Aemond whined as your thumb circled the swollen head, a shiver running through his body as he hesitantly bucked upwards into your hold. It felt so good, having your warm hand work him towards his end.

“I wish you could see yourself,” you whispered against his lips; Aemond whimpered. “You look so pretty, fucking my fist.”

“Please,” he gasped. “Faster, please, I need it faster.”

You complied with his request, moving your hand rapidly along his length. Your thumb gently traced his sensitive tip, gathering his precum and using it to make his cock slick. He couldn’t believe how good it felt as he rolled his hips faster, his cheeks burning at the wet sound that was proof of the mess he was making in your soft palm.

“I hope you like your treat,” you said, gently stroking his hair with your fingertips as your other hand worked quickly on his aching prick. “You were so good for me, fucking me with your tongue and making me cum. And you’re so pretty when you let me jerk you off. Are you close?”

He was embarrassingly close. Aemond could feel the coil in his stomach tightening at your praise. He nodded desperately, then buried his face in your neck. “Yes, I’m close. Please, I’m so close.” He needed you to tell him that he could cum. He was going to go mad if you didn’t give him permission.

You kissed his forehead. “Good boy. Cum for me, Aemond.”

He would have been ashamed of the whorish moan he let out, but he was too focused on how good it felt to worry about how he sounded. Spots danced in front of his eye as his entire body tensed, his cock spasming in your palm as he came all over his stomach. You continued to stroke him throughout it all, helping him to ride through his high as he shuddered and whimpered. He needed to feel like this every day for the rest of his life, he was sure of it. You were so good to him, being kind as you used him for your pleasure and rewarding him when he pleased you.

When his breathing finally slowed several moments later, he realized that he was trembling and clinging to you. Sheepishly, he let go, attempting to move away from you. To his surprise, you gently took his hand in your own, lacing your fingers through his and squeezing gently. “You were such a good boy, Aemond,” you said, smiling as he blushed. He gasped as you brought your cum-stained hand to your lips, sucking his release from your fingers before kissing him. He whimpered as you slid your tongue into his mouth; he could taste his own cum and it was fucking hot.

When you pulled back a few moments later, Aemond smiled at you, reveling in the warmth that bloomed in his chest. He hesitated for only a brief second before cautiously curling up in your arms, sighing in sleepy contentment as you held on to him. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

You pulled him closer, keeping him safe as he relaxed in your embrace. “Of course. Rest now, my darling good boy. You deserve it.”

For the first time in a long while, Aemond was calm as he closed his eye and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

#my writing #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #modern!au #dom!reader #sub!aemond targaryen #house of the dragon

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rose-maidenn · 1 day ago

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Pac : Let's get insights on your purpose for the next 5 months !

nov-dec-jan-feb-mar

using safe passage tarot from "Agatha all along"

Pile 1-2-3

Hey guys hope you're doing well , chose the Pile that calls to you intuitively, know that I'm not gonna sugarcoat things because I want your best . Hope you enjoy this

For more see masterlist and paid readings

Pile 1 :

You are represented by the king of wands a very charismatic person , you attract people who are looking for growth and you are someone who always wins in all fields you exactly know where to play the cards right to win . Alternatively for the other part of the group king of wands can mean someone who's nose is kind of everywhere they're at too many different things not giving one thing the change to reach the full potential.

What's missing is an ending !!! Ending to certain things relationships, people , in order to reach something new you have to let the old things go which is something you have to learn . You need stronger boundaries , more self worth and less attachment issues .

The lessons you have learnt is represented by the queen of wands it is about social settings I feel like you're someone who easily becomes friends with everyone and that's a good networking skill. You could also be someone who is very creative and starts at everything their heart calls for .

Your path ahead is represented by death , it calls for an ending ending of doubts , bad thought patters , old beliefs and relationships let shit go and see what happens .

Your Obstacles is represented by chariot I feel in this case it's about you staying in the same zone and resisting change it's like an ouroburos moving but in the wrong places and wrong circles , cut the string , your comfort zone is killing you honey

O of wands in this case is like don't wait around for anyone not even about being ready yourself just do what you need to do end the things that you need to you can't drag this anymore dear, this could also be about drug addiction or addiction in general .

Your destination is magician yay ! You know how if you just let shit go the magic happens so will it happen for you. Just let it go let people be , only work for yourself, give yourself all, heal and you will know you're powerful, you don't need a guru you're the star itself.

Thank you for reading, if you liked this and would like personal insights or a longer read to book click here .

Pile 2 :

You are represented by four of cups , you are someone who wants what they want and won't settle for anything. I sense a stern energy . Alternatively you might be someone who is extremely bored these days and just wants to lay .

What is missing is justice , you need to work hard rn for your dreams , but in the write direction I won't say you never worked hard but somehow in the wrong way , you might have a retrograde Saturn. You need to find what can do justice to yourself as you owe yourself everything and you are worth everything.

The path behind is represented by page of wands , your reading is like you were a very enthusiastic person once but now you have lost the zing for life . You have a great influx of ideas why don't you use them dear.

Path ahead is represented by the empress , clearly you are to start working on these ideas start the creative project take the leap. Focus on letting your creativity flow , your intuition knows , your soul knows.

The Obstacles is represented by eight of coins is that you need to learn dedication and working on something even if it takes time be it studying , art or relationships you are called to enjoy the journey and not just the victory.

Represented by ace of wands in this case I think you should avoid working on something new until you finish the old , you need to give one thing commitment and mastery then you will reach your destination

Represented by the king of cups. Mature and passionate about what they do . This infact represents a chance that you might become the best at what you wanna do . You might become a professor a teacher or a guide to people if you choose to follow this path .

Thank you for reading, if you liked this and would like personal insights or a longer read to book click here .

Pile 3 :

You are represented by six of coins a very beautiful earthy loving energy of gratitude and kindness , you give without thinking anything part of why you are blessed with more .

Ten of swords is what is missing in my deck it's literally a person cutting off a hand honey someone is using you , the awareness and discernment on who deserves your time money and energy is the thing that is missing .

You have learnt that people will be who they are despite giving your all so why don't you apply that in new relationships keep the knowledge but also use it . Alternatively this could be about relationship and someone leaving you in the past who was toxic.

The path ahead is represented by the fool , you're in the start of a new journey you have endless possibilities you can now leap into new and have faith that universe will do the best for you.

Your Obstacles are represented by death , you're ruminating on a past relationship too much which is making you work extra even for the bare minimum you have to work to stay in your queen energy don't do too much it's not worth it .

You must overcome the queen of wands I think this is a toxic person who was in your life you said you stupid shit that didn't align with you and now you have taken their words literally , recognize who this is maybe a family member a friend or a youtuber guru idk they have flowery energy but they're unhealed

Your destination is represented by the two of cups yay a union this can be the union of your logic and intuition. Masculine and feminine energie or a new relationship:) all in all an energy of balance and love .

Thank you for reading, if you liked this and would like personal insights or a longer read to book click here .

#pac tarot #pac reading #pick a photo #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a card #tarot community #tarot blog #tarot reading #tarot cards #tarot #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #intuitive readings #intuitive tarot reader #agatha all along #witchblr #diviniation

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kasagia · 3 days ago

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In death's arms

Pairing: Annatar/Sauron x fem!maia! reader Summary: There was nothing Sauron regretted doing. Every nasty thing he did to gain power paid off for him, and given the choice again, he would do it all over again. Or so he thought, until his path was crossed with someone from his past. It turns out that some of his mistakes are destined to haunt him forever. Author's note: A little sth that stuck in my head after watching Agatha All Along... this is pure fiction and probably wouldn't work in Middle-earth, but since I've written it... 😅 I've been completely out of it lately and everything's been going so fast in my life lately, so I'm terribly sorry if I've missed any messages/comments from you! I'm trying to catch up slowly! Anyway, enjoy! Halbrand's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

“Have you come to torment me again?” He asks, gathering the last of his strength to mock you as you appear before him.

From the nasty grin you give him, instead of being angry at his mockery, he realises how bad a state he is in. Morgoth has just put him through one of his tests. Sauron no longer remembers what he had to do. But he remembers his master's anger when he failed. He remembers clearly every cut he inflicted on him, every wound, every spilt blood that stained his skin and clothes, or at least the shreds that remained of them.

He no longer counted how much of his blood had soaked into his clothes and how much into the stone floor and wall behind him. And the seemingly irritating digging of the bars into his neck and skin stopped bothering him as the metal and his body became one.

"Contrary to appearances, your new master is not willing enough to hand you over to me. Too bad. You'd look pretty in your grave, Mairon. Oh, forgive me. Old habits die hard, Sauron."

He trembles when you speak his true name. The name given to him by the Valar. It sounds both sweet and deadly on your lips. A reminder of what he has lost, of what he could have had, had his lust for power been kept in check, had he never left the forge…

"He needs me. He knows that only I can lead his army to the victory."

"Victory, death. What's the difference, right?" You reply with a smirk that sends an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

He feels... uneasy around you. It wasn't something he was used to. Your presence always brought him some kind of comfort and peace, but now... now everything was different. He and you had changed. Not necessarily for the better.

"I suppose it makes no difference to you whether you take me in a dungeon or on a battlefield."

"But your honour wouldn't allow you to be beneath me, would it, my sweet deceiver?" You mock him and laugh, which sends a cold, unpleasant shiver down his spine.

Your laughter is so different from the one he remembers. It is bleak and harsh as the blade he once forged for you, and which you now carry at your side.

He remembered loving to bask in the glow of your laughter, in the halls of the Valar, as you feasted and danced, living as carefree a life as could be. Sometimes he longed for those days... to spend another one like this, so that he could engrave it forever in his memory and cling to it to save himself from total corruption and rottenness.

"Why do you keep showing up? You know that you can't get your claws on me."

"I am aware about that. But every moment like this will only sweeten the day when I finally take you in my arms, my dear deceiver. And believe me... you will not escape once I finally get my hands on you. In the end, all paths lead to one person. And it is not Morgoth. It is not any of your Valar. It is not any being that you know. In the end, you will come to me. And you will suffer more than Morgoth ever made you do, my Dark Lord."

You press your lips to his forehead—the place where Morgoth smashed his skull into the wall and split his head. He trembles as your lips press against raw, bleeding skin. You groan, running your tongue over his wound, tasting his black blood. And he cries out as you send waves of pain through him worse than any Morgoth had inflicted on him.

He holds his breath as your other hand lazily caresses the skin of his arm, tracing patterns with your black nails, only to suddenly dig them into the open wounds Morgoth had inflicted on him. Sauron groans in pain, trembling in your arms. You press your lips to his, drinking in his every cry as you caress him with your gentle touch and send waves of pain shooting through every tiny particle of his body.

"I will drink in every one of your sweet screams, my dearest. I will bask in every pain your being feels. Until all you remember, all you know, is me and my blade." You whisper your promise, and as suddenly as you came, you disappeared.

You leave him trembling and crying on the cold stone floor, dirty with his blood. And though he hated the times you came to mock him, he was relieved that you didn't leave him completely alone. Even if you only came to drive the knives Morgoth had placed inside him deeper.

He needed you. As pathetic as it was, he needed those little moments with you to keep him from going completely crazy during his darkest hours and the tests his master put him through.

But he lived with the hope that one day he would be able to repay you with the same sweet torture. That one day he would be the one to listen to your sighs of pain... or cries of pleasure. He wasn't sure yet whether he loved or hated you more—even though you seemed to already have your mind set about your feelings towards him.

Adar has betrayed him. He has betrayed him in the worst possible way. Sauron lies on the floor, surrounded by Orcs who drive the blades of Morgoth's crown into him as their Lord-Father looks on passively.

This couldn't be the end. He couldn't end like this. He couldn't be defeated like Morgoth had been, not by the filthy stinking Orcs and someone he had considered a friend. His master had been right; if they didn't fear you, you were nothing to them. There was no ally so powerful, so loyal, and true as fear. And now he was learning his lesson once again. In the most painful way possible.

He took small, ragged breaths that burned his body every time his lungs tried to expand and draw in air. Blood dripped from almost every inch of his body. And suddenly, in the distance, a few feet from those nasty orcs, he sees you.

You watch his fall with complete calm. You play carelessly with the blade he gave you, waiting for his end, letting the orcs finish their work. He sees no emotion on your face. Ironic, considering that this is probably the best day of your life. He will finally get his punishment from you. There was nothing he could do to escape you... unless...

He gasps especially hard when one of the orcs plunges a blade into his heart. As if through a haze, he sees Adar above him, who, after making sure that his physical body has been completely destroyed, says something to his orcs. Sauron hears only a screech in his ears as his battered heart gives its last beat. And then there is only darkness. Bleak darkness, which is quickly interrupted by a song all too familiar to him.

"Come, come, my lost soul, you will find your peace. Come, come, down your road, straight into my arms."

Sauron remembers the countless nights after Morgoth's torture, when you sang it to him and mocked him, giving him a taste of what you would do when you could finally take him in your arms.

Once it was a simple lullaby. A lullaby you made up for him when he couldn't calm his mind, when he spent too much time in Aulë's forge, too absorbed in his work to see you. Now you were attracting souls who were about to meet their end.

But he is not ready for death yet. He does not want to go like this. Not when he has known no power, not when the sacrifice he made of himself has brought him nothing at all. He does not want to go into your arms, knowing that he has thrown away everything he had with you for nothing.

"Look where your lust has taken you, my darling." You tell him with a smirk, taking your time as you walk towards him.

He kneels, swaying as he tries to keep his balance. He falls on both hands in front of you, taking in shuddering breaths as the black bonds of your magic close around him, crushing him in a tight embrace.

"I thought you loved my embrace? You told me so. Remember? When we lay together in the halls of the Valar, each held tightly, when you swore to me that you would not yield to Morgoth's influence, that what we have was enough, that you would never dream of more than what we have? Tell me, did you plan to betray me even then, or did you forget your promises in time?"

