#i think you can extend this to like death drive desires if you wanted to be very psychological about it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

star-suh · 3 months

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Don't Chew More Than You Can Swallow

Johnny Suh x Male Reader

cw: top johnny, pseudo-incest, underwear kink, musk kink, degradation, praising, breeding, hickeys, blowjob, deepthroat, manhandling, implied size kink, snowballing, age gap (yn is 20 and johnny is 25).

an: this is the other idea from @ldrei

also i was lazy to think about names for the mom and the stepfather so yuh.

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“ok yn, i want you to put on a smile on that face we're almost near the house” yn's mom said while driving towards their new home.

some years ago yn was part of a loving and happy family until one day his father, an honorable police officer, died during a raid against a gang. yn and his mother were devastated, mourning his death for the next couple of months. but life goes on and we have to let go and move on, right? after like a year yn's mother started dating another police officer, months later they made their relationship official and decided to get married, which brings us to the beginning of the story, yn and his mother would move to their new home, where yn's new father and new brother, a 25 years old guy, live already.

“hello we're home” yn's mom greeted, “hey honey” yn's stepdad appeared and kissed her, “hey yn, how are you?”; “i'm good.. thanks” he replied, “glad to know that” the older man said with a smile on his face.

yn walked towards the kitchen searching for a glass to drink some water, “the cups are up there” someone said, yn turned around and there he was his new stepbrother “the name's johnny” he extended his hand and yn grabbed it to shake it, his hand was way bigger than yn's, “i'm yn.. n-nice to meet you” he laughed nervously, “i say the same, see you later then” johnny said winking at him and waving a goodbye.

a couple of months have passed, everything was going good for everyone except for yn. he was thirsting over johnny 24/7, when he walked around the house with just a short on and no underwear because he can clearly see his bulge swing around everytime he walks, his body is to die for ‘god i wish i could lick those abs right now’ thought yn. it was even more harder for yn to not think about johnny fucking him when he was on the room next to him rearranging some woman's insides, the banging sounds going straight to yn's ears, ‘i wish that was me’ he thought. and that's the only thing yn can do, fantasize about him because well… his stepbrother is straight.

johnny sent yn to search something in his room, he did as he was told but something catches his attention, a pair of underwears resting on a pile of clothes. driven by his impulses, he grabbed one and began to sniff it, his face immediately turning red and a bulge growing in his pants "johnny~" he moaned softly.

he went quickly to his room, locked the door and began to jerk off, wrapping the underwear around his cock sliding it up and down while biting a pillow to suppress the moans.

the weeks passed and yn's desire for johnny only increased. every time johnny brought someone home to fuck, while his parents were away, yn always masturbated listening to their moans.

one day yn was masturbating again with his the underwear until a voice interrupted him, "hey yn!" a shirtless johnny called opening the door with a bang "what the hell were you doing? i've been calling you for a while" he asked with a somewhat angry tone. "sorry johnny, what do you want?" yn questioned, "these last few months you have been the one picking the dirty clothes to take them to the laundry room, have you by any chance seen my underwear? they have been missing” he scratches his head. “i have no idea johnny” yn replied with a nervous laugh. “hmm… it's okay” and just like that, johnny left.

worried that johnny would find out, he grabbed all the dirty clothes and ran down to the laundry room. there he turned on the washing machine and placed the underwear there and just when he was going to press the button to start the washing cycle a big hand stopped him, a low and very deep voice whispered in his ear "i thought you didn't know where my fucking underwear was" the warm breath sending shivers down his spine, “you're such a dirty pervert yn” he laugh was deep and sexy.

“j-johnny i-i” yn didn't know what to do, “you thought you were slick with it but no, did you think i didn't notice how you stared at me every time i walked around the house shirtless, how your eyes went from my abs to my bulge, shit i even could feel how you fucked me with your eyes”. johnny positioned himself behind yn, his huge bulge rubbing against yn's ass, "even every night i fucked someone i could hear your slutty moans on the other side of the wall, how you moaned my name was… so sexy... now i kinda want to hear them again" the taller was leaving small kisses on yn's neck, he then took out his huge cock from his shorts and rubbed it on yn's clothed ass “do you want to taste my cock, yn?", his sexy low voice doing things down there on yn's crotch area.

“j-johnny” yn stuttered “i-i'm sorry” a little moan escaping his mouth. “if you want to apologize you have to take responsibility about this” he slams his thick heavy cock against yn's ass again. “y-yes” yn fell to his knees and started kissing the tip, using one hand to stroke the rest of the shaft while the other was stroking his own.

“you're so nasty yn, look at you sucking at your brother's cock. aren't you such a nasty slut huh?” johnny grabs his head and starts to mouthfuck him, forcing yn to deepthroat him, “come on you can do more than that, it's barely halfway in”, little by little yn swallowed it all, johnny locked his head with his arms. the gagging sounds being like music to his ears. “there you go, you're doing so good for me”.

johnny lifted yn and fold him against the washing machine, rubbing the tip of his cock in the other's hole “want me to destroy you, cockwhore?” he says once again using that sexy low voice that drives yn crazy “p-please~ do it”.

johnny was slamming so hard that the washing machine was moving too, yn's legs were shaking due to how good johnny was fucking him, "how does my little fucktoy feel.. is this what you wanted? my thick, heavy cock opening your ass?"; “yes johnny please wreck me” yn replied withiut thinking, “so desperate”.

johnny lifted yn and carried him from the laundry room to his bedroom but without stopping fucking him. the thrusts were slow but as powerful as the harsh ones because he always manages to brush yn's prostate with the tip of his cock, drawing whimpers out of his mouth that made johnny chuckle, ‘so cute’ he thinks.

they're finally on the bedroom, johnny throw yn towards his bed, attacking his neck with kisses and leaving some bruises here and there. his big, tall body towering over yn's. “i have a deal for you” the taller comments, “if you can take me without cumming you'll be my little fucktoy boyfriend. what do you think?” he keeps on kissing yn's body until he reaches the nipples and suck on them. “hngh i really w-want that” the bottom squirmed.

the fat cock went in and out, going in even harder than the last time, johnny's balls slapping against yn's ass “who's being a good cockwhore?” the top asks, “m-... me” yn struggles to answer due to the harsh thrusts “i'm johnny's g-good cockwhore”.

“but you're only mine right?”.

“yeah i'm only yours…”.

both sealed the deal with a gentle kiss, contrasting with the rough thrusts. “fuck i'm gonna cum” johnny growls, he took advantage of the fact that his cock reached so deep inside yn to make him cum, however he let himself be carried away by the moment and filled yn's ass up with that warm sperm.

yn barely managed to hold off his cumming so johnny now has to fulfill the deal they just made. "it seems like i'm your little fucktoy boyfriend now"; "i think so," johnny adds, “and a cute one”.

“you took me so well pretty boy, i think you deserve a threat” and as he said that he went down and started to suck yn's cock “j-johnny you don't have to~”; “mmm mmm, i want to, prince” the sweet name embarrasing yn so much that he covered his face with his arms, feeling the little chuckle the taller let out. with a few more strokes yn came inside johnny's mouth, “shit that's some good blowjob johnny” yn rode his high while johnny crawls up until he is face to face with yn, with one hand he opens the bottom's mouth and spits the sperm in there, then kisses and plays with it between their mouths.

johnny carries yn to the bathroom where they both take a bath, then get dressed and fall asleep in the bed.

“look at them, aren't they cute” yn's mom said watching them both sleeping while hugging, “yeah i think they're gonna be good brothers” the stepdad adds with a huge smile in his face.

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starqueensthings · 10 months

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Colder Weather: Part One

Summary: a two-chapter (nice try, Holly! It’s three) ficlet that follows Post-Stassis/Pirate Kix as he navigates the see-saw of an unexpected love that he doesn't think he deserves, and the trauma of his past.

Pairing: Kix x Fem!Reader

POV/WC/Rating: 2nd, 4570, Teen + up

Warnings: extensive references of survivors guilt, grief, and mentions of previous character death. Seggsy time is implied but not described. This is emotional (it needs to be, so I'm not sorry)

A/N: the context of this ficlet won’t make much sense unless you’re decently familiar with the legends version of Kix’s life post-war (it might even be canon now? Not sure…). If you haven't listened to the song that inspired this little ficlet, I highly recommend you give it a listen; it's truly a lyrical masterpiece.

Chapter One | Chapter 1.5 | Chapter Two | ao3

“I want to see you again, but I’m stuck in colder weather. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Can I call you then? [...] Well, it’s a winding road when you’re in the lost-and-found. You’re a lover, I’m a runner, and we go round and round. I love you, but I leave you. I don’t want to, but I need you.” Colder Weather by Zac Brown Band

You’d long since memorized his movements; long since perfected this dance, having performed the passionate choreography of this duet with him countless times.

It always began with the sound of his speeder bike nearing your quiet cottage; the roaring of the engine muffled only partially by the towering hedges surrounding your acre of secluded paradise. That rumble so artificial amongst the constant tittering of nature that it took a mere fraction of a second to recognize it, and even less time to send a fervor coursing through your veins so rigorously that your hands simply abandoned whatever task that had been keeping them occupied.

Triggered by the sound of his approach, your feet took you earnestly through the front door and out into the gravel drive. A small smile, often concealed by the expanse of a thick, dark beard, tugged his handsome features upwards as he swung a leg over the seat of his bike, helmet clutched absently in one hand and arms stretched wide in a motion so welcoming, even the sheer power of the Force couldn’t have kept you from leaping into them.

He never failed to match your enthusiasm, scooping you clean off your slippered feet and into the familiar tight embrace that you’d spent weeks longing to be secured in. Hushed coos of “Mesh’la” amongst other breathy salutations were words that never needed voicing; the way his eyes danced reverently across your features spoke more volumes than any muttered term of endearment, any hushed apology for his absence. Watching the crease between his brows soften at the soft brush of your thumb against his cheek was a feeling that could have sustained life for all eternity; every caress of your fingers atop his skin powered by an ineffable desire to remind yourself of him, to remind him of you.

But there was nothing that consumed you as entirely as the dance itself… nothing that quite melted your mind like the way he laid you down on the soft cotton of that old patchwork quilt; the way that he stripped himself of his rigid encasement; the way his eyes locked on yours, twinkling with an unspoken promise that he was about to make up for his repeated extended absences… all the transmissions that he’d failed to respond to… the commitment that he continuously denied you.

And while even the ghost of his touch still set your very nerves alight, time had seen the unpredictability of his visits robbed of their spontaneity; lust replaced with a devastating love; passion diminished by the anticipation of his impending departure. The dance had become less of a dance, and more of a contemptuous game: how many seconds would lapse in the forlorn quiet between when the heat of his skin departed yours, and the door swung closed behind him? How many shaky breaths would leave your lungs in the too-short span of time that it took for the shadow of the unseen monster, forever-perched atop his shoulders, to rob his eyes of the twinkle only freshly illuminated by the return of your embrace?

The answer: always too few.

He would only ever grant himself a dozen-or-so deep breaths to dwell in the lingering serenity once the cresting waves of pleasure had subsided, the heaving of his chest eventually stilling to match the motionlessness of the incipient dawn.

Unable to withstand the suffocating languor, a poignant sigh would trigger the initiation of his exodus, body following the command from his anguished mind to climb from the bed and methodically redress himself in that disguising, blue plastoid kit. A tender, whiskery kiss was always your parting gift. Lips void of the passion that had seen them so ravenously devour yours only minutes prior, now gently atop your forehead in a wordless goodbye-for-now; the roar of the engine echoing amongst the whispering pines the perfect soundtrack to the disappointment that pulled shameful tears from your eyes.

Yet… sometimes… on nights like tonight, an inexplicable force inside of him would demand that he dawdle, and if the urge to flee stalled on its way from brain to body for long enough, he’d roll toward you, fold his arm underneath his head, and trail a gentle fingertip along all his favourite parts of your body: the fleshy space between neck and shoulder where he often sought the comforting fragrance of your skin; the shallow dimples on your lower back, perched just above the rolling swells of muscle that he could barely keep his hands off of; the gaps between your fingers that so-perfectly housed his, as if they were ten adjacent pieces of a puzzle crafted by divine artistry.