After each of your mockery comes a blow from you. Sometimes it's a simple kick, sometimes a punch delivered from your fist, and sometimes you pierce his body with a dagger, tormenting him even more and twisting him so that the blade grazes every single muscle of his. You were going for your revenge. And nothing was going to stop you.

"Pathetic. You wanted power. You wanted power so great that millions would kneel before you, and now you are on your knees. You were willing to do anything; you gave up everything just to fulfil your dark desires. Tell me, Sauron, was it worth it? Because I am truly happy with this turn of events."

He gasps as you grab him by the neck, forcing his gaze to meet yours. He trembles, staring into your black, dilated pupils. Your face is nothing like the one he remembers. You look like death. You are the real death. He trembles, seeing what the Vaalr did to you after he left and what punishment they gave you for loving a traitor. He looks away, wanting to momentarily ease his guilt and helplessness, but your tightening grip on his neck won't let him.

"You have no idea how long I've dreamed of this. You have no idea how long I've wanted to tear out every last piece of you just to put you back together and present you to the Valar, to give you into their hands so you could suffer as you should. Do you think that what you became was all your fault? That they wanted to punish us for our love? I asked them to make me something you fear, something you must reckon with. I am what everyone sees at the end; I am what takes everyone, even the mightiest of men. I am the end of Morgoth, the end of all evil, all good, the end of everything. I am death." You growl and throw him across the room.

He groans in pain, but he doesn't try to run away from you anymore. He knows that without his physical form, without any power, he won't hide from you. He was in your world, in the thrall of your power. And if he wanted to somehow escape from your grip, he had to play his cards right.

"I never wanted this for you... I never wanted this for us." He gasps, glancing at you. You walk slowly toward him, your black outfit billowing behind you, giving you an ethereal, trash-like look. As much as he fears you, he yearns to have you by his side. But he's not foolish or naive enough to believe you'll ever be on his side again.

"You left me! You left me to rot in the light of the Valar!! You tore my heart, all my humanity, destroyed everything I was, and left me alone. What did you want then, deceiver? What did you want, if not my absolute destruction, so that the vestiges of my past would not torment you in your greedy quest for power?"

He grunts as you drive your sword through his side. He grabs your hand, the one resting on the hilt, and pulls you toward him. You land on the floor with him, and before you can react, he's straddling you, placing the metal against your neck as he leans over you. His blood decorates your skin as his hand cups your cheek. Any attempts to fight him die inside you as his skin touches yours. You freeze for a moment, unused to someone's touch after so long alone, and he takes advantage of it as much as he can.

"I… I've always wanted… I've dreamed of you standing beside me… as my queen. My equal… I… I would never turn my back on you completely." He mumbles, pressing his nose to your temple. You break your dark vision of death for a moment and show him the face he knew so well, the one he had missed for so long that tears came to his eyes. You kick him in the chest and push him away, trying to regain some control. You reach for your neck and wipe away his blood. Without taking your eyes off him, you lick your fingers clean.

"You would trade me for the power Morgoth had at the first opportunity. You have no heart. You never did. And I was too naive to see you for who you really were." With a flick of your wrist, the bonds around him reappear. His wrists and ankles are bound and he is immobilized as he waits for you to make your final move and take his soul from this world forever.

"I have a heart. As black and rotten as yours. And it beats for you. Always has, always will. Even if you seek to destroy me utterly… even if you are left all alone after you have done your duty to the Valar and taken me into your sweet, hellish embrace." He says, only half-feigning contrition for what he had done.

He loved you. If there was one thing he was certain of about his old life, it was that he had loved you deeply. But not enough to become just another servant of the Valar. He wanted more. He had to have more. If he couldn't have you by his side, he would be content to fight with you. Until death do you part.

"If you loved me, you would never leave me." The slight tremor in your voice gives him hope that this meeting will go as he had hoped.

He lifts his gaze to you, studying you as you stand before him. The dagger in your hand is still a painful reminder of what it could cost him if he doesn't say the right words, but for now all he can think about is how wonderfully terrifying you look, standing before him in all your glory and power.

You captivate him. You tempt him. The Valar knew what they were doing when they made you the Lady of Death. You would be his undoing. He knows it. Eventually he will fall, and there will be no turning back. But before he does... he wants to make sure he remains legendary and eternal.

"It was because I loved you that I had to leave you. I didn't want to taint you with my darkness. You were pure. You were the sweetness that I wanted to drink and destroy at the same time for my own pleasure. You would not have had a better fate with me." He tries to defend himself by touching your most sensitive spot. He sees your ardour slowly subside as you begin to really consider his words.

You hesitate. He can see it in your gaze. He can see that the vision of your dream future he's presented to you is starting to tempt you. If he'd pushed you just a little further, if he'd said a few more words, maybe you'd really join his side? Maybe you'd be a force against the world? Maybe if he hadn't left you completely alone, maybe you could have had it all?

You walk up to him and stop a few millimetres away from him. If he takes a deep breath, his chest can gently brush against yours. He wants so badly to drive the blade into you and simultaneously capture your lips in a kiss that it's a confusing feeling in his current situation. You wanted him dead. That's what you came here for. To take him away. And yet you still had your ways of making him want you.

You lean forward, your hair brushing his cheek as your tongue traces the shell of his ear. He shivers as your cold breath contrasts with the warm saliva you spread before you bite down on his skin teasingly.

"I was soaked in it long before you even thought about leaving, my sweet deceiver. Now, I am just darkness." You whisper in his ear. You move away millimetres, far enough to look him in the eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you raise your blade, preparing to deal the final blow and take his soul forever, locking him away in a cell next to Morgoth, most likely.

So in a desperate act of self-savement, or perhaps out of the lust you've awakened in him, or perhaps out of the pure desire to taste your lips one more time before he leaves this world, he leans down and kisses you.

And it surprises you. Sauron hears the dagger fall from your hand to the floor as you reach for his hair, tangling your hands in it. He groans and tugs at the bonds you've trapped him in so he can wrap his arms around you and take you in his arms like he wanted to all along, but you don't let him move an inch. He growls in rage and bites your lip in retaliation, drawing blood—a random action that saves him from his predicament.

With each drop of your blood, he feels the power within him begin to bubble up again. Before you know it, he breaks your bonds and pushes you against the wall behind you. You groan in protest, trying to push him away from you. You try to summon your powers to immobilise him again, but he plunges his blade into your arm, effectively distracting you.

You cry out in pain, cursing his name, but he has only one goal in mind. He tears your clothes and burrows into your skin, biting and caressing every exposed part, feeding on your blood and power, restoring his soul the vitality it needs.

You are a mess of black blood and tears as he feasts on you, outsmarting you and binding you in your own shackles that you used against him.

"You won't take me as easily as you take these mortals." He growls against your skin, drinking your blood as he uses his knife to carve tiny cuts into your skin, decorating it with both black liquid and hickeys, marks from his bites and fingers.

“You’ll pay for this.” You moan as he bites into your neck, leaving a messy, bloody trail. He licks his lips and grabs you roughly by the waist, pulling you closer so you can feel the bulge of his cock against your thigh.

"Then, my sweet death, you will take me as a happy man." He growls in your ear before smashing his lips against yours in another kiss. You don't register the moment he takes your amulet from you.

His kisses numb you to the point where you don't register anything but him. All that matters to you is the way his hands caress your body, the way his lips defile every little inch of you. It feels so good to finally feel someone's touch on you…so good to finally feel HIS touch on you.

"I think that few people have the privilege of saying that they fucked death..." He mumbles in your ear, drunk on the feeling of you beneath him.

And just when he's about to bring you the greatest pleasure, just when he's teased your core long enough that you clench around his fingers desperate for more, he does something far worse than drive your dagger through you. He leaves you completely alone again.

You scream, furious and frustrated, both for having him deceive you and sexually for not giving you the release you deserved. You pound your fists on the ground and scream long and shrilly—enough that he will surely be able to hear you, whatever pathetic form he has taken since breaking out of your realm.

And driven by hot fury, you know only one thing—he will pay for this. Even if you were to seek him out and ignore your duties. You'll get him in your arms.

There was something addictive about the way people were drawn to him.

Ever since Sauron took the form of Annatar, the people of Eregion had flocked to him like moths to a flame, seeking gifts from the great messenger of the Valar. He liked the power he had over them. How one of his (false) words could turn them into his obedient puppets who would do anything to fulfill the prophecy he had foretold.

However, with the number of creatures circling around him, he had increasing difficulty maintaining the illusion he had cast over the city.

This is exactly what has happened now.

Annatar/Sauron was cleaning up the mess he had made by killing one of the elves who had discovered too quickly what was happening beyond the walls of his safe illusion. He could not afford for the whispers of panic to reach the ears of the only blacksmith whose skills were satisfactory.

Lifting the body, he freezes suddenly as a cold shiver runs through him. The atmosphere in the room changes. The only lit torch goes out, the smell of sulfur begins to fill the air, the rats that were roaming the basement disappear, and the only sound in the room is his breathing. He looks around, trying to see through the darkness of the room, but all he can see is red blood on his hands..

He frowns, looking around him as he realises the body he was supposed to get rid of is gone. He walks over to the extinguished torch and relights it, illuminating the room once more. He looks around for the body, but all he sees are the empty corridors of the underground. He frowns and focuses his senses, trying to sense any additional presence or power that would mess with his head.

And then he hears it. A soft humming from down the hall. He automatically reaches to his side, where his sword is strapped to his belt, and slowly walks toward the sound of soft singing.

"Come, come, my lost soul, you will find your peace. Come, come, down your road, straight into my arms." He freezes in mid-step. Goosebumps rise across his body, and he feels his breath quicken.

Memories—unwanted, painful memories—flood his mind as he stands in the empty hallway, wondering if he should go down. Involuntarily, his memories go back to the day he survived one of Morgoth's most demanding trainings—the day he found out what the consequences of his actions brought to you...

"I didn't know you were a coward, Y/N! Are you going to show yourself? Or should I leave you to your work and go back to mine?" He asks cheekily, trying to get you out of your hiding place. He knows how dangerous you've become, and as much as it fascinates him, he doesn't want to be on the receiving end of your blade... or claws. "I bet you're as busy as I am these days." He mumbles, pacing the empty hallways where your humming still echoes.

He glances over his shoulder a few times, wanting to make sure that you won't surprise him with a dagger to his neck.

Sauron won't admit to himself that he's afraid of you; he just knows the threat you pose to him. There was nothing worse than a mad woman—especially an unpredictable woman. And he was foolish enough to get on your bad side, to betray you, and don't look back. But how could he possibly know that you would get punished for his action? How could he predict that you will be paying off his sins to Valar? That only showed how unjust they were. Not only to you, but to him as well.

"Won't you show me your face?" He asks, still searching for the slightest sign that will give away your presence. But your soft singing, the haunting song that makes his heart beat faster, pumping adrenaline through his body, makes it impossible for him to fully devote himself to the task of finding you. Not if he doesn't want to end up with a sword in his chest. "Valar knows how I missed looking at it."

He turns around and, as if on cue, you appear to him. He presses his lips together tightly, refraining from gasping in surprise when he sees you in all your glory. He swallows hard when his gaze falls on your deformed face that you show him. A bloodthirsty smile, full of black fangs, sunken cheeks, and no nose, is one of the less... drastic forms in which you like to show yourself lately. Sauron knows how much you want to scare him; he hopes he doesn't give you too much entertainment.

"I would have a lot less work to do, my sweet deceiver, if you would just give yourself to me as you should and stopped playing Valar. You won't fool me a third time." You warn him, stepping closer. You see his throat tremble as he swallows, and he gently closes his eyes for a moment to inhale your scent and take in a little of your closeness.

You were so damn dangerous, deadly even... and he wanted more. Even though he knew full well that this desire would probably lead him to his grave.

"But wthout me you'd be terribly bored, wouldn't you?" He asks, giving you one of his smirks. He was playing with death, literally. He wondered how many times he could get out of your cruel clutches before he finally ran out of escape routes.

He freezes when you gently place your hand on his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertip. He grits his teeth, staring at you wordlessly as you play with a strand of his blonde hair.

"Where's your elf?" You whisper against his lips, leaning in close enough that it’s a challenge for him to stay away from you. You should be a repulsive threat to him, nothing more than an enemy to be defeated. But for some reason, whether it’s your past, the pull that’s always been between you, or the power that’s bound you together, he can’t feel anything for you but pure lust.

"She left." He says shakily, wondering if you were jealous of him, if you watched him and Galadriel, if you planned her death when he declared that he wanted her to be his queen...

"Too bad... I would gladly take her in my arms. I guess I can only wait then. There is nothing more pleasant than meeting them all at the end of their path. They act as if they were truly immortal. You have no idea how surprised most of them are when they cross my path. Almost as surprised as you were when you first saw me in this form."

"I would appreciate seeing you more often if it weren't related to your current… job position." You chuckle darkly and grab his hand at his words.

You lift it between the two of you and pull out your dagger. You cut his palm, and he can only stand there, dazed, watching as you lick his black blood. You hum, tasting your power as it courses through his veins.

"Oh… but then it would be too boringly easy for you, right?" Your voice is velvety, like a balm to his frayed nerves. He allows himself to cling to you, completely forgetting that he should always be on guard with you. A mistake you won't fail to remind him of. "Tell me, Sauron… have you never heard of such a thing as being utterly charmed by death?"

Before his mind can process the meaning of your words, you have already pierced his hand with a dagger through and through. He groans in pain and tries to rip his hand from your iron grip, but you won't let him. You rip off your amulet that he stole from you, which he hung on a necklace around his neck, and you place it on his wound. You chant the appropriate words and drain him of all the power that he stole from you all those years ago—the power that helped him be reborn again.

"Next time you lay your hands on something that doesn't belong to you, I'll chop them off. I think I can find a much better use for them. A more… satisfying one, if you still know what I mean." You mock him, twisting his wrist.

He growls in pain and shoves you back, sending you crashing into the wall behind you. You raise your blade higher, pressing it against his neck as he steps closer to you. You laugh as you feel him press his own weapon against your chest.

"Well, well, well. I see you've learned something after all. Tell me, my beloved, are you afraid of me?" You whisper hoarsely, licking your lips as you lean into him. You make a move to bite into his neck, but he pulls away from you at the last second, frowning at your amused, dark chuckle.

"Only a fool wouldn't be afraid of you."

"Like calls to like, right?" You pose the question, raising an eyebrow at him. You take advantage of his momentary distraction and push him against the wall. You press yourself against him and capture his lips in a bruising, hungry kiss.

He gasps into your mouth and tangles his hands in your hair, pulling you even closer. Your darkness is addictive. He wants to bask in it, to experience it so deeply that he can become intoxicated by it. He wants to bond with you and experience the same kind of limitless power that you possess. A force that borders on death itself.

As the kiss deepens, he begins to feel you slowly draining his life force. He knows he has to pull away, but not yet. He wants to taste your lips, your sighs, and your soft moans as he caresses you through the material of your night-black dress for as long as he can. But he knows that with each little touch, kiss, and soft moan, he will want more, and it will be harder for him to pull away from you.

That's why he's reluctant to push you away. But when he does, he feels how much you've weakened him with that little kiss. He gasps, laughing thoughtfully as he struggles to even out his heartbeat and his breaths. Now he understands all that talk about deadly kisses. But if he had to choose how he died, your lips were a very tempting option.

"Enjoy the time you have left. We both know that eventually you too will find me at the end of your road. On the way… try not to bother me too much with all the dead bodies and souls you've forced me to take care of." You wink at him and blow him a kiss before disappearing, returning to the other side where the soul of the mortal he killed was waiting for you.

Sauron is surprised that you let him go so easily after his last... antics. But he knows that you didn't leave him alive out of the kindness of your heart. You enjoyed the cat and mouse game between you; you enjoyed tormenting him with the idea that you could take his soul at any moment. So he had to think of a way to make it harder for you.

He returns to the forge and absently strokes the box with the 7 rings for the dwarves. If he had divided his soul… left fragments of it in each of them, it would be impossible for you to gather them all and drag him to the world of the dead, where you could torment him as you pleased…

Or perhaps, in time, he would find a way to tame death itself and submit it to his will?

One thing was sure. At the right time, you will come for him. And you will take away everything he has worked so hard for.

Just like you always do.

He had a few centuries to figure out how to cheat death again. And how to make sure that you will be the one to fall into the trap of his arms. Not the other way around.

#sauron x reader #annatar x reader #halbrand x reader #oneshot #dark romance #toxic love #toxic relationship #smut #angst #dark magic #enemies and lovers #rings of power #lotr #fanfiction #agatha all along #i have no idea what is it but i quite like the way it went

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meta-squash · 2 days ago

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I think two of the most important things about Jack Harkness, two things that inform almost everything he does and the choices he makes, are this: that he is a soldier NOT a leader, and that his entire life since childhood has been awash in survivor's guilt (and his whole existence after becoming immortal is an even more extreme version of survivor's guilt).

Jack is not a natural leader. He can think on the fly and he's good at getting people to listen to him, but he's not good at control, or at being objective. He's a natural second in command, he's a soldier. He was brought up to do what other people told him to, and to improvise if he had to (Time Agency, etc). But I really don't think he wants to be the leader of Torchwood. Unfortunately, everything about him means that he has to be. He knows from experience that others having control over him is dangerous, others knowing about his immortality while he's a subordinate to them is dangerous, and he also knows that his own immortality gives him an advantage as a leader. But I don't think he's good at leading. He tries to be. But he's fumbling along, in a time period he's not native to and a planet he's not native to and an unfathomable lifespan, and as charming as he is I think he's often not good with people. He's detached where he should be personal and emotional where he should be detached (or at least more level-headed). He's often too extreme or not harsh enough when it comes to things like discipline or dealing with the problems/traumas/mistakes of his employees or even civilians. He can't handle his employees seeing him uncertain/vulnerable and it makes for huge problems over and over again.

But all of this does make sense because I think in the back of Jack's mind there's always this wheel spinning, these gears turning and turning and calculating the impact and trauma each of his actions or decisions or the events around him are going to have on his own emotions for far longer than normal humans tend to consider. Because the catalyst for any part of the life we see him leading is survivor's guilt. He lost his father and his brother on the same day, joined the military and lost his best friend, joined the Time Agency and lost his memories (and maybe thinks he did something terrible). Then he died, and when Rose brought him back, he was all alone on the satellite with nothing but the corpses of the people who had fought beside him and zero explanation as to why he survived, and he had lost Rose and the Doctor besides. And then all his life on earth since, he has lost coworkers and lovers and civilians he tried and failed to save and probably also aliens he tried and failed to save. And I think by the time he becomes reluctant leader of Torchwood, every action is, whether conscious or subconscious, taken with the intent of minimizing that kind of trauma and the impact of loss.

Except that I think that the survivor's guilt has another layer to it, which is that feeling of needing to sacrifice or absolve himself in some way. No one else is willing to make the difficult decisions, no one else will move forward with the painful and unpleasant actions, even if there's no other way, even though they will someday perish and no longer see the ripples of their actions. But Jack - who cannot die, who must live with the guilt or the pain or the trauma of those actions and decisions for the rest of his very very very long life - is the one who realizes that he must take on those painful responsibilities and must do certain things even though they're terrible, because it ends up being the sacrifice of one over the whole world. And every single time, he's guilty about it, and that makes him want even more to sacrifice his own hurt for the grief and loss of others.

So it's this strange cycle of wanting to protect himself from hurt and from loss and from the survivor's guilt, but being driven by guilt towards painful and/or self-sacrificing actions. Which then makes him fear being seen as vulnerable or uncertain, and he struggles to do things on a smaller scale or in a more level-headed way, because he's not supposed to be leading like this, it's not something that comes naturally, and if he makes emotional connections by being a leader, he'll end up trapped in survivor's guilt yet again each time one of his employees or friends or lovers dies.

It's just a terrible cycle and he's trapped in it for the rest of his existence. Although if he really is the Face Of Boe, then I imagine at some point he eventually finds peace with it all or something, but I think so long as he has a human-form he's stuck with this cycle of leadership and loss and sacrifice and mistakes.

I think it's really important that Jack is not good at his job as a leader. He makes a ton of mistakes, he fucks up so much and his employees or even civilians end up collateral damage, whether physically or just emotionally. He wants to be a good leader, I think, and he's trying, but he's fallible, and he's a stranger in literally every sense, and I think a really big part of his character is that he constantly is forced to live in this bizarre dichotomy where he has to be both very distant and cold and detached, and also very emotional and intense and personal. And any other person would collapse under the stress of repeating that over and over and over again for decades, but he has to figure out how to navigate this weight as an infinite existence that can't ever collapse or let it burn him up and kill him.

#torchwood #torchwood meta #jack harkness #it's 4am i'm just rambling tbh #don't even get me started on the whole being buried underground for thousands of years thing either #i'm writing a fic about this theme of jack's guilt/survivor's guilt (kind of) so this idea has been on my mind #but like i said it's very early in the morning so i don't know if this is very eloquent or makes much sense to anyone but me #but i generally have a lot of torchwood thoughts/feelings/opinions so sometimes they just need to be released into the world even half bake

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daisymbin · 1 day ago

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what kind of future? - jeon wonwoo

warnings: alcohol mention, ANGST!!!! happy ending though so all is well

pairings: jeon wonwoo x reader

genre: exes to lovers

wc: 2.3k

check out my masterlist!

“why did you block me?” your voice comes out small, muffled through the lump in your throat as you stand in front of wonwoo’s front door. It’s saturday night, and you’re clutching plastic bags filled with takeout boxes of all his favorites, the familiar smell of the food wafting into the cold air between you. you’ve been worried sick all week, desperate to understand why he cut you out so suddenly, and tonight, after a week of silence from him, you couldn’t wait any longer.

wonwoo stares back at you, and even in the dim glow of the porch light, you can see how exhausted he looks. his eyes are bloodshot, rimmed with that drunken haze you recognize from nights out together with friends & also from dates. you can smell the faint alcohol on him, and he’s swaying slightly in the doorway, unsteady but painfully familiar. his dark hair is tousled, and he’s wearing an oversized hoodie and sweats, looking every bit as vulnerable as you feel.

he doesn’t answer you. not at first. instead, he laughs, the sound broken and empty, and leans his shoulder against the door frame. “so now you care?” he slurs, voice cracking around the edges. “you care now that i’m a mess, huh?”

you step closer, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. “wonwoo, i’ve always cared,” you argue softly, voice trembling. “what happened? why did you block me? did i do something wrong?”

he laughs again, bitter and self-deprecating, before slumping down, sliding his back against the door frame until he’s sitting on the ground. his long legs stretch out in front of him, and he rubs his hands over his face, as if he can’t stand to look at you.

you crouch down beside him, setting the takeout bags aside. “wonwoo,” you whisper, reaching out to touch his shoulder, but he flinches away, and the movement cuts deeper than you thought possible.

“i blocked you because i’m tired,” he mutters, voice thick with more than just alcohol. “tired of wanting something i can’t have. tired of pretending. i thought... maybe if i just erased you from my life, i could move on.” he looks up then, eyes glistening with unshed tears, and your heart breaks at the sight. “but it didn’t work. nothing works. not even drinking until i can’t feel anything.” another bitter laugh left his dry, chapped lips.

you’re stunned, your mind spinning, but part of you understands. it’s a pain you know all too well, a familiar ache that never quite faded. “wonwoo-ah,” you whisper, the name heavy on your tongue, full of memories you’d buried after you two broke up. “we both tried moving on, didn’t we?” the words hang between you, a painful truth neither of you ever wanted to address.

wonwoo looks up at you, the bitterness softening into something achingly vulnerable. “we did,” he admits, voice cracking. “but no matter how many times i tried to convince myself i was over you, no matter how hard i fought to just be friends... i couldn’t. i just can't.” he runs a shaky hand through his hair, his tears slipping down his cheeks. “god, do you know how bad it hurts?”

you feel your own tears spill over, remembering how hard it was when you broke up, how you both decided to try and stay friends for the sake of the boys, you've known them for far too long. “i thought i was doing the right thing,” you whisper, voice trembling. “we both did. but maybe…-”

wonwoo’s eyes search yours, the pain and longing there almost too much to bear. “i don't need you to pity me. if you've moved on, just go-”

“go where exactly wonwoo? who said anything about moving on? do you think i have?” you let out a frustrated sigh.

he cuts you off, throwing his head back with a humorless laugh. “oh, come on,” he says, his voice raising a little, frustration and pain bleeding through. “i saw you. last weekend. with him.”

you blink, confusion clear on your face. “him? who?”

wonwoo clenches his jaw, his hands curling into fists on his lap. “that guy you were laughing with at the café,” he snaps. “you looked... so happy. and he was touching your hand, and you didn’t pull away. i thought...” he trails off, his voice breaking. “i thought you liked him. i thought you were... moving on

the realization hits you like a punch to the gut. you know exactly who he’s talking about; an old friend who had come into town unexpectedly. it was a friendly catch-up, nothing more. you hadn’t even considered that wonwoo would’ve seen it, much less misunderstood it. you reach for him despite his flinch, your fingers trembling. “wonwoo, that wasn’t... that wasn’t what you thought,” you say, tears streaking your cheeks. “he’s just an old friend, nothing more. i didn’t think you... still felt this way about me.”

wonwoo laughs again, but this time it’s full of disbelief, raw and shaky. “felt this way?” he echoes in disbelief, voice heavy with emotion. “i never stopped loving you. i’ve been trying to bury it for months, trying to be okay with just being friends. but it’s killing me. everything about you still drives me crazy.” he pauses, his voice breaking further. “i tried my best to stay strictly friendly with you, just the way you wanted, to keep up with just being friends for your sake, for the sake of our friendship and the boys. but every time i see you, every time i look at you...it takes everything in me to not reach for you, to not touch you, hold you, kiss you. it hurt so damn much to act like it didn’t at all. i really tried to keep my distance, for the sake of our friendship, for the boys...for myself. because i cant afford to lose you completely.. if i ever did…it would kill me.”

your voice wavers, thick with emotion. “i didn’t think you'd still want me anymore. i-i still love you.”

wonwoo looks up at you, hope flickering in his gaze, “you..still love me?”

“yes, i-”

his hopeful eyes were swallowed quickly by disbelief. he shakes his head, tears spilling down his cheeks. “no,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “don’t do this. dont do this to me. don’t say things just to make me feel better.”

you swallow the lump in your throat, pain slicing through you as you watch him crumble. “i’m not,” you insist, tears pooling in your own eyes. “wonwoo, you just don’t get it, do you?” your voice breaks, and your hands tremble as you reach for him. “i’ve never stopped loving you. i thought things would be simpler, easier for you if we stayed friends, so i kept my feelings locked up too. but i love you. god, i love you so much that it hurts.”

his breath catches, and his tears fall faster, tracing painful paths down his face. yet still, he doesn't trust himself enough to believe his own 2 ears. “do you know how much it hurts?” he asks, voice barely a whisper. “the thought of losing you completely when you left me…it hurt so bad that I.. i took whatever you were willing to give me, even if its just to be your friend again…I did it even though it killed me inside.” he shudders, the tears slipping down his face. “but seeing you with someone else broke me. i thought i was strong enough, but... god, it hurts so much.”

wonwoo clings to you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, his grip firm but trembling. his eyes closes shut as he whispers, “i don’t want to let go,” voice cracking with every word. “come back to me. i can’t lose you again.” he pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, searching for any hesitation, any sign that this is still a mistake. but all he finds is the same raw, desperate hope reflected in your gaze.