Time had yet to reveal any explanation for the mystifying tenderness of his touch… it didn’t seem possible that such rough hands could trail so gently against your skin, yet his calloused fingers could have been draped in velvet for how softly they graced your most sensitive areas. And his pillow talk? It was poetry. His honeyed voice would utter whispered stories of glorious mountain ranges on far away planets while the delicate strokes of his fingertips ghosted atop the swells of your hips. He’d speak of the freckles smattered across your cheeks, and how they almost perfectly mirrored the night sky in Wild Space where the stars were so many, that astronomy had become an obsolete science, the citizens opting to merely look upon them for their unrivalled celestial magnificence. And when he would speak of the vibrant array of wild flowers that adorned the meadows of Felucia, he’d scoop your hand into his and kiss each individual knuckle, as if the immense power to blossom such beauty dwelled inside the fingers interlaced with his.

But they were rare, those quiet moments, their emergence so ephemeral that even the span of a somnolent blink would have seen them escape your awareness and vanish into the past, and they were as devastating as they were infrequent. Laced not with the dread of his imminent departure, those near silent moments of deep connection were saturated in a hope so ensnaring that its warmth momentarily overshadowed the pain of his repeated abandonment, and you became enraptured by the could-be’s… the if-only’s… the maybe’s.

Maybe… maybe tonight would be the night that the orange glow emerging atop the horizon did not trigger his departure. Perhaps this would be the time that he’d stay and spend the morning with you, his muscular arms locked around your chest as you ceased to fight the blissful drowsiness engulfing your bodies, dozing together in the first rays of the ambient light. Perhaps he’d be so comfortable, there in your arms, that the ever-present impulse to run, forever-clenched like an iron fist around his soul, would be finally suffocated by the sheer power of your love for him.

Those optimistic moments often saw you rambling, thoughts slipping easily from mind to mouth in a desperate attempt to keep him connected to you; resolute in keeping him both physically and mentally present; urgently trying to protect him from the monster on his shoulders long enough for him to realize that everything he could ever want was lying peacefully beside him. Periodically, if your chosen topic was one he found particularly amusing, his eyes would crinkle under the embrace of a smile, and — if the universe deemed you worthy that night — a hoarse chuckle would pour from his lips. Despite your continued pleas to the stars, it was a sound that graced your ears with a tragic infrequence, yet the way its radiance illuminated your soul had you shamelessly begging the universe that it continue to spill from his lips for all eternity.

But despite the prophetic bond that kept him returning to your side, only once had the bliss of your union softened his guard enough to let something… slip. Only once had he mentioned a brother: Jesse, a man spoken of thoughtlessly as Kix snickered through the recollection of a frantic speeder ride across the plains of Saleucami. But the music of his laughter utterly vanished upon voicing the name that he never meant to speak, the silence that filled its wake so polluted in unexpressed grief, that even the hushed sounds of your breath felt inappropriate, and despite having watched the light leave his eyes so often in the past, you’d never seen it replaced with a darkness as deep and as sorrowful as then.

“Tell me about him,” you probed instantly, hopeful that the delicate touch of your hand on his shoulder would be enough to ground him there in the bed with you; hopeful that the soft caress of your fingers would prevent him from conceding to his anguish, tossing the sheet aside and leaving you with nothing but the familiar sight of his retreating back and the bittersweet smell of him lingering on your pillow.

A ringing silence encompassed the room, broken only by the occasional chirp of an uninterested cricket nestled in the tall tufts of grass just outside the window, and the soft brush of dry leaves twirling amongst themselves in the warm gusts of midsummer’s breeze.

Speaking his brother’s name had rendered Kix momentarily muted and seemingly paralyzed, his eyes wide and affixed on an image that cruel memory had imprinted upon the ceiling above him. His breaths quickened, shoulder rising and falling rhythmically against your palm while his nostrils flared against the same onslaught of turmoil also knitting his brows together.

“Kix?” you probed in a soft whisper, fingers raising from the swell of his shoulder to gently stroke his hair. Those waves of black, sparsely peppered with the beginnings of grey, almost entirely concealed the remnants of a tattoo… letters… pieces of a phrase that he’d consistently evaded divulging. The ink, seemingly unblemished by time, looked as if it had only recently been embedded into his olive skin, yet his repeated, vague explanation of ‘I was a dumb kid’, suggested it was a choice made long ago; a decision made deep in a past he refused to speak of.

“Tell me about Jesse, my love…” you implored to his continued silence, watching with bated breath as the muscles in his jaw contracted in near perfect cadence with the bounding pulse in his neck.

“My brother…” Kix muttered, wrenching his eyes away from the ghost hovering over top of him, his solemn gaze dancing around the room in every direction but yours. “He… he died a long time ago. They all did.”

Your fingers faltered in their gentle strokes only for a breath, the impact of his words sending a crippling wave of aghast sadness throughout your body. “Who did?” It left your lips in barely more than a whisper, the unexpressed heartbreak lingering in the air robbing your tone of the intense curiosity that he so often shirked from and dissuaded, but despite the feigned composure precariously wrapped around your words, he offered no response. “Babe?” you pressed, your fingers abandoning their soothing dance along his temple to trail under his chin and weave themselves into the dark bristles of his beard. Hyperaware of the fragility of that moment, you gently cupped his jaw and turned his hagridden face toward you. “Who is ‘they’?”

His eyes finally met yours, darkened by apprehension and a deep sorrow that had yet to be explained. “My family.”

It was like nothing you’d ever heard before, the tension in his voice. Those two choked words constricted by a heavy lump in his throat, immediately transformed the gruff and callous pirate that you knew into a man so momentarily fragile that even the soft cotton sheets draped atop your bodies felt too abrasive. Even more unexpected was the mist gathering earnestly in his eyes, reflecting the moonlight beaming in the window as if suddenly encased in a dome of sparkling crystal.

Whatever was left of the feeble breath housed in your lungs escaped your parted lips in a devastated huff, your stomach torquing uncomfortably as your thoughts began to whirr frantically around your mind. Resisting the transcendent urge to lock him in an embrace, you merely swallowed the lump forming in your own throat and hastily blinked the wetness from your eyes. Like the quiet moment that he’d gifted you tonight, you were all-too aware that his vulnerability was fleeting; at risk of dismantling completely should you misstep. But this was the knowledge that you’d be aching to know your months… years; this was the monster on his shoulders that tore him from your bed… from your home so devastatingly often. You were desperate to know it all… desperate to know him.

“Your… your family?” Two stammering words were all that you could force from your parted lips as he wrenched his jaw from your grasp and turned his gaze back toward the ceiling, grinding his knuckles aggressively into his eyes.

A heavy sigh was his only response, teeth clicking from how tightly he ground them as he seemingly tried to rub the image of his dead family from his sight. You swallowed heavily again and perched yourself up on an elbow, leaning in to him with every intention of planting a protective kiss to his temple.

It might have been the shift of your posture that triggered it, or more likely, his patience diminished by your continued probes for information that he wasn’t willing to share, but a sudden banishment of lassitude saw him instantly tossing the sheet from his naked form and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Horrified and disappointed, you hurried to mirror his movements, kicking away the bunched cotton from your knees and pushing yourself to a kneeling position on the mattress directly behind him. Your lids narrowed to near-closed against the sudden ignition of the lamp on the nightstand, but neither the pain nor the spots now floating in your vision were enough to stop you from firmly wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him firmly against your chest. It wasn’t until you pressed your lips softly against his back, did he seem to notice your touch, and even then, his only acknowledgement was to peer, frowning, over his shoulder in your direction.

“Please, love,” you breathed against his skin. “Don’t run. Just talk to me.”

A soft sigh forced his shoulders into a defeated slump, and the tender drape of his hand atop his navel where yours were tightly clasped, lacked much of the warmth and intention that typically swaddled his touch.

“They were… tortured.” His head drooped sadly toward his chest, the previously urgent mission of collecting his clothes from their scattered placement on the floor, momentarily deferred.

It was the initial shock that he’d even answered you that forced your lips to still against his skin, forgoing the ever-present urge to pepper him with chaste kisses for the sake of listening to the response that he’d previously deemed you unworthy of getting, but it was the horrifying implications of his explanation that forced your eyes open and the pain that drenched his words as they left his scowling lips that sent an all-consuming chill down your spine.

“All of them,” he continued quietly to his lap, absently drumming his fingers against the back of your hand. “Just— just stripped of their will, their identities… and made to carry out the commands of a sick, sick man. They never stood a chance. No one could survive that.”

He permitted himself one last, poignant sigh, the emptying of his lungs pulling his posture away from your still poised kiss, and it wasn’t until his palm departed yours, fracturing the wreath of your arms around his waist, that you returned to some semblance of awareness. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, beating against his back where the diffused glow of the lamp failed to soften the appearance of several misshapen scars along his shoulder; scars that you’d seen countless times previously, and had paid only little attention to.

Robbed of coherent thought by the repulsion surging through your veins, and rendered utterly speechless by the knowledge that you’d so desperately craved, you dropped your gaze to your knees, unmoving eyes watching them thrown intermittently into shadow as Kix moved about beside the bed, redressing himself in a suit of black compression, and the rigid, scuffed armament.

It was the soft scrape of plastoid against wood that broke you from your revolted torpor, his lean frame now completely encompassed in the blue suit that you despised, his helmet retrieved from the nightstand and hanging slackly from a gloved hand at his side. The sight of his impending departure returned you to a jarring cognizance and sent you frantically scrambling from the bed, bare feet ignoring the bite of the cold floor as you dashed toward the chair beside the window and collected the robe that you’d unceremoniously tossed onto it hours previously.

“Wait, Kix!”

You clumsily thrust your fists into the arms of the silk garment, your entire body laced with an exigent need to reach the doorway before he did. He couldn’t leave this time, not now… not now that he was finally opening up, finally sharing something other than trivial grievances about his crew members. He needed to know what you thought… how you felt. You had to tell him that none of it mattered to you… none of it made any difference. Except it did. It made all the difference. You thought you loved him then. That was nothing compared to now. And there was nothing that would stop you from loving him; not a past full of trauma, not tears leaking from his eyes, not the whispers that he denied hearing when the room got too quiet. None of it made a difference to you except that it did, and you would willingly spend the rest of your life banishing the ghosts that haunted his every move if he would just let you.

“Can’t— can’t you stay this time?” you pleaded from your perch in the doorway, hastily tying a knot in the sash of your robe. “Even just a little longer?”

The snort that left his nose at the sight of your position, arms wide and clutching each side of the door frame in some pitiful semblance of a barricade, was anything but genuine, betrayed by the failure of the smile on his lips to crinkle his eyes. “Come on, Mesh’la,” he cooed, absently shifting the armoured belt around his waist. “You know I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” you argued, refusing to let the softness of his gaze weaken any of your resolve. “You just don’t. There’s a difference and you know that.”

The desperate sadness that encompassed your words surprised both sets of ears; you hadn’t intended for the sentiment to leave your lips drenched in such disappointment, yet his departure tonight felt more like a robbery than it ever had; stealing a fractured piece of you and leaving nothing but a shadow behind to replace it.

That small smile slipped from his features and he froze, upturned helmet held slackly at his side as he hung his head to his chest again. Your heart drummed heavily in your ears, the lump in your throat threatening to all but suffocate you as he stepped slowly forward, the old wood floor beneath you creaking and shifting under the weight of his heavy boots.