“you won't lose me again,” you promise, fingers brushing against his cheeks, wiping away the tears that keep falling. “i love you, i love you just the same, if not more.”

a broken, relieved laugh spills from his lips, and his eyes shine with an overwhelming mix of emotions. “god, i thought i’d never hear you say that again,” he breathes out, voice full of disbelief. “i was so sure you’d moved on, that you were happier without me.”

“never,” you say, voice cracking. “i thought about you every day, wondered if you were okay, if you were hurting too. and when we tried to be friends, it was like twisting the knife deeper. because i wanted you so badly, but i was too scared to ruin what little we had left.”

wonwoo’s hands move to cradle your face, thumbs brushing over your tear-stained skin. his touch is hesitant, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks. “it was the same for me,” he whispers, voice breaking. “every time i saw you, all i wanted to do was pull you into my arms and never let go. but i kept telling myself i couldn’t, that it wasn’t fair to you or to anyone else. i clenched my jaw and fought so damn hard to keep my hands to myself, to not reach for you. it killed me every single time.”

“we’ve both been hurting for so long,” you say, the weight of everything crashing over you, “let's not hurt anymore.”

his forehead drops to yours again, and his breath mingles with yours, shaky and uneven. “i love you,” he says, voice raw and full of longing. “i’ve loved you through every second of heartbreak, through every moment of pretending. i don’t want to lose you ever again.”

“you won’t,” you repeat, your voice barely a whisper but carrying all the love and hope you’ve held onto. “not this time. we’re both here, and we’re not giving up on each other again.”

he closes the small distance between you, his lips finally pressing against yours, a kiss that’s both desperate and healing. it’s messy, full of unshed tears and broken sobs, but it’s real, so achingly real. his hands tighten around you, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss, it almost feels like he's trying to dominate you, but you know wonwoo better than this; you know he's not trying to dominate you, he just needs to feel every part of you to believe this is really happening.

when you finally pull back, both of you breathless and still crying, he lets out a shaky laugh, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “we’re a mess,” he says, his voice full of warmth despite the tears. “but i’d rather be a mess with you than pretend i’m okay without you.”

you laugh, a real, genuine laugh that comes from the heart, and you nod, resting your head against his chest. “me too.” you whisper, your voice filled with a kind of hope you haven’t felt in a long time.

“will you sleep with me tonight?” wonwoo’s voice is small, almost childlike, and he looks at you as though he’s expecting rejection, his dark eyes wide with worry. he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing slightly, and you can tell he’s barely holding himself together. “i don't think i've had a proper night's rest since…that night.”

his gaze drops to the floor, and the silence that follows is heavy, as if he's bracing himself for the worst. he’s so scared that he’s asking for too much, so vulnerable and unsure. he shifts awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. his dark eye circles and pale skin don't go unnoticed by you. “we won't do anything,” he adds quickly, his voice trembling. “i swear. i just… i just want to sleep with you. to feel your heartbeat close, to hold you—” he pauses, clenching his jaw, struggling to put his longing into words as he lets out a breath, “it’s the only way i think i can rest, even just for a little while.”

the way he finishes his plea, the unspoken desperation lacing his words, makes your heart twist painfully in your chest. he’s usually so composed, so steady, but right now he looks as fragile as glass, like one wrong move could shatter him completely.

“wonwoo,” you whisper softly, pulling him closer. his head snaps up, and he looks at you with hopeful yet cautious eyes, like he’s terrified to hope for too much. you reach out, resting your palms against both his cheeks, and he freezes at the warmth of your touch.

“of course,” you say, your voice gentle and soothing, trying to reassure him. “of course we can.” your thumb rubs small, comforting circles over his cheeks, and you give him a soft smile. “i’m here, okay? i’ll stay with you.”

wonwoo’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, and he lets out a shaky breath, relief washing over his face. his hand tightens around yours, and he looks at you as if you’re his safe place, the only one who can mend the aching void in his chest.

“thank you,” he murmurs, his voice cracking.

“come on, lets have dinner first.” you say as your hands clung onto his, pulling him up with you, and wonwoo takes a tentative step closer, as though afraid you might disappear if he moves too fast. you don’t, though. you’re right there, just as you promised.

and for the first time in what feels like forever, he feels like he can finally breathe; and he does. tonight, he found the appetite that he's lost for the past few months, he even slept through the night for the first time in months. wonwoo prays that this is the kind of future that lies in front the both of you. he doesn't think he could do it with anyone else if it isn't you.

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gilverrwrites · 23 hours ago

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Dick being a bit of a perv towards Tim’s friend…you and Tim obviously have crushes on another, but Dick subtly convinces you that it’s unrequited, that Tim is turned off by how naive you clearly are…unless you want Dick to teach you some things, he’s be more than happy to *do it*…of course his hands are already creeping down your pants as he says this.

What?! Anon you're crazy. Dickie would never ever do something like this! Anyway... Warnings: Coercion, manipulation, choking, slut shaming, implied age gap Virgin!Reader.

The very first time he met you; Dick made it his mission to ensure he was your favourite member of the family. He’s often the first to invite you to events. He’s always cutting in at galas, much to Tim’s chagrin, and telling you how great you look. Not just the fancy stuff either, he showers you with compliments all the time. He just loves your cosy hoodie, and did you get a haircut? It looks great.

Sometimes he’ll make a show of staring at you, all starry-eyed as he says shit like “Wow. You really are just sooo beautiful. Tim’s a lucky guy.” Knowing full well Tim and you are not an item.

“If only I’d got there first.” Knowing that his comments will almost certainly embarrass Tim.

“What did Tim do to deserve you, anyway?” That the embarrassment is liable to make Tim push you away a little bit.

But it’s not all flirtation. Dick also asks about your life, your friends and family. He learns about your hobbies, and watches your favourite films so he can talk to you about them. He's always offering advice, warranted or not. He just wants to be ‘the best soon-to-be brother-in-law’, you know?

So, he's unsurprised and elated when you call him one night, on the brink of tears after seeing Tim on what looked like a date with someone else. “I feel so weird calling you since you're brothers but you're the only one who knows us both.”

“No, no, no. Don't ever feel like you can't talk to me. You can always come to me for anything! Why don't I come over?”

Half an hour later he's on your couch, listening to you lament about your hopeless crush on Tim. He pats your shoulders, and rubs your back throughout, subtly getting closer and closer until you're all but sat in his lap with his hand dangerously high up your thigh.

“Listen, Tim is my brother, and I love him, I do. And I don't believe in slut shaming, that's not what this is, but he does get around. A lot.” He catches a stray tear with his thumb. You don't move when he lingers, so he keeps shooting, caressing your cheek until he reaches your lips where he grazes their softness far longer than is appropriate. His cock is rock hard from cradling you, there's no way you haven't noticed it digging into your asscheek. You can't be that dumb? “I shouldn't say this, it’s not my place but you deserve to know. He’s a cheater. He's cheated in almost every relationship he's been in. I think he gets bored… Sexually.”

He hadn’t thought you could look any sadder, but you managed it. He almost feels bad. Almost.

“You should be fine though. You know what you're doing, right? No? That's crazy, you're so lovely.”

It takes a little persuasion, but it's cursory more than anything.

“Tim doesn't need to know; it’ll be our little secret.” He promises as he slides his fingers under your waistband.

That night he makes it all about you. He practically spoils you, never using anything but his hands and mouth to make you melt for him, over and over. It takes all his resolve not to kiss you stupid, only because you make such captivating sounds. Such moreish whimpers and moans. For his ears only.

He’s the worst brother in the world.

But that doesn’t stop him from calling you every chance he gets.

He knows he’s going to hell when he’s filled with a sick sense of pride, after dropping you off for a coffee date with Tim, having cum all over your tongue only moments earlier and driven you there with his hand practically lodged between your legs.

Sometimes he fantasises about sucking his name into your chest. Just so Tim will know exactly where you've been if he ever has the balls to close the deal.

But the veneer can only last so long, and you unknowingly chip away at it, bit by bit every time you say Tim’s name. “Do you think Tim would like this?” “I can't believe I'm asking but do you know if Tim…” “Oh, I can’t tonight, Tim and I…”

It finally shatters the first time he fucks you though. You take it so well, slowly letting him stretch out your tight, virgin hole. He barely even has to coach you through it, just a few sweet words of praise, his fingers brushing you in all the right places and your bouncing on his cock like it was made for you.

But then you go and spoil it. He barely even remembers what you said exactly. “Something, something, Tim.” and he's seeing red.

The next thing out of your mouth is a startled gasp as he fixes his hand around your throat and squeezes, pulling you close and pushing his length so deep inside that your eyes roll back as he spits; “Tim doesn't want you.”

You're like a deer in the headlights, wide-eyed and confused but still moaning like a slut as he ruts up into you. “He did, but do you really think he'd ever touch you now? When he finds out you've been hanging off his big brother's dick? Should of taken photos so he can see how bad you wanted it.”

“But- but you said-”

“I know what I said.” You look the most aggrieved when he cuts you off. Never in a million years did you think golden boy Dick Grayson would be so callous. “And you bought it all. God- you’re too easy.”

He trails off for a moment, getting lost in how fucking good you feel, walls tight and twitching around him, milking him a little bit more every time he pinches your throat or bites out another nasty comment. All this time he’s been so nice to you; he should have known you’d like him mean.

“Fucking shit~ I was never gonna let Tim have you. You were mine the moment you walked into the manor.”

#thanks for the ask I love it!#read this ask at like 1AM and couldn't sleep cause I was thinking about it all night #dick grayson/reader #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #nightwing #nightwing x reader #nightwing/reader #nsft #gn reader #reader insert #tw coercion #tw choking #gilverranswers

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miscellaneouzz · 2 days ago

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More Vox Machina meta time bc I feel like people do NOT talk enough about how complex Pike and Scanlan’s relationship is. First off the show is very good at steering away from the typical he’s-annoying-so-she-eventually-gives-in misogynistic approach a lot of those types of dynamics have. Like it initially comes off as just cute and flirtatious until their dynamic ironically becomes the least romantically driven of the main ships in a way that’s far more layered than I expected. It always feels like Pike’s complicated feelings come with observing Scanlan from a distance, she’ll flirt back and play along but ultimately wants to see the person he COULD be, the more sincere and earnest side to him (which can also be tied to Zerxus’ comment about her taking pride in “redeeming” her friends).

But then from Scanlan’s perspective, becoming the person he “could” be means distancing himself from Pike completely, because he’s in love with her and in his mind he sees that as an example of him clinging to his old habits of “finding all the wrong ways” to fill his emptiness. His scene with her on the balcony felt like such a culmination of both their complicated feelings– him relying on those coping mechanisms and Pike recognizing that– and I think that’s part of why he cried and why Pike pulled away at the last second. After that scene, we pretty much see Scanlan stop pursuing romantic interest in Pike for the rest of the season, but she’s still the only person he’ll be vulnerable with.

So then comes this heartbreaking irony that Pike’s been wanting more sincerity from Scanlan for a while now, only for Scanlan finally opening up more about his feelings to include him saying things that end up hurting and pushing away Pike. Because now Scanlan being more vulnerable and sincere means finally admitting he doesn’t view Vox Machina as his “real” family and that he never thought he mattered when he was with them and I don’t think that’s something Pike was truly ready for. And in the end Scanlan is still defining his worth purely on his relationships with others– if he’s no longer pouring his identity into romance/sex, he’s gotta pour it all into his newfound parenthood. He’s still flawed and not in a way where everything just hinges on Pike to “fix” him.

I think when it comes to the romantic relationships in the series it’s the one I’m most invested in from a character perspective. They’re the only pairing that’s yet to sincerely confess or discuss feelings for each other despite how much their relationship focuses on the need for sincerity and it’s so interesting. Like through the relationship struggles of Keyleth x Vax and Percy x Vex, we still see them be more open and upfront with both the conflicts and resolutions of their feelings for each other.

Pike & Scanlan are the only ship we’ve seen neither for, neither a straightforward conversation on the conflict of their relationship itself nor a sincere resolution to their feelings. And I think it has a lot to do with the parallel you can make about their own crisis of identity. Their character motivations and struggles with identity are not entirely dependent on each other as Scanlan has a tumultuous relationship with parenthood and Pike with her faith yet they impact each other so deeply.

There’s a lot more to say BUT for now… onto whatever season 4 brings for the gnomes!

#pikelan #pike x scanlan #tlovm #the legend of vox machina #vox machina #tlovm season 3 #pike trickfoot #scanlan shorthalt #vaxleth #percahlia #perc’ahlia

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ouchthathurts · 16 hours ago

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❝ 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤. ❞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐬) ⋮ Daisuke x AFAB! Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⋮ 3.5k

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 ⋮ 1 | 2 |

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⋮ Captains know best!

𝐓𝐚��𝐬 ⋮ Cross-Posted on AO3 | Vomit Mentioned | Jimmy-Centered

𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 ⋮ Sorry for the delay! Advisement and Finals are coming ups I'm fixing up the schedule to accommodate writing as well!

There’s tension in the room, it’s thick, rough to spread on toast and forced down your throat to make sure you know that you had fucked this up. Of course, Daisuke would be here–But why Daisuke? The rare updates your mother gave was that he really did nothing after high school, enrolled into college undeclared as he just partied his way through the first and second semester.

“No amount of money could get that boy into a good school.” Your mother sighed in relief, “Good riddance.” You had done well, well in your mother eyes since you could’ve done “one more extracurricular’ or ‘been involved in more organizations’ nonetheless, you secured your spot at her dream college and took it seriously in fear she’d kick out her child.

You know, you hadn’t taken the chance to notice how Daisuke had grown, changed in some ways with the faded blond hair dye on the ends of his hair–When did he start curling his hair? When did he dye it blond? What made him start wearing concealer around his eyes? There’re these subtleties you may have not noticed before, were they always there and you were always just that neglectful of him? Disappointed in yourself as a friend you wave to him, and when his eyes finally hit you, it almost drops like a dead body. There’s a way his eyes fall, it almost guts you in a way where he perfectly places his hands on the most sensitive parts. It’s the way he knows you inside out, he doesn’t even need to say anything to you, the look in his chestnut eyes that held everything back in them to not burst into tears. “Alright, Daisuke, that’s enough getting familiar with the crew.” Jimmy speaks, it’s a man you remembered having straight brown hair slicked into a midpart, brown eyes, and stubble. The scraggle under his chin made you cringe, praying that if he got closer there wouldn’t be something ghastly awaiting you. All of you wore the Pony Express jumpsuit, except Swansea and Daisuke who just wore the shirt and jeans with Daisuke adding on a top, you’re not surprised since Daisuke would add anything to the uniform to make sure he was authentic even in the little ways like a feather earring or multicolored rubber band bracelets.

You began to play with the one under the sleeve of your jumpsuit, your fingers turning into pluck at your wrist was the one Daisuke had made for you back in elementary school, it had his and your favorite color alternating every two loops.

“Oh! My! God!” You let out the most obnoxious gasp, it causes him to giggle, and you smirk to yourself knowing all the right buttons to push, there’s a big grin on his face as he slips it on your wrist, and you look down at it to see his wrist falling next to yours to reveal the same bracelet. “Do you like love it?” You snicker at his phrasing, “Dude, I like love it, man.” You mock him, he brings his shoulder to yours to shove it, and the two of you share a smile with glazed over eyes.

How do you even face him? Ways to talk to him, but your biggest fear is talking to him specifically. Everybody boarding this ship seems fine, or at least as good as any other crew could be to be honest with you, since you know it is like your first time. You're looking at a little longer than you should. Like Curly? I mean, you think he's good looking? It's the same blond that Daisuke wanted to do at one point, he was charismatic like how Daisuke was when you first met him, and his hand shake his firm but you long for the wiggle in his wrist Daisuke had.

Holy shit, what do you even do in this situation?

What do you even say to him? “Hey, I'm sorry for leaving you after all this time.” “My bad for abandoning you.” “I'm scared shitless at my mom.” Can you even use your mom as an excuse anymore? Is she even really that scary in the first place or were you just pussying out? All the time where you’ve defended him and all the times he's defended you–Why was you even arguing for him if you just ended up leaving him in the end?

Soon you were met with the Co-captain again. You want to lie to yourself about your situation, that being on a ship is cool and being trained to fly it sounds even more amazing but Good God, you could not stand to be around Jimmy for longer than you needed to.

Honestly, you were very much distraught to find out that you were being stuck with Jimmy. “Since as Captain I'll be a bit busier, I won't be able to be as active as I'd like to be in training. Jimmy’s been a good hand, he's strong willed, eager, and is a good companion to have on the ship.”

You have to shadow him?

In some place in your heart, you know that he hates it just as much as you do. Just meeting him for the first time made him just look at you like lesser, was it because you added your own accessories to your uniform or the fact you put effort into your appearance? Handshake from Jimmy killed something in you because of how he did it, why was his hand so clammy? Why couldn’t he smell better? How come anytime that you talk to him you feel this disgusting older mess inside you like you're the one fucking up all the time? You hope and pray that this isn't all the time you'll spend on the Tuplar.

Upon loading all necessary items, you all make your accession, there's not really a lot to do on the Tuplar, unfortunately there's never anything to do here besides put all your stuff into your room and pray for the best. “Let's go.” Jimmy says your name like a sergeant, it's clear he treats you as a boot licker and now here you were running your tongue against the heel, “Yes, sir.”

Your first thing when it comes to the Tuplar is how the hell a ship can even run this long, you remember the information your mother gave you about how this is the last human ran delivery service, you think back on it and hate it even more as you remember you're really just stuck with these people for around a year or two.

You needed to make the best of it.

Whoever would be writing your recommendation letter Whether that Curly, or even Jimmy. You make sure that you did your absolute best. Now the biggest problem with being around Jimmy all the time is being around Jimmy all the time. You tried to find good things about him. For instance, he told you on the first day, “You're very diligent, I'm grateful for it.” It was nice to hear it, you began to look forward to it throughout the day like the people pleaser you were, spineless against Jimmy like you were to your mother.

There was also the fact that he would teach you stuff, he always made sure to be open with you and never bullshit you on what you wanted to know. There was a clear inferiority complex though. Anytime the two of you bumped into Curly there was a clear pedestal that Jimmy put him on, it was exhausting to hear him talk about how Curly got him this job and how grateful he was and how much good Curly did on this ship.

It got even more awkward one day, though. It was most likely around the later time this week that you were working alongside Jimmy and Curly happened to show up. Now in your defense, you really didn't know the two like that, Curley decided to make a joke about Jimmy, basically along the lines of how Jimmy might be a 'Negative Nancy' and it was all in good fun.

Unbeknownst to you, Curly would definitely be talking to you about Jimmy was in the first place. Jimmy was definitely a character and honestly, it was very hard to even find the time to be around him, even though you were forced to be around him a majority of the time. Nonetheless, Jimmy was definitely not supposed to hear what Curly and you had discussed because you were giving your most honest opinion about Jimmy given the week you two had spent together.

“He’s just always weird, to me, all the time.” Curly raised a brow, “Weird as in?” “At first, I felt special? Like all he was doing is just making me think that there was a chance to be better.” Then you let out a groan, you think back on what he says, and you continue on with your discussion, “It was this sick cycle, he’d compliment me, then he’d backhand me with a little thing,

‘You could’ve been better.’ ‘You could’ve not missed it.’ ‘Do you even know how to maneuver?’ ‘I guess you’re not as diligent as I thought.’” You sit there and look at Curly, and Curly look back at you with sympathy. “Well, why the fuck am I even trying then?” Curly flinches at your language but does nothing to halt your rant, especially when his eyes flicker above you then back to yours, he’s grateful you don’t notice.

“What the fuck am I gaining? If all it amounts to him just pulling the rug beneath my feet to see if I’ll float for him. It's ridiculous. I'm trying so much to please him and make sure I'm doing all right and that I meet his standards so I can do good in college, and I'm sitting here being bent over backwards and turned inside out for this absolute buffoon.” There’s another groan that earns his way out of you, “And his tone, it's so condescending. He never ever tries to think about anything that somebody else is doing. It's always about him, him, him, him. As if I have nothing else to do with my life. What if I want to go play games with Anya and Daisuke?”

Curly’s eyes aren’t even on you anymore, he’s looking to your left, and in return you follow his eyes. Guess that maybe it's just the way it's supposed to be? You don't say anything though You're terrified of even trying to go against either or so you sit there, and you stay silent. I mean what could you even say in the first place, “Jimmy…” You’re distraught that Curly didn’t tell you sooner, you don’t blame him, and Curly doesn’t correct you on it.

“So, do you have a problem with me? If you really have a problem with me while I’m on this ship, why work under me? Why do this? If you absolutely have nothing else to offer besides complaining the whole time, all you do is complain, complain, complain about what? About how I teach you? Mainly, it's because of how unattached you are to this. You never care for anything; you never sit there and think twice. You always sit there and think you're a know it all and think you know everything from A-Z. Unfortunately, you don't and I'm so sorry that you're hurt, that I know more than you and that you feel hurt or put on and I'm oh so sorry that you feel that way.”

The way Jimmy talked to you really pissed you off. Honestly, you were about 5 seconds away from beating his arse. Nonetheless though, you held back all that rage that you had pent up and thought about what you should do. He was apologizing for your feelings as if you are feeling the way you felt was absolutely the wrong way to feel and that you are not allowed to feel emotions in the first place about what he does as if his. As his actions don't have consequences. You want to say something and as much as you really want to fight against him.

You sit there, you take a breath in, and you apologize.

“I’m sorry, Jimmy. I should've communicated better. You're actually a really good co-captain, Jimmy.” There's a look in his eyes that tells you majorly messed up he looks back to you with this glaring expression but a crooked little grin on his face that tells you differently, he'll turn his body to you slowly and you look to him with a wobbly smile, your foundation being nothing but the fear you have in his face.

“It doesn't really matter what you think, does it? At the end of the day, I'm co-captain and Curly is captain, not the other way around. Don't need you feeling bad for me especially when I know you'd rather be with Curly.” You're lost for words, what do you even say after something like this? You can try and be nice and tell him that's not true but what are you even gaining from that at this point?

No Curly is just awkwardly standing there, unable to really do or say anything he tells the booth of you. “Maybe you guys should work it out amongst yourselves, you guys are mature and like-minded adults.” That was his cue to leave. You're distraught by this, but not surprised, unfortunately, given that he didn't even tell you about Jimmy being next to you. You wonder how long Jimmy was actually there next to you before Curly was going to say anything, if he was going to say anything at all...

After Curly makes his way out of the hallway, you were left alone with Jimmy, and you try to start up the conversation. “Well,-” The way Jimmy barks out a laugh causing him to spit on your face made you wince at the scene, “Well, Well what? Well, you suck at your job? Well, flattery will get you nowhere. Well, what do you even plan on doing after this excursion? Well, what do you even study in college? Well, do you even think you'll return for the next time? Well? Well?” With each phrase he got closer, and closer, and closer.

“Here and play around on this ship as if we're all doing these little dumb reindeer games to come and sit here and bullshitting around. I didn't know you were like Daisuke, and you have a little family going home to support you while you go through college, and I definitely didn’t know you wanted to hang out with the nurse who barely qualified for the position. I didn't know that you were so spoiled in lavish that you thought you could sit here and play around. You didn't want to learn anything, you just thought this was going to be a fun little hang out time. But this is real shit. We're doing real things.”

It didn't help that he had just eased you into one of the closets, it's small with shelves lined with miscellaneous items. It was cramp, you're cornered by this absolute unit that was most definitely trying to intimidate you. You don't even know what to do at this point. You look in his eyes and even while you're trying to hold your ground you feel like your knees are going to buckle in.

You stare at Jimmy, and he doesn't even see you, you're just another person who needs to know his place on the ship. Below Curly but above you. It was never explicitly said, and you don't know if you could ever really get it out of him, but you knew that this was just him making sure he knew you knew. You kept staring though and even as his face got closer and closer you couldn't even fathom how you would even get out of this.

“Well, what?” You see yourself in his reflection and there's nothing more humiliating than knowing how weak you look in front of somebody. It's almost petrifying how much you're realizing that you're stuck here, and you will be stuck here for as long as he wants you to be.

“Well?” You sigh, “I’m sorry, Jimmy, I was just speaking my mind.” He doesn't even look at you, his eyes flicker up and they flicker back down at you with no type of change to emotion. “I didn't decide to have a person work alongside me and be around me this whole time just for them to speak their feelings I don't want you to speak your feelings I don't need you to speak your feelings I don't want to hear you speak your feelings You're here for one thing and one thing only follow my orders and if you can't do that then I don't even know why you even bother to show up.”

“You didn't even decide to have me as your intern…”

You shouldn't have said that and in those seconds you didn't even realize it you were being snatched up, it was quick both of his hands already pinning you both by the sides of your shoulders you weren't surprised that he was able to just immediately grab your forearms and yank you over to him with his face even more knotted up in anger than before. “I'm sorry, I didn't hear you, follower. What did you say?” Your breath hitches at the feel of coarse hands squishing your flesh without a care, “I said,” You think, you think some more, and you come to your conclusion.

“I said, you didn't even decide to have me as your intern, you only have me shadowing you because you're not as important as Curly.” The way his grip tightened was something you expected, and you prayed that the bruises on your arms wouldn't be too bad as you felt yourself being run through a compressor, that was until someone knocked on the door. Jimmy whips his head around to see who it is, “Who is it?”

“Oh!” No, fucking, way. “Hey, Jiiiiimmy, right? I heard F/N’s voice in there and I was gonna ask if I could come in and get some stuff cause Swansea sent me…” Your eyes widen and you almost cry out in relief, “Daisuke? Yeah, I'm in here!” The look shot back at you almost gave you whiplash, quickly putting your head down in embarrassment as you were met with Jimmy's angered expression in your face. “We're coming out right now.”

There's an awkwardness in the air more than there was before but for a different reason. Upon getting out the closet you're met with Daisuke, You weren't the first to leave in fact as Jimmy was already standing there with his harm's crossed looking at Daisuke dismissively, there is a glare in his eyes that Daisuke had read as Jimmy being upset about being interrupted and you being embarrassed about being caught. Embarrassment was correct. You were absolutely floored by the fact that Daisuke had found you with Jimmy alone in a closet. It almost killed you to see the expression on his face upon leaving the enclosed area.

“Soooooooo, what were you guys doin’ in there?” Only Daisuke would ask such a question, and you admired him for such boldness and confidence you'd never lost it in those years, and he even glowed more with him being met with such a sight, you don't think he cares, and you do think maybe he thinks you moved on. It kills you to look at him, there's no obvious hurt in his face but Daisuke has always been someone that's displayed effortless suave.

Jimmy was quick to speak, “Nothin’ you need to worry about, Daisuke, just getting to know my intern a little better.” There's a cheeriness to his expression It's obvious of what he's doing, and you can't even say anything without not wanting to be put into that situation once more. You argue with yourself again, You could defend yourself and tell Daisuke that Jimmy was being a total asshole to you, and you needed help and you were so glad that he was able to help you or you could do what you were best at and that was going along with it.