“Please don’t start this again, Mesh’la,” he begged in a whisper, tenderly tucking a displaced lock of hair behind your ear as his eyes flickered back and forth between yours. “We’ve been over this. I… I don’t want this for you. You deserve a better life than what I ca—”

“I want this life,” you choked, chin threatening to quiver under the intense duress of your welling disappointment. “I promise— no, listen!— I promise, Kix. I love you more than everything that you’ve been through. In spite of it all… because of it all. Just trust me. Stay with me this time. Let me— let me prove it to you. Let me sho—”

“I know you love me, Mesh’la,” he interrupted, gently cupping your trembling chin and guiding your jaw upwards to look directly into your eyes. “I have never doubted it for a second. In another time… another life, I’d be able to give you back the love you deserve, but… I’m too sad of a man, now. I’m too angry… too volatile… too restless. No matter where I go or what I do, I can’t stomach my past, and I love you enough to not let you suf—”

“I’ll suffer if I choose to!” you blurted, voice thickening in earnest. “I’ll suffer with you. It’s my choice, and I choose you, so just choose m—”

“Why?” he interjected, releasing your jaw and perching his hand on his hip. “Hmm? Why am I your choice? Why do you waste your time with a pirate like me when there are decent men lining up around the planet for your hand? Men that will shower you with gifts and affection? Men that won’t selfishly come and go as they please, like I do?”

“My time with you isn’t wasted, Kix,” you spluttered, eyelids unable to contain the flood of tears blurring your vision, banishing them to the heat of your flushed cheeks. “You don’t listen. I want every minute to be a minute with you. Every hour, every day. Stop running away from what happened to you; stop running from me. We— we can have a real life together.”

The aversion of his gaze to the floor did not stop you. You were too resolute in your convictions; too certain that if he just listened to you, he would finally understand. “I’ll make you caf every morning,” you continued, pulling your hands from the doorframe to hold his. “And… we can shower together every day if we want to. You can make the water as hot as you want, and I won’t complain… I promise. We— we can grow berries in the field out back, on the other side of the tree line. You know, in that clearing where the flowers grow? The spot that gets all the afternoon sun? And… and we can brew our own wine. We—”

“Please stop.”

He was pleading with you in more ways than just the despondent words that left his lips; his dark eyes watching in something near agony as the tears abandoned your cheeks for the draped silk of your robe, but you were deaf to the desperation in his voice and blind to the anguish in his eyes as vivid images of what could-be erupted like a tragic film in your mind.

“We can climb onto the roof and look at the stars on clear nights,” you persisted, releasing his palm and guiding your trembling hands onto the rough and worn plastoid of his shoulder bells. “And when it’s not, we’ll snuggle on the couch and listen to music. We’ll get drunk… and giggle about stupid shit… and make love in every room… an—”

“Please, Mesh’la.” He clamped his eyes closed, cowering beneath your watery gaze and gently tugging your hands from his shoulders, pausing to hold them weakly in his own for a breath before dropping them completely. “You have to sto—”

“No, Kix!” you refused, stomping your cold, bare foot on the floor below you. “You stop! Stop saying you don’t want this life for us, because you do!”

“OF COURSE I DO!”

Your hands flew back to brace yourself in the doorway, shoulders jerking with fright, choked breaths freezing in your lungs. He’d never shouted like that before… and if he had, it certainly hadn’t been in your presence. Never once had you seen his eyes shrink behind lids so narrowed that the even the bridge of his nose scrunched to assist in their efforts. You’d never seen his thick, expressive brows contract so tightly and shoot toward the messy curls of his hairline in such earnest, and you’d never seen a look quite like that in his eyes… the frenzied look of a man desperate to be understood.

“Of— of course I want all of that,” he continued, his tone softening slightly as the ghost of his outburst rang back at him from the quiet corners. “But it’s not that simple. You don’t understand. I want it, Mesh’la, but I shouldn’t have it. I can’t have it. Why… why do I deserve the promise of a quiet life, when they never even had a chance at one? Why should I be the only one gifted with a happy ending, when they were robbed of theirs? If they can’t have it, then I ca—”

His voice cracked… fractured under the duress of the emotion simmering too near the surface, and it echoed more poignantly around the room than the hoarse shout which preceded it. That quiet moment, as you watched his shoulders sag in complete and utter dejection, with his head slowly shaking against a myriad of thoughts that he refused to speak, you would have withstood nearly anything to ensure the music of his voice never cracked like that again. You would have agreed to stand near-naked in the doorway for all eternity, willing to shoulder any amount of shouting, any verbal reprovement… anything if it promised him true peace from the sorrow that robbed him of his voice… of his life.

The threat of a sob forced your face into your clammy palms, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes until tiny, glimmering phosphenes erupted in your vision. Why couldn’t it all be as beautiful as those silly little dancing lights, brought to life with just a slight pressure from a small hand? Why could people not be free to dance about in darkness, as they are? Why must our darkness diminish our light? Why are those pretty dancing lights, free from the plague of guilt and sorrow, forever permitted to slumber until external pressure brings them to life, an occasion in which they shine so marvelously?

The thunk of his boots and the creak of the floor signaled his slow approach. “I have to go, Cyare,” he mumbled into the space beside your ear, his free hand dusting soft strokes up and down your forearm.

You exposed your tear-streaked face and stared blankly across the room, unwilling to nod and acknowledge the disappointment. So this wasn’t going to be the time that he stayed.

“You know I love you,” he muttered into your hairline before planting a soft kiss on your temple, but the disillusionment had numbed you almost entirely, and you felt nothing of his lips on your skin, nor the brush of his body slipping past you through the door… you heard none of his footsteps fading down the hallway… nothing of the door closing behind him as he disappeared into the diminishing darkness outside… nor did you hear the roar of his speeder engine reverberating around the corners of your secluded paradise, all too eager and willing to rob you of him again.

tags: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @dystopicjumpsuit @523rdrebel

#starqueenswrittenworks #kix x reader #kix x you #pirate!Kix x reader #Kix fanfic #clone wars fanfiction #clone wars fanfic

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sanajeh1909 · 10 months

Text

Pairing : Chamber x F!Reader

Word Count : 8213

Warnings: Violence (mentions of guns, stabbing and killing people)

POV : 3rd person

One Shot

A/N : Sorry for my poor English, its not my native language. Chamber can be a bit OOC. I had hard time to express reader and focused on Chamber more than reader itself. Gif doesnt belong to me. I need to improve my writing skills. I hope yall like it.

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧ Dangerous Desires

You have joined Valorant Protocol by request of your friend : Fade. You have grown up in a place that war almost never ends. The constant exposure to death and bloodshed shaped you into a cold and hardened individual, one who viewed killing as a means of survival rather than an act of malice. After the first light, your life became a warzone. Killing people to survive has become normal to you. But all the killing and murdering didnt fade the playful attitude of yours, especially when it came to death. When your friend offered you to Protocol, you thought its time for your life to calm down a bit. You enter the room of the HQ where all the agents are there chatting with each other.

Looking around, you want to make new friends and find someone who can relax with you in somewhere quiet. You see a man who is well dressed, of course your eyes catches his figure.

He notices you admiring his physique. He is built like a mannequin, with a perfectly fitted suit. He looks over and flashes a smile that is charming, yet slightly sinister.

*”Bonjour, Mademoiselle.”*

*”Bonjour.”* You extend your hand for a handshake. But instead, he takes your hand and kisses it. Its soft against his lips. Then, he releases your hand.

*”Charming and well educated. I like that.”*

You smile at him. There is something behind it, but he doesnt seem to realize the mischief under your smile.

*”Would you like to accompany me to somewhere quiet and relaxing?”* You ask. He doesnt know what is going to happen if he accepts, yet...

*”That sounds delightful.”* He offers you his arm. *”If madame would be willing to accompany a gentleman.”*

You chuckle softly, he is unaware of the scheme you are planning. *”I would gladly accompany a gentleman like you. However, im not married. No need to call me ‘madame’”*

You accept his arm and gesture the way to parking lot. You two began walking.

*”Madame is a figure of speech.”* His French accent makes him more attractive than he already is. You two reach the parking lot and you gesture your car, unlocking the doors. He gets inside the car and admires the interior of the car, admires its luxury.

*”Very nice!”* He turns to you. *”Where are we going?”*

You, on driving seat, turn to him and smile softly* *”I would like to keep it as surprise if you allow me.”*

*”Surprise me, then.”* He says, crossing his arms, smirking. *”Oh, by the way. The way you speak is divine. I love the sound of a French accent.”*

You smile, feeling the pride grow in your chest. *”Merci, although im not fluent in French, i give my best to speak perfectly.”* You start driving inside forest, end of the road is the surprise place. Its dark, nothing can be seen except the road that car lights making bright.

He looks out the window, then gives you a curious glance. Your French is perfect, why does he get the distinct feeling of you are not a native speaker? He leans back in his seat, eyes on you as you drive for several minutes without a wrod spoken. The car is quiet. The surroundings a quiet hum. He waits for you to speak, his eyes are on you.

You feel his gaze on you and you break the silence. *”I get the feeling that you may thinking im French perhaps by the way im talking. No, im not French or native speaker of French.”* You drive, its quiet again. The eeire air is hanging on.

He tilts his head in curiosity. For a woman who isnt a native speaker of French, you are perfect. He is genuinely curious, now. Not only is your accent perfect, but your grasp of the language is incredible. He leans back in his seat again, letting you drive. *”So, i have to ask. Where did you learn to speak such beautiful French? You must’ve had many teachers, i assume.”*

You laugh softly, you cut your laugh short. *”I must admit you are wrong. I have learned French by myself, speaking with natives has improved my accent.”*

He raises an eyebrow, leaning forward in his seat. He is incredulous now, but he doesn’t show it. *”Really? Impressive. Most people i know arent that good, not even native speakers of the language. Did you always have a penchant for languages or just for French in particular?”* He glances at you and flashes another charming smile.

You let out a deep chuckle. *”You have caught me, Monsieur. I have a liking of languages, fourteen, in total.”* You smile in amusement, still driving. Its quiet and dark place to drive at night.

*”Fourteen?”* He repeats. *”I barely know three!”* He chuckles and shakes his head.

Why fourteen? Do you have an academic or professional interest in learning them, or do you just have a personal goal to learn them all?

You feel what he is thinking. You break the silence. *”I see you have doubts in you, you can ask me your questions, Monsieur.”*

He laughs. He knows he is being teased. He looks out the window, eyeing the dark forest around him. Then looks back at you. *”Tell me why you know fourteen languages. Im interested in your motivation, you see.”*

*”I have a strong liking of languages, you may call it fetish.”* You speak with amusement in your tone. Its been 10 minutes of driving.

He tilts his head at your word choice. *”A fetish. Well, now i think i must ask the question, then. Which language is your favorite and why?”*

You smile and sigh before speaking. *”Its hard to choose in between, actually. A lot of languages to choose one.”* You park the car and stop the engines. You turn your head to look at him, you flasha smirk. *”Shall we go out to see the beauty of the world, Monsieur?”*

*”You are not making it easy for me, you know?”* He chuckles. But yes, he gives you a look of excitement in his eyes. Whatever you have planned, he likes it. *”Let’s see where you’ve brought me.”* He gets out of the car.

You smile and get out of the car as well. You walk towards him and you lead the way. When you both reach the sands, you sit on a bench and take off your heels. You put your heels next to bench. *”Do you like beaches?”*

*”Oh, madame, i adore the beach.”* He sits down beside you and takes off his shoes without hesitation. The sand is warm and soft. *”Nothing like the feel of the sand and the sea. This is beautiful.”*

*”Yes it is. Would you like to walk inside the sea, or should we sit here?”* Your tone of voice is soft, almost soothing.

He shrugs. Its entirely up to you. He turns his head to look at you. *”I’ll do whatever madame desires. You are very beautiful, you know that?”*

You chuckle softly at his words. *”You are complimenting me.”* You get up from the bench and you look at him. *”Shall we go?”*

*”I am. Why wouldn’t i?”* He stands up and starts walking towards the sea. He turns around, looking back at you. *”Coming, madame?”*

You follow him and start getting inside the water, enough to feel the soft waves on your ankles. *”Isn’t it soothing?”* You smile and you turn to catch his gaze.

He follows you into the water. The salty water tickles his toes. Its soothing, the calm waves in the shallow water. He looks down, kicking up sand, and back at you. *”It’s soothing, yes”* He smiles, but the expression is disingenuous. His eyes are studying you. That soft gaze that was there has gone, replaced by a look of cold precision. He doesnt look away, either. He is judging you, studying you. His eyes dont move.