“Yeah,”

Just like you always did.

“Ohhhhhhh, I see.” Daisuke lets out a warm laugh, too warm of a laugh, even as he's almost joking about it in a way that seemed like him and Jimmy were close, “Anywhosies, I'm going to take this stuff to Swansea. I'll see you guys around! Have fun getting to know each other!” You wish that your innards were churned into chum then regurgitated onto Jimmy. You turn to look at Jimmy, you think about what Daisuke thought about finding you two in the closet, once Daisuke was finally out of view, you promptly vomited onto Jimmy.

Those liquid would for sure stain his uniform and the chunks made a disgusting plan into the floor after you then clutched your stomach. You groaned, unfortunately for Jimmy, he took you to the nurse station.

©ouchthathurts please don't translate, claim as yours, redistribute and/or plagiarize in any way. likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#mouthwashing #ouchlovesthem #ouchlovesdaisuke #ouchlovesmouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #daisuke x reader #mouthwashing x reader #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing fanfic

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twisted-broth · 12 hours ago

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A Human's Touch

Mr Gap x Reader

(Anything in bold is other world language)

It had been a while now since you had returned to the other world. It was hard to tell time here, but at least you knew that this was where you belonged. It was almost laughable to think that you once tried to leave this place.

You would never admit it, but you really owed a lot to the shit eating grin that always manages to pop up whenever you need him. Even now, with you life no longer in constant peril, he pops up somewhere nearby quite often. It could be from the crack of your closet, inside your bag, or a random hole in the wall that you swear wasn't there before. As annoying as Mr Gap was, he was probably the closest thing you had to a friend. He would even bring you things from the human world if you asked. For a price, of course.

You sigh as your "friend" holds one of your favorite books from the human world just out of reach. He was playing his favorite game again.

"Give leg." He demanded.

"Give foot." Was your counter offer. Most of your body parts would grow back, but it takes longer for bigger parts and more complex organs. Luckily there didn't seem to be a word in their language for liver or spinal column.

His expression twists for a moment, but the smile quickly returns. "Yes." He agrees.

The pain that radiates from your ankle would have made you pass out a few months ago, but now it only elicits a stifled grunt. You snatch the book from Mr. Gap's hand as he smiles at the newfound treasure that appears in his grasp. You sigh once more and put the book to the side before pressing an already bloodied towel to your ankle.

With the bleeding successfully stopped, there was nothing else for you to do but lie in bed while you waited for it to grow back. You spared a glance towards your new book, but couldn't muster the energy to read it. The isolation of this world had been wearing on you. You had been spending time with Mr Silvair and Mr Chopped lately, but there was another recent earthquake that blocked off your path to them. You had yet to find the time to search for a new one.

With an arm draped over your eyes, you fell back against your threadbare pillow. The covers rustled around you, giving away the presence of another with you.

"Why sad?" You opened one eye to look down at your covers. The face of Mr Gap blended in with the darkness above your legs. If he had a body, he would be nearly lying on top of you. The part of your brain that was still human couldn't help but think that some actual physical touch would be nice.

"I one. Sad. Friend not here." Elaborating on the concept of loneliness using a lexicon of 100 words wasn't really a task you wanted to undertake at the moment.

You had thought Mr Gap would either leave or laugh at you, but to your surprise he looked confused. "I here." He responded.

Now it was your turn to be confused. If you weren't mistaken, he seemed almost offended that you hadn't called him a friend.

"You friend?"

"Yes." If this language had some equivalent of 'duh', you imagined that would be what he would say instead.

All you can do in response is blink at him. You really never imagined that Mr Gap would hang around you because he considered you a friend. If anything, you thought he just saw you as a an endless stream of various body parts. "Thank you. I like friend."

Hesitantly, you lifted a hand to reach up and stroke his head. He looked mildly disgusted (which was often his expression anyway), but didn't react otherwise. His hair wasn't exactly pleasant to touch- it was greasy and weirdly damp in places- but at least it was something of what you had been missing. He continued to humor you, but you decided not to push your luck on how long he would allow you to continue touching him.

"Why touch?" He asked when you were done.

"Human like touch. Make sad go away." It wasn't exactly what you wanted to say, but you figured it would get the point across.

Hesitantly, one of his arms reaches out from beneath your covers. Your current working theory was that his arms just appeared whenever he needed them, but you haven't gotten around to asking him yet. Your positioning is a bit awkward, so he can't reach your head to return your pats. Instead, he pats you on the shoulder for a few seconds. His hands are cold and clammy, but those few seconds of touch are something you've been missing for a while.

You smile. Mr Gap could be annoying at best and cruel at worst, but it would seem that he does have a sweet side to him after all. You distantly wonder if some semblance of a normal relationship would be possible here. Unlikely, but it may not be as out of reach as you once thought.

"Thank you. You good friend." You said after a beat of silence. For a moment it appears like he isn't quite sure how to feel about your declaration. You don't imagine it's something people tell him often. After a second of thought, he returns your smile.

"Me good friend. You give heart?"

Well, you can work on that.

#x reader #homicipher x reader #homicipher #mr gap #mr gap x reader #homicipher mr gap #mr gap x you #Homicipher one shot #mr scarletta #mr crawling #mr hood

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cy-cyborg · 2 days ago

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If you're using Mocap to animate an amputee character, you need an amputee actor!

I know there is a lot of debate about disabled actors playing disabled characters, but with amputees, even in mocap, it does visibly and negatively impact the performance if you don't get an amputee to do that roll - unless you're going to majorly adjust the animations later, but that would require so much additional work that it kind of defeats the point of using mocap at all. Amputation (and limb differences in general), weather a prosthetic is present or not, changes how you move and how fast (stumps and limbs with prosthetics often move faster due to less weight), the poses you can do (abled actors often physically can't always do the same poses because the limb their character lacks is in the way) everything. It will even impact how other parts of the body will be posed (e.g. lots of leg amputees have altered spinal curves, which will effect things in the upper body, because of slight changes to their center of gravity and the pressure applied from prosthetics. The higher up the amputation, the more limbs missing and the longer the character has been without them, the more noticeable this will be)

I'm glad that we're starting to see more amputee representation in games, truely, but you can't just slap motion capture data from a non-disabled people onto a disabled character and expect it to look right, especially when it comes to disabilities like amputation, where a massive chunk of weight is gone or altered. It's exceptionally noticeable.

I've worked in 3D animation and games. I understand crunch, and I understand sometimes it's a technical issue or limitation, especially in older games, but I also know how much work goes into this stuff, how much love and care these folks put into it to get things looking right. Even mocap cleanup is a lot of work, and a lot of skill is still need it to get it looking right in-game. I've seen first-hand the almost obsessive attention to detail some animators have - so why is this the thing that gets consistently overlooked?

A lot of this also applies to live action where a charcater's missing limb or prosthetic is just added in post too...

#probably going to elaborate on this further another day #games #disability in games #disability #disabled #amputee #amputee representation #disability representation #disabled characters

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tercais · 2 days ago

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Some words about Diego and Lila Hargreeves.

Lots of you is young and/or never been married and it really shows. In a lot of ways, i'm like Lila. Almost the same age as her, two kids, SAHM for five years. I don't have superpowers and i was neven an assasin, but apart from that, yeah.... And let me tell you, if my husband treated me like Diego treated Lila, i wouldn't need seven years in interdimentional limbo to leave the marriage.

So, here are married woman thougths about their marriage, in no particular order.

Diego is missogynist. That one was apparent in season one already, when he turned off Grace (who He claimed he loved) because she showed one (1!) small malfunction. Makes you think what He would do if his wife got seriously sick.

He didn't say single nice thing to Lila until the last episode, and even then he "changed" because OTHER MAN told him to.

From season two, He showed reluctance in letting Lila take the lead in any form, from dancing together to calling the shots in a life or death situation. This caused them to fight even under active shooting.

Lila was one foot out from beginning of season 4. She was exhausted, overwhelmed, quite literally at the end of her rope. And everytime she tried to comunicate this, she got silenced, her feelings ignored and Diego always twisted her (reasonable) complains into direct attack on his person. They wouldn't worked out long therm without Lila getting pregnant right at the beginning. And the kids only slowed down the inevitable.

We may argue S3 Diego would never (which i digress), but unfortunately, we got what we got and we have to work with canon characterisation.

Seven years is long as time. I don't think people realize how long. Fivelila haters like to act as if they had "typical" affair, but the truth Is far from that. It's longer than Lila and Diego knew each other, and given the circumstances of those seven years, it would be wierder if nothing had happened between them.

Lila has way more in common with Five, than she has with Diego.

Woman have the right to leave unhappy marriage. Your kids are your number one responsibility (which Lila demonstrated over and over), but you don't have to sacrifice yourself to be a good mother. She didn't mention coming back to Diego, it was always about coming back to her children.

I came across the argument why would Lila hate her suburban life with Diego, but love her cottagecore life with Five. This boils down to who you live this life with. Her unhapiness wasn't rooted in the suburban lifestyle itself, but more in the person She shared that with. Where Diego only saw mother and caretaker, Five saw equal partner. She was happier with Five, because he treated her better.

People call Five a homewrecker, but the home was wrecked long before Five got into the picture.

#fivelila #lila pitts #number five #five hargreeves #diego hargreeves #marriage

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rawbin-hsr · 1 day ago

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Hi! Could i request Feixiao, Boothill, and Argenti with a s/o who has panic disorder (or panic attacks in general). Just generally how they react and such :)

@dragon-anon

A/N: Surprisingly I found this a little difficult IUESJhief I have a lot of experience with. having anxiety when I was younger. I think I was even diagnosed with it at some point ? Which is weird because I’m not diagnosed any longer and I no longer really get anxiety attacks so idk what the fuck that was erm. Anyways that’s beside the point. I really struggled to make Feixiao and Argenti different because I think they would handle it similarly (hence why Argenti’s part ended up so much shorter than the other two, cause I didn’t want to just. Repeat Feixiao’s whole part.) and I’m a little worried Boothill is ooc because I haven’t done the new quest and it seems like it showed a lot of his backstory so forgive me if I’m not up to date on that. Sorry about rambling I’ll get on with it now help

Reader has an anxiety disorder

Characters: Feixiao, Boothill, Argenti

Cw: anxiety/panic attacks (descriptions kept brief, not very detailed), slight mention of self-harm inflicting behaviours in Argenti's part (only reader unintentionally scratching themself, not necessarily done out of a desire to harm oneself).

Lmk if there's anything else I should add !

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

╭──────────.★..─╮ Feixiao ╰─..★.──────────╯

Oh she’s great

Amazing at picking up your signals, amazing at assessing what course of action would help you most, amazing at following through with it

She can tell what sets you off, even without you telling her, and she has a lot of firsthand experience with handling other people’s anxiety (both from more intimate relationships and from soldiers she doesn’t exactly know on any personal level). It’s not hard for her to figure out what calms you down most quickly.

Your episodes have never been shorter than they are with her around 🙏🙏

I’m not sure exactly how I imagine her handling it, because I think it switches a lot depending on what she knows about you. If she knows you find physical touch comforting, she’ll hold you and gently talk you down. If you’re the type who doesn’t need much reassurance, she’ll firmly remind you of where you are, that she’s with you, that you’re safe, etc, etc. She’ll find whatever solution works best for you.

Apart from being great with damage control if you do have a panic attack, she’s also pretty good at preventing them from happening in the first place.

If she recognises you’re stepping into an environment you’re likely to have an attack in, she’ll either steer you out of it if she can or she’ll make sure you’re in there for as little time as possible. Like, for example, if you’re bad with large crowds, she’ll usually just find a less packed road to take around the mass of people.

Obviously it’s unavoidable sometimes, and she won’t always be able to adhere to you completely because she does have a very important job that she can’t really put on hold for your sake, but like I said, she’s great at handling it then too.

If something needs to be done but you can’t do it, she’ll do it for you (after gently trying to encourage you to face your fears and do it yourself — but she does quickly relent if she notices you really, really don’t want to)

10/10 would recommend she’s amazing

╭──────────.★..─╮ Boothill ╰─..★.──────────╯

I feel like Boothill would be absolutely dogwater at preventing any anxiety attacks from happening, but he’d be great at stopping them once they do happen

Like obviously he won’t trigger you on purpose but he won’t tiptoe around the things that put you off either. Both because he doesn’t usually have much choice in the matter considering his line of work, and because he believes in exposure therapy. And because he maybe sort of kind of forgets. 😭

But he’d be great while you’re in the middle of an anxiety attack ! So that counts for something !!!!

He always manages to snap you out of it pretty quickly. Takes you out of the situation once he recognises the signs that the attack is coming, then gets you present in the current moment again. How ? That’s very simple. He confuses the fuck out of you

You know that tip about making someone having an anxiety attack bite into a lemon ? Yeah

(If you haven’t heard about it: a way to snap someone out of a panic/anxiety attack can be to make them lick a really sour lemon without any warning. The sensory input is really overwhelming and the person having the episode might be so shocked by it they kind of just snap out of it because who the fuck makes you taste a lemon when you’re at your lowest like that ???)

You’re curled up in a ball, hyperventilating because there are too many people, too many sounds, too many what-have-you ? Not anymore, now you’re too busy being confused and lowkey angry at him for shoving an ice cube down your throat. Like wtf are you doing my guy

Usually his little stunts do the trick to get you out of that headspace, and then he can just verbally talk you down so you’re nice and calm again. Will let you cool off while he solves whatever issue it was that led to your anxiety attack. Don’t worry about it anymore, he’s got this.

If he can’t confuse you out of it, though, he’ll just do whatever you’ve instructed him to do while lucid. If it’s hugging you and talking gently until you’re calm, he can do that. If it’s to just take you into a quiet space and let you ride it out, no problem. If it’s to just continue on and let you just stand next to him, sure.