You realize his judging eyes. *”May i ask what’s making you uncomfortable, Monsieur?”*

He chuckles, his tone slightly mocking. “*Oh, dont assume anything. Im merely trying to gauge whether or not you are a friendly individual, so far without luck.”* He flashes you another, more genuine smile. *”Or perhaps, you are not comfortable with me, madame. That is why i am here, though. To make you comfortable.”*

His tone when he refers you as madame doesnt sound genuine. *”If i wasnt comfortable, i wouldnt have asked for your companionship. If you are having troubles of trusting me, take your time.”* You smile but it doesnt reach your eyes.

You notice the difference in his voice. That mocking tone in that one phrase alone seems to be a break in chaarcter. He looks down, then back up at you. He tries to match your smile, but he cant do it for long before it drops. He loooks at a nearby sandcastle, then looks away. You are right. He doesnt trust you. He tries to change the subject. *”Tell me about yourself. Why are you on the beach so late?”*

You smile. This time it reaches your eyes even though its small smile. *”I always come to beach at this hour. Today’s honorable guest is you. If you wish to leave, i can give you the keys of my car for you to go back. But im afraid that you might get lost on the road though.”*

His face twists into a confused look. *”Honorable... guest? What do you mean?”* He is standing up in the water, the water just below his knees. He stares down at you, not breaking the eye contact. No matter what you do, he is looking at you with his piercing amber eyes.

A small, genuine smile on your face, your tone of voice is soft. There is something dangerous inside you. *”I dont have any intention of hurting or killing you, unless you ask me to do so.”*

Was this a threat? Were you threatening him? It didnt sound like you do but... the desolate beach, eerie air of the night makes it harder to not be on alert.

His face hardens. He takes a small step closer to you, looking down at you. He doesnt break eye contact. he speaks softly, his voice is low and harsh. There is no emotion in his eyes or his face. *”Would you like to kill me, madame?”*

*”If its your wish, i can. Though my heart doesnt want to point a gun at a gentleman like you.”* Smiling, you catch his eyes on yours. Your gaze is piercing, yet there is something soft in it. Is it because you really mean your words?

His face is blank. It is emotionless. cold and calculating, yet he still holds you in his gaze. He takes a half step clloser to you. His eyes are studying yours, studying your soul. *”You would kill a man without a reason?”*

Your smile remains, your gaze is piercing his soul. But there is something broken in it yet hard to catch it. Were you in this situation before? *”If its their wish to die, i have nothing to object, do i?”*

The coldness in his eyes fade into confusion as you speak. *”What is wrong with you? How could you do that to someone? Do you not have a sense of morality, or do you just have the heart of a murderer?”* He crosses his arms, scowling. *”Tell me: do you want to kill me?”*

Your smile widens coldly. *Arent we all murderer, in Protocol? And no, i have no intention of killing you. Unless you are begging to get killed, Monsieur.”* The way you phrased ‘Monsieur’ was cold, insincere.

He is taken aback for a second. You have a point, but not everyone within the Protocol kills on a whim. he shakes his head, then shrugs it off. He flashes a smile, a bright, charming smile. *”Are you sure that you arent looking to kill me? I would be lying if i said that i was convinced.”*

Your smile gets warmer yet there is still hints of coldness in it. *”Say then, would you kill me, here and now? I know you have a gun on you. Dont you want to point at a woman who is talking about killing someone mercilessly?”* Your smile gets wider and grows colder. You are scheming something dangerous for sure.

His face is serious, deadpan. He pulls his gun from his waist. *”I could.”* He doesnt make a move to point his gun at you. He just holds it loosely behing his back. *”Its something that i am capable of.”* He looks around the beach, scanning it for any potential witnesses. The beach is desolate, no one is there except you and him. *”Are you willing to die here, madame?”*

You slowly reach your thigh and pull your gun from its holster that was there. A ghost you are holding on your hand yet its not pointed at him. *”Are you willing to die here, Monsieur?”* You smile coldly, no emotion in your voice, your tone is sendind shivers down his spine.

That was wrong thing to do. He is standing up in the water, staring at you. His face is deadpan. His hand grips the gun tighter. *”This is your final chance to run, madame. Are you sure you want to do this?”* He is still speaking softly, his tone is cold and emotionless. There is a sense of confidence behind his voice that should scare anyone. He isnt afraid of you. He doesnt even seem fazed by your gun. That is far more concerning.

Your smile gets warm. Maybe because you know you will die there? *”Do, point your gun at me, if you wish to die.”* You speak softly. What are you planning to do?

He smiles at your invitation. He raises his gun to point at you, without any hesitation. His finger rests over the trigger, ready to fire. His tone is cold, emotionless. ***You have three seconds.***

You slowly raise your gun and point at him, there is smile plastered on your face. *”Are you really willing to kill someone innocent?”*

He doesnt move. You could almost see the cogs turning in his mind, processing the morality of what he was about to do. His mind seems to have made up its mind, because his gun is pointed directly at your head. His eyes are cold, emotionless, piercing your soul. His finger is on the trigger. He is about to do it. ***You have two seconds. Make the second count.***

You suddenly click and unlock the magazine of the gun, dropping it on water. Empty gun is staying on your hand pointed at him. Your smile turns into cold smirk. Your intention were not killing him. But why did you plan this? What was your aim with this?

He is caught off guard. He lowers his gun, but not out of fear. More as a gesture of surprise than anything. He looks as though he would like to laugh, but he doesnt. *”So you have given me my life back, madame.”* He lowers his gun, setting it loose behind his back. He is still studying you with those piercing amber eyes. *”Why would you do that? Why give up your only weapon?”*

You lower your gun, the empty gun resting on your hand. You smile at him as you speak. *”My aim was never killing you.”*

He raises his eyebrows, looking down at you. *”Then why bring gun at all?”* For a moment, he looks slightly annoyed, like you had just wasted his time. Then, he shakes it off. *”But, you could have killed me, you know that, right?”*

*”You ask me why i bring my gun, yet you carr on you. Isnt it a bit rude? I could, but it would be pointless to kill you. I have nothing to gain from your death.”* You turn slowly and start taking small steps on water.

He laughs. His laugh comes from deep in his soul, filled with cold amusement. He looks at you, standing up in the water and crossing his arms. He is grinning now. the coldness and calculation has left his eyes. What you see now is a man ***loving*** this situation. He is the happiest he’s been in weeks, maybe months. He turns to face you, smiling widely. *”Oh, you are good.”*

*”I am, indeed. At least i can take it that you are trusting me now. No, Monsieur?”* You say with a smile on my face, your tone of voice is playful yet sincere.

He laughs again. His voice is warm and charismatic, like you would expect. You have certainly earned back the trust. *“I am trusting you, madame.”* He takes a few steps closer to you. He looks down at your feet, then looks back up at you with another wide smile. *”Let’s make a deal. We walk along this beach together, not speaking a word to each other, just looking. We both keep our guns holstered, no killing. How does that sound?”*

You laugh softly. His words amused you, not in negative way. You are intrigued by his actions. Is he always like this? *”Deal, then.”*

He holds out his hand to you, smirking. *”A pleasure doing business with you, madame.”* He looks down at you, staring at your face. There is a soft smile on his face, like that of a smug and satisfied cat. He waits for you to reply.

You accept his hand for handshake. Your smile grows warmer. Maybe he isnt that bad?

He shakes your hand and lets go, then smiles. He turns around and starts walking with you by his side in water, his arms crossed on his chest. He looks out at the dark sea, into the woods, around the beach. The sun has set long time ago, the moon shining above. Beach is deserted long time ago. He slows his pace. *”There is something beautiful about the quiet, dont you think?”* He shrugs. *”You can hear the wind, the waves... its like music.”*

You smile at his words, you chuckle softly. It was good to rest your soul once in a while like this. Away from the war you used to be in. *“Right, its always calming...”* You walk at the same pace as his, walking next to him. Your hands are next to you to balance yourself as you walk in water.

This is a very different version from the one you would just met. His warm smile is inviting, like he could be talking about anything with you. It is not the face of the cold hearted hitman you had just spoken to. He looks around as you are walking, studying the beach. He takes a small step forward, making eye contact with you. There is a mischievious glint in his eye. Does he look like the kind of man who will get the best of you?

He pauses, his brow raises as he looks at you. *”Would you like to play a game? We are both bored out here after all.”* He grins, but the corner of his eyes are dark. This man, who had just wanted to kill you, has sense of glee about him. *”Are you good gambler? Do you trust your luck?”* He sounds sincere, but he looks as though he is planning something. His smirk is slightly sinister.

You raise an eyebrow, confused by his invite but amused. *”Are you inviting me to Russian roulette?”*

He bursts out laughing, covering his mouth and shaking his head. When he speaks again, he sounds like he is holding back his laughter. *”No, im not a murderer... I was thinking of poker?”* He asks, grinning at you. *”Unless, you want to play a game that gives you a chance to kill me...”* He adds jokingly.

You shake your head, not approving what he said but you speak slightly playful even though you mean your words. *”If you really have deathwish by my hands, we can. But i dont have ammo with me now.”* Your lips curls into small smile as you speak. *”Poker, you say? I dont like gambling actually.”* You pause for a second and add jokingly. *”But we can play Russian routlette with your gun.”*

*”How about a bet, then?”* He looks at you, his amber eyes piercing you to your soul. When you dont respond, he takes a step closer to you. He crosses his arms and looks down at you as he speaks. *”You are so lucky, you know that? For some reason, i let you live back there. You should appreciate that. You got away with your life, free of charge.”* He nods at you. *”But i will not be so merciful the next time.”*

You laugh at his words. It seems like you didnt really take his words so serious. Your laugh and your tone of voice is almost teasing. *”Je suis désolé, Monsieur. I will be careful next time.”*

His smile gets even bigger, the corner of his eyes turning a darker shade of amber. He cant control his smirk any longer, and he begins to laugh again, the sound of which rings out into the silent sea. As he laugh, he closes his eyes.

The silence of the beach feels deafening. The waves lap up against the beach hits both of your legs, the wind whistles and sighs. He breaks the eye contact with you, still laughing. *”You have a strange way of showing appreciation, dont you?”*

You give him side eye with smile, not judging but enjoying the conversation with him. *”I would like to say ‘im not like other women’ but the sentence is already corny.”* You wait for his reaction after speaking.

There is still a wide smile on his face. He turns to face full towards you. You both face to each other as both of you stopped walking. His laughter dying down. *”You are unlike any woman i have ever met”* He grins at you. *”You remind me of someone.”* His smirk turns into half grin. He looks at you, studying your face. *”Who, i wonder.”* He mutters.

You turn your face slightly, your gaze doesnt leaves his face. *”I wonder who might it be?”*

His smile gets even wider. Its almost unnerving. His eyes are focused on you, watching your every little reaction to try and understand what you are thinking. His head tilts to the side, a look of intrgue on his face. *”I have a suspicion.”* He says, his tone is serious now. *”There is something very familiar about you... I cant put my finger on it yet.”* He chuckles.

*”Even after not shooting, still suspicious i see”* You raise your hands to shoulder height as if surrendering. *”You can search for any weapon, you wont find anything except an empty gun and butterfly knife.”* You squint your eyes for a brief second.

He smirks again. He takes a few steps towards you, studying you with his piercing eyes. He chuckles, then raises his hands in the air in surrender. *”Very well. You have earned my trust. For now.”* He lowers his arms to his sides, still smiling. *”For now.”*

You lower your hands at his response. Your lips curls into sly smirk. *”For now doesnt sounds convincing.”*

*” What would you like my wording to be?”* He raises an eyebrow. *”Do you want me to bow down before you and pledge my loyalty as your humble servant?”*

You roll your eyes at his words, his behavior is amusing to you. *”No, i will know when to trust you.”* You smirk at him teasingly, your tone is playful. You enjoy the conversation way too much than you expected.