Only thing he won’t do is to avoid your triggers altogether. He can give you a heads-up when possible, he can let you sit it out if you really need to, but he won’t (in his words) “baby you”. In his opinion, you’ll never get over it if you just avoid it forever.

He says it in a kind of harsh way, but there’s genuine care in his tone and his expression, so you know he doesn’t mean it like that.

All in all I think Boothill is really great if you’re the resilient type and you have the kind of anxiety that can actually get better through treatment, but if you’re sensitive and need someone who actively helps you avoid your triggers I definitely wouldn’t recommend him 😭

╭──────────.★..─╮ Argenti ╰─..★.──────────╯

Obviously amazing at handling it is there anything he’s not good at ? 🙄 (/j)

He immediately becomes very serious when he realises your control is slipping, falls silent and looks at you worriedly. He recognises surprisingly quickly what’s happening, and steps into your field of view and crouches down, makes sure you can see his face. Takes both of your hands in his, wishes he didn’t have armour so he could let you feel his heartbeat.

He calmly talks you out of it. He sounds so sure of everything he does, to a point where you’ll question afterwards if he has firsthand experience with this.

(He does. He used to experience a lot of anxiety and panic attacks as a child, it is only natural when you grow up surrounded by war; you’d never guess just looking at him now, though.)

He’ll obviously switch how he handles your panic attacks if you ask him to, but his default is to hold your hands (both to prevent you from accidentally scratching yourself, and to remind you he’s there) and to softly reassure you

I think he becomes sort of hyper aware of what triggers you, and does as much as he can to avoid it. Lowkey starts to baby you a little, but just a little, and even if it’s annoying it’s done with love, done out of a desire for you to be happy. It does put him in some tough spots though, considering it means he sometimes tells you to sit an adventure out, but the plan was for it to have the both of you and it’s harder to handle a lot of things alone 😭

Overall super good though I love him <3

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3

#[rawbin]#[feixiao]#[boothill]#[argenti]#[by me]#[rawbin headcanon]#feixiao x reader #boothill x reader #argenti x reader #feixiao #feixiao hsr #feixiao honkai star rail #boothill #boothill hsr #boothill honkai star rail #argenti #argenti hsr #argenti honkai star rail

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candycandy00 · 14 hours ago

Text

Once Upon a Time - A Choso x Reader Fanfic Part 1

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! This is Rapunzel featuring Choso! While gathering herbs in the forest, you stumble into the garden of a strange man living in an abandoned watch tower. He talks often about his three little brothers, but you’re beginning to suspect they’re no longer there.

Read Sukuna x Sleeping Beauty Here!

Read Gojo x Cinderella Here!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Reader as Rapunzel. Reader has long hair (she kinda has to for this story) but no other distinguishing physical characteristics. Choso as a classic Yandere. Possessive behavior. Toxic love. Manipulation. Reader is locked up. Mentions of characters dying before the story began. Bondage (not used in a sexual context… yet).

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear!

You bend down to pick some of the herbs you just found, carefully placing them in your basket. These will be perfect for several different medicines you make for the other villagers. You can’t believe what a treasure trove you’ve found. How have you never seen this place before?

The basket is feeling heavy on your arm by the time you finish, but you’re so happy with what you’ve gathered that you don’t mind the extra weight. You pick one last handful and turn to head back through the woods and to the village.

That’s when you see him. A pale man dressed in black, dark hair pulled into strange ponytails on each side of his head. He’s standing directly in your path.

“Why are you in my garden?” he asks. His tone is curious, not accusatory.

You freeze in place. This is a garden? And it belongs to him? You dip your head in a slight bow. “I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t realize this was your garden. I picked a lot of your herbs,” you say, holding out your basket. “Would you like to keep them?”

He stares into your basket, then at your face. “What do you want herbs for?”

“I make medicines,” you tell him. “Tonics, ointments, all sorts of things.”

He’s silent for a moment, then asks, “Could you make some for me?”

“Of course,” you say, happy that he’s apparently going to let your accidental theft slide. “What kinds do you need?”

“Something for scrapes and cuts. I have three little brothers and they’re always getting hurt while playing in the woods.”

You smile. “Alright. I’ll make some and bring them back to you, as a thank you for the herbs.” You glance around the forest. “Where is your house?”

He hesitates for a few seconds, as if reluctant to reveal where he lives. You’re just about to offer to meet him here in a few days when he turns and begins walking through the woods. “Follow me. I’ll show you.”

You tag along behind him, waiting for a house to come into view. You really didn’t know anyone lived out here. But instead of a house, he leads you to a clearing with an enormous tower standing in the middle of it.

“You live here?” you ask, using your hand to block the sun as you squint upwards, trying to see how high it goes.

It’s made of stone, gray in color except for a deep red door and matching red shudders all the way up at the top. A window? But why so high? The grass around the tower is thick and unkempt, wild rose bushes climbing the sides, going at least thirty feet up. Red and white roses are blooming beautifully, making the tower look like something from a dream.

When you step closer, you notice there are black roses blooming here and there. What an unusual color!

The man opens the red door, made of heavy wood, and motions for you to come inside.

You follow in behind him, finding a living area with chairs, a fireplace, a rug, and a desk. Off to the side is a cozy little kitchen with a stove and a small table with four chairs crowded around it.

“Do you live here by yourself?” you ask, looking around.

He looks at you with a slightly confused expression. “No, I have three little brothers, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right! I’m sorry, I forgot.”

But the tower doesn’t look like three kids live in it. Things are too neat and orderly, and there’s only one place setting on the table. Maybe they’re just very well behaved.

He notices you glancing around and says, “They’re out gathering wood for the fire right now. They’ll be home soon.”

You nod, then look straight up. “What’s up there?”

He follows your line of sight, tilting his head up. “A couple of bedrooms shared between us,” he answers. “This used to be a watch tower during the war. My brothers and I found it abandoned a few years ago and moved in.”

“That was fortunate,” you say. “I bet they love playing in this tower.”

He smiles, the expression lighting up the room. He has a really nice smile. “Yes, they love it here.”

You smile back, then start toward the door. “I’ll make some medicines for you and come back in three days. Is that alright?”

“Yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you.”

As you step outside, you turn back to wave goodbye to him. He waves back, and you leave. Walking back through the woods, you half expect to run into his little brothers, laughing and playing. But you never see another soul until you reach the village.

In the comfort of your own home, you remove your bonnet and let the long ponytail slip down your back and hit the floor. Even with the ends looped around and tied at the top, your hair brushes the wooden floorboards as you move around the room, assembling your tools. Pans, bowls, a kettle of water set to boil, stone cups and mortars.

As you begin your work, you realize you never asked the man for his name.

Three days later, when you return to the tower, the man meets you at the door with a smile. He really does look so kind when he smiles. You wish he would do it more often.

“I brought the medicines, uh… sir,” you say, holding up a leather bag.

“Choso,” he says. “My name is Choso. And you?”

Feeling just a bit shy, you avert your eyes as you tell him your name. You’re not sure why you didn’t realize it last time, but he’s very handsome. Even the faint dark circles under his eyes can’t diminish his lovely face.

“Come in, please,” he tells you, opening the door wider and stepping to the side to give you room.

Once inside, you go to the kitchen and begin pulling the glass bottles of medicine from your bag and sitting them on the table. Choso walks over and listens intently as you explain their uses.

“This one is great for scrapes and minor burns or cuts. Wash the wounded area first with warm water, then apply the salve. Bandage if necessary. This one here helps with a cough. Give them one spoonful before bed. Oh, and this one relieves itching from bug bites or rashes they might get from plants while playing.”

You pick one bottle with a purple colored liquid inside. “This will help them sleep, but it’s strong. Only a few drops into some water or milk, okay? Otherwise they’ll be knocked out all day.”

Choso looks at you warmly as you finish explaining them. Then thanks you again. “These will be a big help. My little brothers can be unruly at times.”

You look around the room. “Are they out today?”

Choso nods. “They went to fish in the stream nearby. They should be home later.”

“That’s a pity. I’d like to meet them someday,” you say.

As you start to head for the door again, Choso places a hand lightly on your shoulder. “Wait. Would you like to join me for dinner? My brothers will be late, so I’ll just give them leftovers.”

Your eyes shift to the stove, where iron pots and pans are sizzling and steaming. You realize then that you can smell food cooking, and it smells delicious. There’s definitely some sort of bread baking, and you’re fairly certain an onion has been sautéed. They’re warm, comforting scents. They remind you of when your parents were alive.

“Are you sure you’ll have enough?” you ask.

“There’s plenty,” he replies, gently ushering you to the little round table and pulling out one of the chairs. “My brothers don’t eat much. You know how kids can be picky eaters.”

You sit down in the offered chair. “Alright then. Thank you.”

“Oh, thank you,” Choso says, filling a plate for you. “I haven’t had company for dinner in a long time.” He pauses, seems to think of something, then adds, “I mean I haven’t had a guest for dinner in a long time.”

You look at the plate filled with piping hot food that he sits in front of you. “This all looks incredible!”

Choso fixes a plate for himself and sits down next to you at the table. “I hope you enjoy it,” he says before beginning to eat.

Everything you try is divine, from the freshly baked bread to the fried potatoes with onions to the seared pork loin. You wonder how his brothers could possibly be too picky to enjoy this, but you suppose there’s no accounting for kids’ taste.

After finishing your meal, you stay for a little while to chat with Choso. He’s not overly talkative, but he’s friendly enough, and seems to genuinely enjoy your company. He asks you questions about your medicine making, the village you live in, and eventually reaches the topic of family.

“My parents died when I was sixteen,” you tell him, “and I have no siblings. My only relatives live so far away that I never see them, so it’s just me.”

His expression softens. “Don’t you get lonely?”

You place your elbow on the table and lean your face onto your hand. With your other hand, your fingers trace over a name childishly carved into the wood. “Yuji”. It must be the name of one of his brothers. You can imagine a little boy doing that, and Choso gently chastising him for it.

“Sometimes I do,” you answer. “Sometimes I miss having someone to tell my problems to, or something fun or interesting will happen and I’ll want to go home and tell my parents, but there’s no one there. Most of the time I’m fine, but sometimes at night the house is so quiet, all I can hear is my own breathing, and it feels…” You stop and look at Choso. His eyes have a strange intensity to them as he stares at you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, feeling embarrassed, “I shouldn’t have rambled on like that. You have your brothers, so it must be hard for you to imagine what I’m talking about.”

All at once his expression returns to its normal warm and kind one. “Ah, you’re right. I’m sorry for asking something so personal.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him. “I’m an open book. Ask whatever you want.”

“Really? In that case, why do you keep your hair so long?” he asks.

You took your bonnet off to eat dinner, and it would be strange if he hadn’t noticed how long your ponytail is. You reflexively reach up to touch where it’s looped and tied at the back of your head. When loose, your hair drags far behind you.

“My parents come from a very isolated clan, where a person’s hair is considered their spirit. Hair is sacred to us, so I’ve never cut it since I was born.”

His eyes seem to follow your hair from your head down to the floor. “It’s very beautiful,” he says. “I’d love to see it let down.”

You blush at that remark. He couldn’t know it, but in your parents’ clan, only your spouse is allowed to see you with your hair completely loose. Though your parents left the clan, they raised you to respect many of their customs.

“Maybe someday,” you say with a faint smile. “Letting my hair down is a very… intimate thing.”

Choso’s pale face turns slightly pink. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, you didn’t know. The clan was a bit strange.”

You leave later that evening, still seeing no signs of his brothers.

Over the next few weeks, you visit Choso often. He lets you raid his herb garden in exchange for making medicines for him, and you always stay a couple of hours to have dinner with him and talk.

Choso is still a little quiet, but he’s an excellent listener, always seeming engaged with whatever you talk about. The only topic that makes him chatty is his brothers. He loves telling you stories about their mischief. He clearly loves all three of them, but he seems to have a soft spot for the youngest, Yuji.

But the more time you spend with Choso, the more you talk to him, the more you start to suspect something terrible.

Maybe his brothers are gone.

You’re not sure if a relative might have taken them in, or if they simply ran away to one of the nearby villages, or… if they’re dead. But you’re starting to believe they don’t live at the tower with Choso anymore. You’ve never seen them even once, despite visiting at different hours on different days. Choso always has plenty of food to share, and you’ve never seen any evidence of them still being there.

You can’t ask Choso about it. Whatever the truth may be, it’s obvious that Choso doesn’t want to deal with it. He’d rather live the lie that they’re still with him than face the truth, and it’s not your place to try to change that.

So you go along with it. You don’t act suspicious when he says they’re out playing in the woods. You don’t ask any questions about what they’ve been doing lately. It’s none of your business anyway, though it does make you sad.

One night you end up staying at the tower a little later than usual, wrapped up in a conversation with Choso. When you head home, it’s dark out, and the woods seem a little creepier.

You start to walk the familiar path to your village, but you hear a wolf howl in the distance. Another wolf howls, then another. It sounds like there’s a pack on the path you need to be on. Deciding to take the long way around, you step onto a different path, one that would take around the other side of the tower.

On your way, you spot a small clearing. The full moon shines down through the trees, illuminating three identical objects. Stepping closer, you realize what they are. Small cross shaped grave markers. There are no names on them, but the fact that there are three sends a chill down your spine. Three graves for three little brothers?

You can’t be sure, so you choose to ignore them for now. You’ve already decided to go along with Choso’s sad lie, so what’s the point of saying anything now?

Continuing on the path, you hear wolves howling again. Are they on this path as well, or did they catch your scent and follow you?