He chuckles darkly, rolling his eyes. *”You are a very tricky woman, you know that?”* He grins, crossing his arms. A voice in his head tells him that there is something suspicious, that you know something. He dismisses it, shaking his head. *”You are also quite entertaining. I like that.”* He steps closer to you. *”Are you always this fun, or only when you almost get yourself shot?”*

You laugh with deep voice. How you have developed yourself to enjoy to be on verge of the death always excited you because of your past. But how he pointed at it was funny. *”If you would like to see if im funny or not, then why dont you try and see? I am always funny. I dont look like i take anything serious though.”*

His grin gets bigger. *”You know, i might just do that.”* He looks aruond the beach. Its dark, pale lights of the beach lighting the sands up. The woods are indistinguishable behind the lights. He turns back at you. He steps clsoe, and he is now only a few steps away from you, close enough to lean down and speak in your ear. *”What would you do if i were to kiss you?”*

You smirk but it shows how displeased are you from his words. *”I dont like the idea. I might stab you and see if you are still funny, maybe, no?”* You tease him with his words.

He smiles a little wider. *”You are not like other women, are you?”* His tone suddenly becomes serious, his amber eyes piercing your soul. *”I would like to get to know you. The real you.”* He looks down at you; there is a hunger in his eyes. His face, once warm and charming has turned cold once more. *”Is there a chance i might earn your trust?”* He steps even closer to you, his lips almost touching now. *”What say?”* He whispers quietly.

You slowly put your hand on his chest and gently push him back. Your face is smiling but you are not pleased this little conversation. *”I will decide when to trust you. It was remarkable that you didnt shoot me when i dropped the magazine of the gun, yet you were ready to shoot any second.”* You squint your eyes slightly and widening it. *”How am i gonna trust someone who did it?”* Your tone of voice sounds slightly playful yet serious. You mean every word on your last sentence.

His grin disappears, and he narrows his eyes. His voice grows stern, and you feel a cold presence coming off of him. *”And how are you going to earn my trust?”* He leans in close to you, staring directly into your eyes. His amber eyes are cold and calculating again. Its obvioux that that question did not sit well with him. His mood seems to have shifted again. *”Your weapon was still pointed at me.”* He takes in deep breath. *”Is there something about you I'd rather not know?”*

You speak calmly with a smile on your face. *”I had a chance to shoot, yet i dropped the ammo. Would you preferred me to shoot you there?”* Your smile widens and you let out a small chuckle. *”I will earn your trust, maybe. Time will show that.”*

He smirks. *”Maybe. Time will tell, wont it?”* He crosses his arms, leaning down as he speaks. His amber eyes narrowed as they gaze into yours. There is a subtle hunger in his eyes, a fire behind them. Like he wants something from you, something he is not telling you he wants. *”You have me intrigued.”* He grins. There is a sly, almost mischievious look about him. *”Tell me more about yourself. You must have plenty to tell... Im listening.”*

You pause for a brief moment. *”Lets make a deal, then. We both tell more about each other. It would be unfair to leave other person illiterate, no?”*

*”Im inclined to agree.”* He smiles, a smirk on his face. He reaches out a hand for you to shake. You can tell he is serious about the deal. *”Lets make a deal, then. A truce, i suppose.”*

You shake his hand firmly. You may gain more of him, maybe? *”Deal.”*

He shakes your hand firmly, too. There is warmth in his eyes and his demeanor. *”Very well. I will tell you everything i can about myself. And you will, in turn, tell me everything you can. Is that satisfactory?”* He crosses his arms, looking at you curiously. There is a sparkle in his eyes. *”Where would you like to start?”*

*”Yes, it will satisfy me. Im starting then. Im 20 years old, and you?”* You smirk. It will be entertaining to learn more about him. You didnt think he would be willing to talk about himself, so you were prepared to get what you want by force.

He smiles. *”I am 28. What are your passions? I like weapons, as you have seen. What do you like?”* Another smile; his lips curls into a smirk.

*”Killing people?*” You speak jokingly and laugh loudly. *”Languages, as i said in the car. My turn then. Im 1.64 meters tall, you?”*

He grins. *”Killing people is one of my passions, but you already knew that.”*

The look in his eyes is cold again, like he couldnt have been the one to jokingly joke with you moments ago. *”We may be of the same passions, however.”* He smirks, his voice deep and cold. He looks up slightly, thinking. *”Im 1.79 meters.”* He smirks. He looks back at you with a charming grin. *”Do you like reading?”*

*”Yes, i do. Horror or thriller novels are my favorite genres. What about you?”* You are showing new side of you to him: playful and charming. And you see new side of him too. It feels like he is more comfortable with you than before.

*”Im more of a non-fiction person”* He pauses. *”I have always been more interested in reality. Learning as much as i can about my foes. Learning their vulnerabilities, their fears, their weaknesses, their pasts, their traumas, their hopes... You know. The things that might make them break and lose.”* He flshes a quick, genuine smile. *”If they break, it makes my job all the easier.”*

*”Breaking mentality is good tactic, but what would you do if it doesnt break?”* You smile. Its quite disturbing smile. *”Someone might not be scared even when you point a gun at their head.”*

He raises his eyebrows and looks at you, a sly smirk on his face. *”I never had a situation like that happen to me yet. But if someone is not afraid of me, then i know one thing: they are either the bravest person i will ever meet, or they have nothing left to lose.”* His tone is serious again. *”Which one are you?”*

*”What if i am...”* You pause for a moment, leaning towards him slightly. *”...both?”*

He leans towards you as well. His voice is calm, his eyes still cold and calculating. *”Are you both?”* He tilts his head, his amber eyes piercing yours. A voice in his head tells him that something doesnt add up. He shakes it away, ignoring it. *”If you are both, it just makes my job all the more entertaining.”*

You smile, your eyes also smiles with your lips. Your eyes sparkles with excitement. *”Since we are allies, we have nothing to hold anything against each other. Dont you agree?”*

His smirk grows slightly. *”Allies, are we? I suppose so, yes. I like your reasoning.”* He smirks again. *“Its a lot more fun this way, is it not?”* He asks, a playful tone in his voice.

*”It is indeed.”* You pause for a moment. *”I have dropped the formal title. It will be better to get used to each other. Unless you want me to call you Monsieur?”*

*”No, no! You may call me by my name, Vincent!”* He flashes a smile. He seems to think again for a moment, then nods. *”I guess we are allies. Lets make a deal; you tell me your weaknesses and I'll do the same. Does that sound like a fair deal?”* He leans in a little closer to you again, his face is a few inches away now. His voice is warm and charming. He looks to you, looking up and down and he seems to be analyzing you.

*”Vincent, a good, charming name. Sanajeh, you can call me by my name too. Lets make everything balanced.”* You give him warm and charming smile. *”Weakness?”* You raise an eyebrow. *”Are you willing to leave yourself vulnerable around me now?*” You smirk teasingly.

He smirks. *”Well, i suppose that is only fair.”* He shrugs. *”If we are to become allies, i suppose we really ought to know everything there is to know about each other, should we not?”* He gives a slight chuckle. *”Im willing to play by your rules. But i expect you to play by mine”* He gestures between the two of you. *”So shall we begin?”* He smiles, tilting his head.

You smile, amused by hiss game. You enjoy his game yet something feels off. You shrug it off. *”Turn is yours.”

*”Very well. I’ll start off with a simple one.”* He laughs. *”Im claustrophobic.”* He chuckles. *”Your turn.”* His eyes sparkle mschieviously as he waits for your response.

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by his answer. *”I have never thought you might be claustrphobic, you seem like you dont have any weaknesses.”*

He leans in again, almost invading your personal space at this point. *”Nobody is flawless, my dear.”* He whispers quietly in your ear. His voice is slightly silky as his eyes bore into yours. His eyes sparkle like they have been sprinkled with little diamonds. *”Does it excite you to know that someone like me has flaws?”* His breath is hot on your neck. You see him almost lean in further, his lips inches away from your neck. His eyes are fixed on yours and his face inches away from yours.

Your hand goes over your thigh, next to your gun where your knife is resting. You are ready to slip your knife out and stab him if he dares to move one more inches. Why arent you doing it now?

He notices your hand. He smirks again, a sly look on his face. He leans closer, his lips almost touching your neck. You feel his breath on your skin. You feel a shiver going down your spine as his breath brushes your skin. Is he going to kiss you? He doesnt make a move. Suddenly, he pulls away and chuckles. *”You think I'd do it again, dont you?”* His smile broadens.

You are annoyed, feeling like he played with you like a toy and left you on the floor. Your hand still rests on your knife. *”Its not nice of you to play around with someone.”*

His warm smile instantly vanishes into thin air. His face turns cold. He looks at you with steely eyes, his face blank, as if he felt no emotion at all. *”I was showing you what happens when you let your guard down. Your weaknesses show. You could have been hurt.”* He mutters, his voice quiet and cold. *”But instead you just got your feelings hurt.”* He seems to be angry about something. His fists are tightly clenched and his face is scowling.

You are annoyed by his words and behavior. *”Im willing to take action to protect myself.”* Your grip on the knife gets tighter yet you still didint pull it off from its place.

He scoffs. *”Yes, you were ready to stab me with your little knife, werent you?”* He looks at the knife that rests on your thigh. *”Would your little knife stop a bullet?”* He gives a laugh and shakes his head. His smirk is gone. The look on his face is furious as he glares at you. *”No. It wouldnt.”*

*”Your gun is still in its holster. I would have stabbed you before you pull it out. *”You turn your face slightly, your gaze is still on him. You scoff, its visible you are irritated.

He looks into your eyes and stares at you. *”Then why didnt you?”* His voice is cold. You dont answer and just stare at him in irritation. He looks away from you for a few seconds, then looks back at you, a smirk on his face again. *”You see, dear, you were not expecting me to make such a move. It caught you off-guard.”* He laughs. *”My gun may be in its holster, but you were not expecting me to do that.”* He smirks, his voice becoming slightly mocking.

You are irritated, a lot. You change the subject. *”Dont you have anything to do in HQ? You came all along with me here.”* You turn your gaze, you start to take small steps inside the water, walking slowly.

He shakes his head. *”Not at all.”* He shrugs. *”I dont mind. I like the company.”* He leans in again. You feel his hot breath on your neck, his lips mere inches away from your skin. His eyes bore into yours. *”Do you have anything to do besides walk around?”* He asks teasingly.

You pull your knife out with swift movement, ready to stab his throat. *”You should learn what ‘personal space’ is.”* Your gaze is piercing, stern. You dont like his game anymore.

You see him freeze, his eyes wide. He doesnt make a move. Then he laughs. A loud, boisterous laugh that goes straight from his heart to his mouth. His voice booms. He steps back, his hands raised. *”Ha! You actually pulled a knife on me!?”* He laughs, a bright grin on his face. He looks at you and you see nothing but amusement and laughter on his face.

You swing your knife on your fingers, then take a step closer to him. Your knife is on his throat. *”If you dont respect my personal space, i might hurt you.”*

*”Lets see if you can hurt me with that.”* He gives a smirk, his voice cold. His arm extends out and he flicks his wrist slightly. His headhunter is aiming directly for your center mass. His tone is cold, as if he was being serious now. You see his finger slowly going to trigger. His eyes stay trained on your center mass as his finger is on the trigger, ready to pull it. *”You wont be able to.”*

His eyes look down the sights of his pistol. He grins. *”Try me.”*

*”Its not fair to point a gun someone who has knife on their hand.”* Your face is stern yet your voice is playful. Your expression and tone doesnt match. *”You are quite unfair guy with fair look.”*

He scoffs. *”So you want me to unchamber the rounds and put on the safety, then pull a knife on me?”* He gives a wry smile. *”My job is fighting. I dont care about things being fair.”* He laughs again. *”Maybe im not as kind as you thought.”* He leans in close to you again and whispers in your ear. *”You dont know me as well as you thought.”*

You growl and raise your chin slightly. You put your knife back where it was resting. You slowly walk past by him and get out of the water. His golden tattoos glows as his headhunter disappears from his hand.

He seems to go back to his normal self, a charming and playful figure. He walks and leans towards you and looks you in the eye. *”You know, despite the fact that you pointed a knife to my throat, im quite attracted to you, my dear~”* He says with a wink. He leans in closer, whispering in your ear again. *”You have quite the aura, you know that?”* His breath is hot on your neck. You two had stopped walking in the sands.

You gently push him back, playful yet annoyed smirk on your lips. *”Enough games for tonight, no?”*

*”I was only getting started, darling~”* He smirks, leaning into you once more. He gives you a look up and down again, his eyes shining like stars in the night. *”If you are going to push me away like that, why did you not do so when i nearly kissed you back there?”* He asks, giving you a sly smile. The look of amusement is back in his face.

You smirk, slightly annoyed. Your tone of voice is playful and low. *”Some questions are meant to be left unanswered.”* You walk past by him, you dont turn back when you speak gaain. You slightly raise your voice. *”I might have piqued an interest in you. You are entertaining, Monsieur.”* You said ‘monsieur’ in mocking, teasing tone.

He laughs. *”You did piqued my interest.”* He says, his voice full of playfulness. He glances at you with a smirk. *”Im flattered you think im entertaining. You are intriguing yourself, and my curiosity is piqued, as you say.”* He tilts his head to the side, a smug look on his face. *”You know, you are quite playful yourself~”* He chuckles, looking away.

You laugh loudly at his words. You stop on your tracks and turn back to look at him. *”If you dont come, i will leave you here and go back HQ alone. Lets go back.”* You raise an eyebrow and smirk playfully.

He raises an eyebrow, but seems to be entertained. *”Fiiine~”* He chuckles. He seems to make a pout face, mockingly, and makes a ‘hmf’ sound. *”I will only follow behind you if you hold my hand.”* He gives you a smizing look, teasing with his eyes. He holds his hand out, offering it to you. He seems to be joking.

You give him a look that is questioning him if he is serious or not. Its visible he is joking, and you hope he is not being serious about it. You roll your eyes and turn back, walking slowly as you talk without looking back. *”You are not 5 year old kid drowning in the sea. 28 year old grown man like you shouldnt be asking for help to walk out of the sea.”*

He rolls his eyes as well, but chuckles. He follows behind you and sighs as he gets on land. *”Im only human, you know.”* He pauses. *”A helping hand never hurt anyone.”* He smirks.

*”The hands that holds gun? Asking for help?”* You laugh from your heart. His words is funny and amusing. *”Dont make me laugh.”*

*”I like you, you know?”* He laughs, as if he meant that. He pauses and you hear his foot shuffle in the sand. *”Let me have your number at least.”* He asks, his words being genuine, though his expression says otherwise. He looks up at you, eyes shining brightly.

You raise an eyebrow. *”Give you what?”* Of course you knew what is he asking for and you heard it clearly. But you want to make him say it again.

*”Your phone number, dummy.”* He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, opening the dial interface. He holds out his phone and shows that the dial is empty. He raises an eyebrow and looks at you.

You pull your phone out and give him to dial his number too. You get his phone and start dialing your number. You save yourself as ‘your worst nightmare’, then you hand the phone to him.

But you didnt know that he saw what you did and smirks himself. The he dials his number on the phone and enters his name as ‘your worst crush’. Then he looks into your eyes, smirk still on his face as he tosses your phone back at you. You hand his phone back to him. *”You forgot my name, did you not?”* He laughs.

You look at your phone and you see that he saved himself as ‘your worst crush’. You raise your gaze to him and smirk at what he did. *”Vincent Fabron. I cant forget the name of my ‘worst crush’, can i?”* You raise an eyebrow and speak teasingly.

*”You have been warned. Im gonna blow up your phone every day.”* He gives a wry smile. He seems to be entertained again. He raises his eyebrows and looks at you. His wry smile turns into teasing grin.

You chuckle softly. He is entertaining for sure. *”We will be staying in HQ together. You will bear my games everyday. Be prepared for it.”* Your tone is playful, you look at him with wide smirk on your face. *”If you are ready now, lets go back. Its getting late.”* You walk towards your car and get in car. You look at him with wide grin as you wait for him to get in.

He raises an eyebrow, smirking at you. His face shines in amusement. He rolls his eyes and gets into the passenger side of the car, his face glowing. He puts his seatbelt on and looks at you, still with that smirk. *”We are gonna be a real dynamic duo, i feel it.”* He laughs a little, and his face breaks into a huge, amused smile. It might actually be a wholesome smile. *”You are gonna be trouble.”*

You laugh at him. You put your seatbelt on with a grin on your face. *”You are the trouble.”* You start the engine and drive back to HQ.

*”I am trouble~”* He grins, his voice sweet and smirk still shining with happiness. *”But im a good kind of trouble.”* He winks at you. *”Are you a good kind of trouble, too?”* He leans in towards you and the car turns onto the main road. He seems very interested in your answer.

You shake your and head let out a small chuckle. That wide grin is still on your face. *”Bad kind of trouble.”* You point the word ‘bad’ with your tone.

He laughs. *”What are you, some kind of criminal?”* He chuckles. You see him tap his fingers on the armrest, bouncing his knees excitedly. His eyes dance from the road to you. His smile is big. He turns to you and laughs. He raises an eyebrow and leans forward. He lowers his voice to a whisper. *”You are a bad girl, arent you?”* He is grinning ear to ear.

You chuckle. You tap your fingers on the wheel excitedly. *”If i am criminal, then your place is guillotine.”* You chuckle again, longer than before. *”Who knows? Maybe i am, maybe not.”*

He gasps. *”The guillotine!?”* He chuckles. *”You would dare to hurt me, your crush?”* He asks, laughing along. His head bounces up and down with his laughing. *”Now i know im in trouble~”* He leans forward. He is still laughing, with his eyes sparkling. His voice is full of life and joy. He turns his eyes back to the road as you pull into the parking lot.

You park your car and stop the engines. Your lips forms into smirk as you both get out of the car. *”It was nice to kill you-… i mean meet you.”* You smirk playfully, your tone of voice is teasing.

He smirks back. *”Likewise, dear. Likewise.”* He is smiling and a little playful. *”You drive quite well~”* He looks at other parking spots. *”Who else got here?”* He asks you. He pulls out his phone and checks something, then puts it away. *”You can kill me another time.”* He nudges you, chuckling.

You roll your eyes playfully and turn back. You walk towards your room through corridor.

He follows you, grinning like an idiot. His eyes glowing. He seems to be having fun. *”Where to now?”* His voice is cheery, light. He taps his foot lightly. An unspoken question. What does Vincent Fabron even expect? Does he even have a plan? You could be in trouble.

*”To my room.”* You stop in your tracks and turn back to face him. Your tone is slightly playful. *”Where do you expect me to go?”*

*”You are not going to drag me into your room?”* He smirks, his voice a little flirty. He tilts his head and give you a sideways look. *”Whats it you want, my dear?”* He asks, his voice dripping in mocking attitude. The look in his eyes is hard to read. Is it serious? Is he interested? Is he teasing you still? He keeps moving, following your movements closely, a smug expression on his face. He seems happy. He seems like he is up to something.

You raise your chin slightly, looking arrogantly. Your tone is almost commanding. *”You arent coming to my room.”* You turn back and walk away, leaving him there. Without turning back, you raise your hand and wave at him as bye bye. *”See you tomorrow.”* You open the door of your room and get inside, closing the door behind you.

He raises an eyebrow, shocked to be rebuffed. He seems to be genuinely taken aback by the move. He laughs a little. *”So im rejected.”* He chuckles. He leans back on the wall in the hall and chuckles some more, laughing out loud at the situation. *”I think... im falling for her.”* He chuckles. He shakes his head and smirks, looking up on the ceiling. He seems to be thinking about something. *”What a girl...”* He chuckles.

#valorant x reader #valorant chamber x reader #chamber x reader #valorant chamber #vincent fabron #valorant fanfiction #vincent fabron x reader #chamber #chamber valorant

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gojonanami · 19 days

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I love writing morally ambiguous characters!! I would love that — it would be so interesting— but does anyone have any specific ideas about this? 👀

this prompt made me feel very excited!!

as soon as i got it, i thought long and hard about how to tackle this...

i came to the following conclusion – if suguru, satoru, kento & co are to be normal and to retain contact with reader, there needs to be something about reader that is redeemable

(e.g., mei mei is tolerated, but not necessarily liked or loved. now why would reader be liked or loved?)

and all of this drew me to the following scenarios:

scenario 1: reader goes berserk instead of suguru

option 1a: reader goes on the infamous mission along with suguru and satoru, and, as a result of that mission, goes berserk and has a crisis.

condition for option 1a: in my mind, to escalate reader's mental breakdown, i think it would make sense for reader to be less powerful than suguru and satoru, and for that feeling of helplessness to drive her desire to realise her potential in other ways

optional condition for option 1a: reader is a perfectionist who wants to succeed and always be number one. as someone who has learnt the piano naturally and can replicate notes without thinking, being able to do well without studying too much, coming to jujutsu high to be confronted with the sight of two guys who are just better than her because they were born that way frustrates her to no end.

problem for option 1a: this option introduces a new character into an established system of events. if suguru doesn't go evil, then he was probably not the one witnessing riko getting murdered. question – what was he doing?

a scenario to consider for option 1a: does suguru experience an awakening akin to satoru or is it only satoru experiencing it?

justification for reader going on this mission: as a girl, it might have been thought that reader would 'get along with' riko as a fellow girl, and smooth things out.

a potential opening created by option 1a: suguru's downfall is either prevented or strengthened by reader experiencing this chaotic, panic, anxiety and anger-fuelled outburst. if suguru is to be 'normal', though, as the option suggests, then reader must do something, something bad/immoral and say something horrible, that anchors suguru to reality

option 1 anchoring suguru: reader says something extremely hurtful to suguru – akin the likes of: "You don't understand me." or "You're super strong." or "You don't know how hard I've worked."

option 2 anchoring suguru: suguru's personality is hinged on being caring, understanding, mature and protective. if suguru sees the person he spirals care, it would make sense for him to want to protect them, yes? how can he protect them? option 1 – eliminating non-sorcerers. option 2 – cultivating his curses to become stronger and stronger, maybe even stronger than suguru.

potential problem: does seeing reader break down motivate suguru to deflect even more or stay? persuasive argument can be made for both sides.

scenario 2: reader does not have to be evil to be morally ambiguous

how can this moral ambiguousness manifest? say, reader can be someone who is a harsh teacher. to eliminate the amount of deaths undergone by students, reader is a harsh teacher. she'll break your arm if it'll teach you not to same mistake during a mission. she could be someone cold and brash, and blunt. one to say to the elders what she thinks to their face.

which could create all sorts of problems.