The air is unseasonably chilly, feeling like winter despite being early autumn. The trees are still full of leaves, and during the day their foliage creates a rainbow of lovely colors: golden yellows, burnt oranges, lush reds. But tonight, they just look dark brown.

You wrap your thin cloak a little tighter around yourself and hurry along, hoping the wolves are farther away than they sound. Your footsteps are nearly silent on the soft forest floor. It rained yesterday, so the ground is still slightly damp, and the woods still have that earthy smell that always follows the rain.

A howl again, stopping you in your tracks. Should you run? Or go back to the tower? You’re not sure which option is safer, especially in the dark. It’s hard to judge exactly where you are on this unfamiliar path.

You hear a growl, and it’s definitely close. Close enough to make your heart pound wildly and the hair on your neck stand up.

A twig snaps somewhere behind you, and more than one growl can be heard. It sounds like you’re surrounded! As the first wolf emerges from trees to your right, you let out a terrified scream.

Choso is cleaning up after dinner, humming quietly to himself as he washes the plates he and his guest ate from.

He finds himself smiling often these days, feeling happy and content for the first time since…

No, he refuses to think about that right now. He has someone to talk to, to eat dinner with most evenings, to share things with. He’s not alone anymore.

He’s never really had a guest before she wandered into his garden, and every day since he’s thanked the stars above for sending someone so lovely. She’s sweet and honest and talks to him about her life and seems to actually care about what he has to say.

And she’s beautiful.

Choso hasn’t been with a woman, or even been interested in one, in years. Before finding the tower, Choso sometimes sold his body to make enough money to feed his brothers. He didn’t hate it, but most of the encounters felt hollow to him.

Now, for the first time since he was a teenager, he feels actual desire for someone. But he’s not sure how she feels about him. Maybe he can figure it out if he spends more time with her.

A shrill scream pierces the night, causing Choso to drop the plate he was washing. A tiny piece of it chipped off.

He pauses, listening carefully. He hears another scream, and this time he’s certain. It’s her. She’s in trouble!

Terrible memories flash through his mind as he runs for the door and throws it open. Other screams, calling for Choso to help, begging to be saved as he ran toward the sound. This time, he’ll make it! This time, he won’t lose anyone!

He sprints through the forest, following her voice, tearing through the trees and ignoring the branches scratching his face.

Another sound fills his ears. Growling and snarling, the snapping of teeth. He knows what makes those sounds all too well.

As he breaks free of the tree line and onto a path, he sees her. She’s lying on the ground, curled up to try to protect herself, as a small pack of wolves circle her. In the small patches of moonlight, Choso can see that her cloak is torn and there are bloody marks all over her. There’s blood soaking into the dirt beneath her, and she’s alternating between screaming and whimpering.

Choso yells at the wolves as he rushes forward, kicking the closest ones away. They turn on him, baring their teeth, but he glares at them with the sort of animalistic rage they can understand. They whine as they slowly walk away, leaving him to crouch down and pull her into his arms.

“I’m here! I scared the wolves away!”

She looks up at him with a tear-streaked face, terror in her eyes. “Choso?”

“Yes, it’s me!” he assures her. “I’ll take you back to the tower to bandage your wounds. It’s closer than the village.”

With that, he scoops her up and carries her back to his home, lying her on a rug in front of the fireplace. She’s awake, thankfully, and fully alert.

“I’m going to take off your cloak. Is that alright?” he asks.

She nods, raising up to help him remove it. Then he begins looking over her wounds. They’re not deep, though they are bloody and look quite painful. Choso breathes a sigh of relief to know they’re not life threatening. Unless they get infected.

He looks from the bite marks, mostly on her shoulders, hands, and calves, to her face. “We should really clean these,” he tells her. “But I don’t want to pull up your dress or your sleeves without permission.”

She gives him a weak smile. “It’s okay. Get some of the ointment I made for you. It should help.”

He leaves to get the ointment from the kitchen, as well as some cloth and warm water. When he comes back, her bloody dress is lying in the corner, and she’s sitting up on the floor in a thin but modest slip. It’s sleeveless, falling to knee length, and it perfectly reveals her wounds.

Choso doesn’t take the time to stare or blush. This isn’t that type of situation. His only concern is bandaging her up and ensuring her safety.

With her directing him, he cleans the bite marks and applies the ointment, then carefully wraps them in cloth. One arm had to be wrapped from shoulder to fingers, but the other only had a couple of scratches on her shoulder. Both calves had bites that required bandages, and one foot was bruised.

Choso steps out of the room while she examines herself for any hidden wounds, and is relieved that she found none. When all is finished, they sit together by the fireplace.

“Thank you for saving me,” she says. “Those wolves would have killed me.”

“I would never let that happen,” he tells her, looking her in the eyes.

She looks surprised by that comment, but then smiles in that sweet way that has captivated him. “You’re a wonderful person, Choso. You know that, right?”

He feels himself blush a little. “I’m not. I’ve had… many failings. But I’m glad you feel that way.”

They talk a while longer, sticking to light topics that occasionally make her giggle. He thinks she’s marvelous when she laughs, like a bright ray of sun in his dark world. He can’t imagine his life without her in it. He can’t fathom going back to the crushing loneliness. If anything ever happened to her…

His thoughts freeze when she reaches up and begins untying her hair. He watches in stunned silence as she pulls out pins and thin ribbons, finally letting it all come pouring down, fanning out around her. It shimmers in the flickering light of the fireplace, almost seeming to glow.

It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Then he remembers all at once what she said about her hair before. Letting down her hair is intimate to her. It’s not something she does for everyone. Does that mean she feels comfortable with him? That she trusts him?

He wants to touch her hair, to run his fingers through it, but he doesn’t want to offend her. Instead he stares at it in wonder.

She looks a little shy as she asks, “Do you want to touch it?”

“May I?”

She nods.

He reaches up close to her face and touches one shiny lock, moving his hand down to run over the fine tresses. It feels magnificent. But most wondrous of all is the look on her face: heated, flushed… aroused?

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells her, his face close to hers.

You don’t know what you’re thinking. Letting your hair down? In front of a man who is not your spouse? Your parents would be turning in their graves. But in the moment, it just felt right.

There’s no point in denying it to yourself any longer. You’ve fallen for Choso. When the wolves attacked you, all you could think about was how sad you were that you’d never get to see him again. These past few weeks you’ve spent visiting him have been your happiest since your parents were alive.

And unless you’re reading him completely wrong, you think he feels the same way. So when he leans close to you and tells you you’re beautiful, your natural reaction is to kiss him.

It’s not a deep kiss, just a soft, slow kiss to his lips. When you part, he’s looking at you as if you’re a goddess that has descended to earth. Then he kisses you back.

In a whirl, you’re wrapped in each other’s arms on the rug, his hands in your hair, his mouth on yours, his body pushing against you. While kissing you, his hands move down to your shoulders and slide the straps of your slip down your arms. You feel the silky fabric glide down over your breasts, revealing them to Choso before the slip is pulled down your hips and off your legs, finally discarded near your dress.

He pulls back to look at you with awe, and you feel like some rare treasure, almost too precious to be touched. Choso’s touches are so light and gentle, it feels like he’s afraid he might break you. So when he stares at your panties, clearly wanting to remove them but hesitating, you pull them off yourself.

Choso removes his own clothing, displaying his surprisingly well toned body. You had no idea he was hiding such a perfectly sculpted torso beneath those loose fitting clothes.

He eases you onto your back, then softly pushes your legs apart before positioning himself between them, a little too far back for what you’re expecting. Then he scoots back a little more, bends forward, and kisses your exposed pussy.

The action sends a shiver down your spine, and soon you feel his fingers opening your slickened folds so that his tongue can reach the most sensitive parts of you. Your back arches off the floor as pleasure radiates through your body. His thumb strokes you, his tongue massages your clit, and one of his fingers slips inside you.

“Ch-Choso!” you cry out between gasping breaths. His eyes flick from his work at hand to your face, but he never stops. Not even when you cum, trembling and panting. And soon enough, with his lips wrapped around that tiny little bundle of nerves, you cum for a second time. It washes over you, making your entire body tingle, your wounds forgotten and lost in a sea of ecstasy.

He takes the time to lick up any juices, as if he can’t bear for a single drop to go to waste, before pulling back and sitting on his knees. That’s when you notice his erection, already twitching and leaking.

You raise up and reach toward him, but he gently catches your hand and smiles at you. “It’s alright. You don’t have to do anything. It’s enough for me to know I’m giving you pleasure.”

It doesn’t look like it’s enough. He looks like he might burst. You slip your hand free and reach out again. This time he doesn’t stop you as your fingers brush over his tip. He sighs, his eyes closing, as your hand glides down his shaft. “I want to make you feel good too,” you tell him. “I want us to feel good together.”

His eyes open and he looks at you, a soft blush across his face. “Do you mean…?”

You lie back on the rug, your thighs parted. “Make love to me, Choso. I want to feel you inside me.”

His eyes shine in the fire light, and you think there’s only one word that could describe his expression: love. You look back at him, hoping your expression mirrors his. Because now you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you love this man.

You’re not entirely sure how this will all work out, if you’ll be able to convince him to move to the village and live with you, or if you’ll end up living in the tower with him. And you don’t even want to think about how to deal with his grief over his brothers right now. But you want to help him. You want to put in the effort required to make this work.

He moves closer to you, crawling over top of you while bracing himself with his arms, ensuring he doesn’t let his weight rest on your body. Every move he makes seems to revolve around not hurting you, and you’ve never felt so cherished, so protected.

He leans on one arm while his free hand moves down between your bodies, positioning himself. Then, he pushes in. In true Choso fashion, he’s careful and slow, afraid to cause you discomfort. You wrap your arms around his neck and look up at his face. He seems strained, as if he’s using all his willpower to hold back.

“You’re not hurting me,” you tell him, pulling him closer. “Please, I want you deeper, harder.”

He hesitates for a moment, staring at your face. Then all at once he plunges in, all the way, making you gasp and tighten your grip on his neck. “Sorry,” he mumbles, but you shake your head, bucking your hips up to take him even deeper.

When he starts thrusting, you moan out his name, your nails scratching at his back, your body rising to meet him each time. His bare chest brushes against yours, one of his hands at the back of your head, holding you snugly, his fingers laced in your hair.

“I love you,” he mutters into your ear. “I love you so much!”

You shudder as he hits an incredibly sensitive spot. “I love you too, Choso!”

He thrusts faster, deeper, groaning when you clench him. His body is scraping across you, creating delicious friction against your clit, making you whimper into his shoulder.

Within minutes, you cum again, squeezing him tightly, almost sobbing. You feel so overwhelmed with pleasure, with love, that it feels like you’re unraveling in his arms.

A little after, you feel Choso pulsing and twitching within you before strings of hot cum fill you up. You stay latched onto him for a while, reluctant to let go and be out of his arms.

When you finally part, you both sit in silence, only breathing, until the two of you regain your strength. Then Choso helps you clean up before sitting back down on the rug beside you.

Feeling a little awkward after all of that, you decide to make light conversation.

“I think I can make it home tomorrow,” you say. “I have a lot of medicines to make. The villagers can get impatient. Would you like to come visit me sometime? I can show you how I use your herbs.”

He looks at you for a moment, a strange look on his face. “Are you sure you should try tomorrow? You’re still hurt.”

“I think I’ll be alright, thanks to you. None of the wounds hinder me from walking.”

He’s silent for several seconds, then says, “The wolves might come back.”

“I don’t think they’re as active during the day,” you reply. “Maybe you could walk me home.” You add the last part as a way to invite him. You really hope he’ll take a liking to the village.

He smiles, but there’s something off about it, as if the emotion isn’t genuine. “Sure. I can walk you home.”

Did you do something wrong? He’s being strangely closed off. He seems to be avoiding your eyes as he stands up. “I’ll fix you some tea.”

You nod, suddenly feeling insecure. When he returns with the cup, you’re so distracted that you barely glance at it before taking a long drink.

Maybe, if your mind hadn’t been elsewhere, you would have noticed the strange smell. But even so, you definitely notice the taste. How could you not? It comes from something you made after all. But why would Choso put the sleep aid medicine in your tea? And if it’s strong enough for you to taste this clearly, he must have used way too much.

Oh no. This will knock you out for at least a day!

As your vision gets fuzzy, you drop the cup and try to look at him. “Choso? Why…?”

His face looks pained. “I’m sorry, but it’s too dangerous for you to go home. Let’s wait until you’re healed up, okay? I’ll take good care of…”

You black out before you hear the rest of the sentence.

When you awake, you’re lying on a straw mattress on the floor of an unfamiliar room. There’s a blanket over you and a soft pillow beneath your head.

You sluggishly pull the blanket off and sit up, holding a hand to your head. You feel groggy and tired, your muscles sore. Looking down at yourself, you see that your bandages have been changed and your slip, the only clothing you have on, has been washed.

But most alarming of all is the metal shackle on your ankle. There’s a long chain attached to it, so long that you can’t yet see the other end. Underneath the shackle, strips of cloth are tied around your ankle, probably to keep the metal from bruising your skin.

You get to your feet and look around. The walls are gray stone. There’s a small dresser and mirror off to the side, a shelf lined with books, and the mattress you just got up from. On the dresser there’s a basket of fresh fruits and nuts that can be found in the forest. And on one rounded wall, a pair of deep red shudders.

Gathering your strength, you walk over to the shudders and open them. As you suspected from the minute you stood up, you’re in the top of the tower! You look down, the cold wind hitting your face and blowing your hair around wildly. It’s a straight drop, not a single foothold in sight.

You glance at the only door in the room, noticing the numerous locks attached to it. The terrible truth sinks in to your drowsy brain.

You’re trapped here. Choso has effectively taken you prisoner, and you have no idea why.

#choso x reader #choso kamo #choso #choso smut #jjk x reader #x reader #choso x you

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