(i am not sure why – but to my mind, a catty fight with mei mei was the first thing that came to mind? it's probably not usable, but it's a little funny in my mind. something along the lines of reader saying to nobara, "women should always support other women," and then bashing mei mei. p.s. reader is nice, sort of, just a bit like an angry cat. but anyway, a school rivalry that extends beyond.)

problem: to drive a story, we need movement. so far, this scenario lacks dynamism. what we have is this – she is a ruthless teacher. so what? does this create a conflict in ideology with kento? is she too utilitarian? too worried about the numbers?

scenario 3: reader is morally ambiguous because she chooses to ignore her life as a sorcerer

premise: imagine going through jujutsu high, knowing the tolls that a sorcerer has to undergo, only to end up foregoing all that, ignoring curses, and not caring??

that's a bit of a slap in the face – especially for kento and suguru (and satoru, too)

and if this is someone who is fairly powerful, too, who could use her abilities to help but just doesn't because she doesn't want to?

like i can imagine her being someone who sees curses in the streets, and knowing that she can eliminate them, but doesn't, because she has other things in the world that tether her – a work meeting, a lunch with a colleague, a trip to buy a new dress, an exhibition at a museum

does it make her a bad person? that she chooses to ignore them?

problem with this story that needs to be addressed: if her life is outside of the world of jujutsu, for this story to work, there needs to be something bringing her back to the world of jujutsu for them to interact with her.

what could that be?

could it be that her technique closely relates to one of the students so she needs to mentor that student?

could it be one of the guys seeking her out, trying to change her mind? would they even do that? is that in character for them? i am not sure.

or is it something more catastrophic?

potential crisis reader could experience: a scenario that came to mind just now – reader, who has shut down everything related to jujutsu in her mind, lost contact on purpose will all of them, erased their phone numbers coldly, having a revelation because something big happened that changed her mind forever.

what could that be?

example of a potential crisis reader could experience: the first thing that came to mind was this – a fight with kenjaku as kaori and the realisation that kenjaku wants to steal suguru's body for the culling game (or plans, or whatever), and the fierce need to protect suguru

could it be this? if kaori isn't super powerful, then kenjaku needs a tactical advantage to win against reader. so years of accumulated knowledge & studying of reader's technique if she's close to suguru?

and then, after that fight, and after that fear that this strange woman slipped away (or, even if she eliminated kaori, that fear could linger still) that something might happen to suguru, she might rock up to jujutsu high, panicked and wide-eyed, and just monitor all of them obsessively like a guard dog with the instinct to protect and perhaps with the desire to repent for not keeping contact for so many years.

problem with scenario: what happens later in their timeline? is kaori (kenjaku) defeated? does that mean that sukuna never occupies yuuji's body? what is the conflict in this story? is it her paranoia, her anxiety, her reckoning with her feelings, her guilt, and the fact that she always runs away from her problems? is that enough? is that enough to give this story momentum and to retain the reader's interest?

scenario 4: reader goes berserk before the infamous mission on which suguru and satoru go

and if she goes berserk, then it would be about perceptive suguru noticing, intervening, and, as a result, not deflecting himself?

the problem is this: i can't figure out if in this scenario, that mission where suguru and satoru go and riko dies happens or not. and if it does, then what happens to make sure that they don't go crazy.

another problem – cause of breakdown: you would have to come up with a mission for this to happen. could cf scenario 3 and kaori/kenjaku? something else entirely? problem doesn't even necessarily/entirely have to be jujutsu related.

scenario 5: the replacement scenario. (similar to scenario 1)

in this scenario, reader takes on the place of suguru wholeheartedly. perhaps in place of suguru. why? see justification for reader going on this mission.

except – let's shake things up a bit.

i haven't watched jujutsu kaisen in a while, but a lingering question is this – what on earth happened during those ten years? why was there no pivotal movement.

here, what would happen would be this:

option 5a: reader goes berserk and goes berserk on tokyo, amassing wide destruction.

option 5b: reader doesn't intend to kill non-sorcerers, reader intents to control them, and infiltrates both the jujutsu elite society & maybe even the government.

option 5c: reader establishes a large coalition of sorcerers that see her point of view. much, much larger than suguru & more global. problem: juggling this all in a narrative and introducing new characters which people may not be interested in!

risks: (1) patches over a well thought-through story (2) risks being a little silly

scenario 6: wacky scenario (this is a lolz scenario just because)

satoru and reader are friends with benefits that never settle down for real. when reader gets pregnant, despite being on the fence about having children, she gets a sort of an epiphany wherein she decides to keep the baby (to keep a piece of satoru forever to herself? if he couldn't be with her, then she'll keep a part of him with her forever. deciding on her own terms, sort of).

reader doesn't tell satoru for some reason. e.g. there's a bounty on the child and she wants to protect her child. or she feels petty they were never in an official relationship, so this is her dramatic form of revenge.

but she needs to come back? why?

(1) she comes back for a funeral – jujutsu sorcerers die often. whose? her mother's? someone unknown?

(2) her jujutsu technique is killing her so she needs someone to care of the child. but why? why would her jujutsu technique be draining her strength? is she making a sacrifice for something?

(3) reader was selected jujutsu sōkan and so comes back to shake things up. and surprise? there's a child, too. bet you didn't see that coming!

(okay, so... i thought that this was sort of fun in that we know next to nothing about jujutsu sōkan and what they do. do they have to hide away? perhaps living in a little remote villa somewhere in okinawa away from the bustle of the mainland?)

problem: wacky, wacky scenario that makes little sense! but – guarantees a morally ambiguous reader.

i am not sure if these are helpful! these were hard to think about, so i think i was running out of steam a little by the end. but if they're helpful, then i'm happy!

they are very out there, i know!!!

i'm not sure if any of them are usable, and maybe only parts of some of them are usable. but they're something to think about?

maybe they can inspire you, or anyone else visiting this page :)

in terms of scenarios, though, just as a note – suguru, satoru, and kento, at times, are sort of interchangeable depending on how you play with them? at times, i wrote their names (i.e., specific characters), but sometimes, i feel, they can be substituted for whoever you want to write for (doesn't apply to all of them, though).

these are just for fun!!! i don't know if any of them are workable, but i would guess maybe scenario 3 and 1 are the most workable?

this is so freaking cool that you had all these ideas and I agree I think scenarios 1 and 3 are the most workable!!

I’m def gonna be keeping these in mind — I think I’m leaning towards 3 rather than 1 because I think it would have interesting repercussions— I could see reader having to come back because she’s a special grade and with yuji and sukuna’s reappearance, she may be needed—

#sab [asks]#sab [anons]#oooh maybe part of her CT #is sensing other people’s CT #and when Kenny takes over geto #she thinks she senses Geto’s CT #and thinks she’s losing it #and that’s why she leaves #maybe she was in love with geto #but gojo was secretly in love with her #sab [future fics]#….now I wanna write this

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foranpo · 10 months

Text

ੈ˚★ One thousand seven hundred and ninety-three.

@coolminahi asked: Hello! Can you do a Itachi x reader soulmate AU of the reader having the same backstory as Maki Zenin where she also kills her own clan??

fandom: naruto.

character: itachi.

reader: gn!

genre: drabble.

au: soulmate!

content: angst, jjk manga spoilers, mention of blood and death, open ending.

word count: 3k.

cole’s note: i know it took me forever but i hope the wait was worth it :' ty for the request and enjoy <3

ੈ♡˳────── enjoy the reading ♡ ──────

Humans were exhausting.

Living for entire eternities, seeing the birth of all stars and the demise of all empires, the gods agreed that, among so many creatures and souls that roamed through vast space, the human being was, in fact, the most tiresome: happiness was a foreign term to them, as they preferred to live comfortably in their own chosen miseries and difficulties; complaints hung from their lips like the juice of the ripest fruit in the hottest summer; the impossibility of satisfying so many prayers and requests driving the gods mad for so long that the deities' vacations were extended over long periods, leading to more complaints, more sorrows, more miseries, more requests, more prayers, more noise.

And it was so much noise that human beings created –they were never satisfied with anything. They only served to tire, to exhaust the gods.

As such, measures were taken.

The most common requests, prayers and desires that floated the most through the universe were, for some reason, the search for true love. Perhaps because they are constantly surrounded by the negativity brought by their melancholy hearts, human beings realized that there was an extreme need for comfort that they refused to themselves; an affection, a delicacy, a promise that, regardless of the passage of time, would alleviate difficulties, miseries, sadness and complaints. Maybe they just wanted certainty for all the suffering they were immersed in: one person, one love, one life.

Therefore, a new system of soulmates was created.

The gods were the only ones who could see people's nature, the only ones who could guide the same souls to one last meeting in that life, before leaving for the next one; as such, it was pretty easy to figure out which stardust went together and when they should be together –after all, it all comes down to timing. For though two souls roamed the same world, the same life, for years, they could only come together at the right moment, or misfortunes followed the souls, like plagues clinging to the weakest of creatures.

Thus, the number system was conceived by the gods two eternities ago.

However, Itachi didn't care much about soulmates or relationships in general. With so many events taking place around him, it was a little tricky for Itachi to take the time to look for meaning in the random numbers in his hand; not that he paid much attention to his numbers, their appearance piqued any interest in him.

Itachi only had one thing in mind, and he wasn't going to be distracted by such trifles as eternal love dictated by the gods –not least because none of that would make sense, not when Itachi's destiny was already mapped out for himself.

For, Itachi learned to change his way of thinking with you.

Although your presence in Itachi's life was short, just two years of brief encounters wrapped in long silences that briefly soothed your souls, the reality is that, in a way, you managed to help Itachi change his mind. Small words, speeches coming from your heart when the stars were more hidden, poems being recited by your lips, plans and ideas written by the gods gaining colossal dimension when proclaimed by you.

In reality, Itachi believed that it was the gods themselves who created you. There was a certain mystique in your soul, a deep sea of magic and stardust that gently danced through your veins, creating worlds and fantasies in your words. You looked ethereal, totally out of that world, almost perfectly sculpted by the hands of the most talented craftsmen, not just in your figure, in the imperfections that became so enchanting when embellished by the moon, but also in your mind.

“Do you think we are soulmates?”

You had Itachi's hand in yours, the number one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three repeating itself in your hand. The same number. The same location. The same apparition. The same soulmate.

“Do you want to be my soul mate?”

Itachi didn't remove his hand from yours, the heat of your body softening a little the cold that was felt that late afternoon, your touch, even so gentle, managing to comfort him for brief moments in that painful day.

You didn't answer.

Your hand returned to rest in your lap with the grace of that day's wind, Itachi's hand resting momentarily in the icy air that surrounded you. You were silent for a moment, admiring the forest that surrounded you, enjoying that moment of serenity for a little while longer. Finally, a little peace in the middle of your chaotic life.

Itachi wasn't too bothered by your lack of response; having been your friend for two years, Itachi began to get used to your small gestures and mannerisms –all your actions were already part of Itachi's daily life without any resentment being stored in his heart. Itachi knew that, if you didn't answer, you who so loved to give your opinion and unique point of view, it was because you had a reason; as such, he knew he shouldn't pressure you –instead, Itachi preferred the unknown of the forest, trying to see in its shadows something alive, trying to understand if in the midst of all that immensity of trees and bushes, there was something that would allow him to call that woods home.

“What do you think it means?”

Itachi couldn't decipher your words that day. You were different. Your voice was more distant, your timbre somewhat similar to that wind so cold, so rough. For some reason, your warm and welcoming nature had faded that day, cold gray tones painting your soul, leaving Itachi worried, yes, but also curious. It was the first time he saw you without your characteristic light. It was intriguing. You were intriguing.

“The numbers?” you looked at Itachi and nodded, your throat too raw from the outside to manage a single word. “The days it took to fall in love with each other?”

You shook your head.

You knew it wasn't something as simple, as delineated as that. The gods were tired of humans, fed up with their empty words and corrupt actions. It was obvious that they were going to be dishonest, creating numbers for the most insignificant things that could exist.

“My parents had the number two. The number of bowls of soup my mom was going to eat on their first date,” you took a deep breath and let your head rest on Itachi's shoulder. “Do you really think it would be something that simple?”

This time, it was Itachi who didn't respond.

You were right. There was no simplicity when it came to the gods, much less when the paths of love and passion were present. He didn't know why you guys got that number, or why it was such a big number, but it didn't matter to Itachi. Relationships weren't in his plans.

“Do you think we will be happy?”

Your question caught Itachi off guard, your apprehension tangling in the turf that held you so carefully, your fear lingering between you as if enveloping you in a small cloud of discomfort, worry, uncertainty. Your voice sounded low, slurred, almost corrupting the beauty of nature, as if wanting to change reality –you wanted to erase that number from your hands, from your lives.

But Itachi was left pondering your question, ignoring the intonation with which it was used, pondering with all his head and mind on that simple question.

Would you be happy?

ੈ♡˳─────────────────────

It was a full moon night when the river was dyed red.

In the middle of the forest, hidden among the thickest trees and protected by the most poisonous bushes, your clan's screams of agony and rage settled in the withered flowers of late summer. One after another, you saw those with whom you shared the same blood fall before you, defeated by your talent, victims of years of contempt and dissatisfaction.

You used to be tired. That night, you were completely exhausted.

As your footsteps echoed off the fragile walls of your parent's home, new screams were chanted towards you, intense symphonies of hate and revulsion harmonizing with the sound of your blade in their bodies.

Too much time had passed where you allowed hundreds of people to use and abuse their power, flooding your heart with the anguish and disgust you felt for each and every one of them. Despised men who lived too long under the protection of their village superiors knew nothing of real life and all that went on outside their fortress of flowers and shrubs; but you knew.

From an early age you were used as your clan's deity, used as a weapon of war by all who needed to make someone pay, discarded when all happiness, all hope, had been usurped from you like someone who takes a life.

One?...

Two…

Three?

No.

Four.

You were sure there were four. Four dozen lives subjugated to your talent and strength of mind that night, all convinced that they could stop you, all convinced that your impure blood would be spilled that night.

But when the clouds began to cover the bright moon that night, you couldn't hide the laughter that had been stuck in your throat since that massacre began –after all, how could four dozen people be completely wrong?

Hot-faced, splattered with the sin you had just committed, not a single red drop containing a fraction of regret, you left your clan's villa accompanied by the sounds of the night.

Nothing but the running stream. Nothing but the gentle summer breeze. Nothing but peace and quiet.

Finally, peace and quiet.

You let yourself be guided by the adrenaline that was still running through your body, wandering without any conscience through your clan's forest, through your forest. The sounds of the night were mesmerizing, cradling your weary footprints, moving with the stagger of your exhausted body; the aroma of your massacre was camouflaged by the sweet and refreshing scent of the bushes that served as a border with the real world.

And, even before another red drop fell into your hands, you crossed that invisible barrier with the lightest heart and the heaviest soul.

You couldn't tell exactly how much time had passed. In a way, everything had plunged into a paralyzing sea of suspense and calm, a confused mix of emotions toppling your fragile heart. Yes, it was true that you didn't feel the least bit sorry for your actions, after all, all your family members had died for you from the moment they used a five-year-old you to manage to win an insignificant battle between clans; but, for some reason, you couldn't help feeling a certain bitterness in your mouth, an immense weight that you felt only in your soul, pulling you down, trapping your steps, forcing you to collapse in the middle of a field of grass and moonlight.

Your knees hit the uneven ground hard, the tenderness of the grass refusing to support your collapse –anyway, you had to pay for your sins, the grass refusing your comfort would only just be the beginning.

“Another mission?”

Itachi.

It was Itachi's voice.

You were sure it was his voice.

You looked around, lost in that open space that was the scene of your encounters with Itachi so many times; but you saw nothing in the midst of the blood that covered your face, your eyes starting to burn –perhaps because of the drop that had fallen into them, perhaps because of the realization that you were now alone. Without family. Without any friends. Without a home.

“I don't know how to comfort you.”

Itachi's voice continued to echo in the open, carried by the wind and by the moon; words of comfort were woven by Itachi's lips in a sympathetic memory in you, your heart desperately looking for something that would ease all that turmoil that existed inside you.

And it was Itachi who heard your inner prayers.

Among so many destructive memories that formed tragic galleries inside you, there was always an exhibition dedicated to the happiness and comfort you found with Itachi. All gestures made by him, all conversations and ideas exchanged with him, all small seconds were trapped in a wide corridor inside you, overshadowing all the agonizing pictures offered by your family.

Itachi was a small happiness inside you, a small hope, a small life you were looking forward to living.

“And before you ask, no. The nightmares never go away.”

That’s right.

Now you understand where Itachi's voice came from.

It wasn't on your side or on top of you. It wasn't hiding among the branches of the nearest trees, or admiring the beautiful sky that night. None of that. That voice of Itachi was inside you. Emerging from the corridor you specially guard for him. It was a forced memory. It was a hazy memory. But it was a real memory, a memory that broke your fall when all your strength gave up.

Fallen on the grass, staining nature's hope of one day being as beautiful as the gods, you no longer struggled against your tiredness.

“But I will always be here. And you know that I understand you. Always."

Always.

Your lips formed a faint smile as your eyes became too heavy to keep them open, closing them slowly,, carefully,,, serenely…

Always.

Seeing the grass of that meadow swaying in the wind, Itachi's words stopped resonating inside your heart, wandering through the forest in the hope of being able to comfort another soul that needed the warmth that only Itachi could give, that only Itachi could give you.

Always.

Al…yas…

Al…

ੈ♡˳─────────────────────

Human were dark.

Existing since the creation of the universe, never in the existence of the gods was heard of an event as impure and grotesque as the night of the full moon at the end of your summer. Rumors spread about the events of that night, theories of how a new cult was emerging in that world of peace, making the younger ones shudder; no one knew who told the first lie, the second rumor sounding so natural to all the bakers that, by the time the teachers and nurses found out about the event, the moon was already wearing a new autumn outfit.

It was all macabre; all the details involving the two occurrences seemed taken from the darkest book of the god of war. It was all disgusting; the amount of screams that still echoed through the floors of the houses, all the red of lives lost staining every nook and cranny of the most respected neighborhoods.

“How long has it been?”

Your hands caressed the dry autumn grass. The icy night wind ruined all the hopes of the trees, abruptly uprooting all their beauty, creating colorful walkways in that dry and forgotten meadow.

Itachi was at your side, admiring the thick clouds of ancient anguishes, searching in all that darkness for a little light that would be more persistent than the great and forgotten moon.

“Not long enough.”

The sigh of Itachi's words was trapped in the bare branches of the trees, preventing your meeting from being shown to others, giving you a little privacy in that world so noisy, so busy, so changed.

You pulled your legs towards you and sought comfort in them. Your arms wrapped around the fabric of your pants, your face being partially sheltered from the wind by your legs, your tired, heavy, empty gaze, staring at nothing more than the nothingness that stretched before you.

“Will they ever stop?” Itachi looked at you, your eyes red with the sadness of a macabre past embellished by a moon full of red and anguish. “The nightmares. Will they ever stop?”

“No.”

It was what you liked most about Itachi: his honesty; but that night, so many years after your outbreak, so many years after that bloodbath, that honesty of Itachi hurt you. Not because of its sincerity, but because of its truthfulness.

You would always have those nightmares.

“Do you regretted it?” You looked at Itachi, his eyes curious with your answer, trying to decipher what was in your soul to, at least, try to appease your heart. “Of what you did that night. Do you regretted it?”

“No.”

It was what Itachi liked most about you: your conviction; but that night, so many years after your last meeting, so many years after that promise broken by Itachi, that conviction of yours was suspect. Not because of your honesty, but because of your anguish.

“You didn’t come when I called you.”

“Couldn't make it.”

Itachi was always honest, always using his quiet, low words to convey worlds of truth. He was always honest with you, a quality he came to find helpful in creating a friendship with you.

As such, you just uttered a small “Ah” that was carried by the wind to unknown lands, taking your doubt to places already forgotten by you.

A new silence settled between you, your eyes reminding your hearts of how the other was –so many years had passed and Itachi was still the same; more tired maybe, and a little lonelier too, and utterly broken inside.

You didn't know from him. Somehow, perhaps through a delay in the chronology of the stars, or misled by the wickedness of the gods, you did not hear it from him. You just heard it on the street, small rumors floating through all the streets and alleys where you took refuge from the injustice of your village.

“Is it true?”

“Yes.”

Itachi's confirmation sounded strange in his mouth and refused to settle in your ears, in your heart. He, who loved his family so much, he who bragged so much about his relatives, he who lived with an exemplary family, used the same brush as you and painted his own walls red; but Itachi's red, that which covered the Uchiha's neighborhood, was not the red of betrayal and injustice that you wore –no. The red he'd chosen was one of surprise and despair –not his, but everyone else's.

“Why?”

“Was necessary.”

You nodded and, almost fearfully, reached for Itachi's cool hand. Would he refuse you? Would he let your immoral pasts allow it to come together in a gesture so casual, so normal, so ordinary between you? Was the blood on your hands dry, now that you had finally met again after long years without farewell or warning? Was the blood on your hands already clean of all evil, now that the two of you were once again close to each other?

“One thousand seven hundred and ninety-three.”

Itachi let your icy fingers remember the softness of his hand, your fingers ever so lightly caressing the lines of Itachi's palm, creating little paths of nostalgia and innocence in his hand.

The life line: short, a little tenuous and with only one major interruption.

“One thousand…”

The mind line: curved, quite bumpy, with some flaws.

“Seven hundred…”

The heart line: lightly painted on his hand, shorter than you'd like to admit, but flawless.

“And ninety…”

The fate line: invisible, already a victim of time and consequences that followed Itachi's actions.

“Three…”

Itachi had his eyes closed, letting the caresses you made on the lines of his palm, together with your delicate memory of the number he had seen too many times, lull him into a land of never forgotten reminiscences shared with you.

The silence was cozy as you let your palm know Itachi's magical lines, his fingers closing over your hand, starting a timeless knot that was ready to last for eternities.

And you also closed your fingers, the wind stopping the suddenness of your actions, too nauseated by your union between misfortunes, wanting to leave you in peace, quiet amidst the static weather of that night, in the meadow that had always been yours.

ੈ♡˳───── feedback is appreciated ♡ ─────

#;naruto constellation;#itachi x reader #itachi oneshots #itachi imagines #itachi drabbles #itachi angst #itachi fluff #itachi x you #itachi x yn #itachi imagine #itachi drabble #naruto x reader #naruto drabbles #naruto imagines

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thevulcanbobdylan · 7 months

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a funeral for the year

I think there's a reason why the major fall/winter holidays in the US work so well.

Because - say what you will - they do work well. There's something so compelling about the Halloween-Thanksgiving-Christmas-New Year cycle that it has become a huge part of our culture. Autumnal vibes, spooky season, coziness, pumpkin spice - lights, music, gifts, decorations - food, tradition, family... It's an opportunity to engage with something so ancient that it's nearly forgotten: cyclical time. The existence of this one big Holiday Season, this extended festival, lets us tap into the rhythms of nature while sort of blithely pretending that's not what we're doing. There's something inside us that desires those rhythms.

I've long held this theory that the modern holidays that gain the most traction are the ones that can serve as a proxy for some more ancient, more deeply human ritual. Christmas is obviously an opportunity for humans to engage in winter-solstice-related revelry. I think the 4th of July in the US is a big deal because it secretly gives us an opportunity to celebrate Midsummer. Humans want these things, deep down.

Of course, as with anything in modern US culture, we can find things to criticize. First of all, everything I'm about to say is heavily biased toward the Northern Hemisphere. Also: I'm not saying that raw, blatant capitalism/consumerism isn't driving the visibility of these holidays. Thanksgiving, in particular, has troubling roots, and is frequently observed in problematic ways. But I think it's okay to desire a reclamation of the holiday in the spirit of gratitude, rather than to kill it outright. Here's why:

The Halloween-Thanksgiving-Christmas-New Year cycle is a ritual. Specifically, it's a funeral for the year. Funerals are important because they give us the opportunity to process what was, to accept its death, to find gratitude, to seek learning, and to move forward. Modern humans don't do enough of this. We're so far removed from the concept of death that even middle-aged millennials seem to find it squicky and cringe. But death is all around us - big Death, the death of the body, yes, but also little deaths, dying to the past so that the future can unfold. There is so much wisdom in observing and marking and acknowledging the little deaths that weave through our lives, but we have little access to the concept. This fact contributes to our alienation from actual Death, and that alienation prevents us from developing qualities like maturity, compassion, and wisdom. Modern Americans are perpetually adolescent, perpetually cringing away from facing their mortality, and from the wisdom and perspective that comes with doing so.

For this affliction, I prescribe: more Holiday Season.

On Halloween we acknowledge the fact that the year is dying. Through play and pantomime, we engage with the concept and the fact of death. We let it in. We face it. We upend it, laugh at it, allow ourselves to touch and see it. We accept it - even welcome it.

On Thanksgiving we look backward. Having accepted the death of the year, we take stock, acknowledge all that it was, and give thanks for what it brought us. We gather with treasured people and engage in rituals of food and tradition. Whether our year was delightful or difficult, we can use this ritual to find lessons in its challenges, to remember its brightest moments - to process - to simply allow it to have been.

On Christmas we reach the actual moment of the year's death. On the winter solstice, we experience the darkest point of the year, and in that instant of deepest darkness, we celebrate light and warmth and joy. We gather together around fires, around stovetops, around beautiful glittering lights, and we sing, and we give gifts, and tell our children stories about magic to see the light that shines from their eyes. In the darkest moment of winter, we look for the light that never goes out. Because there's light in darkness, and there's life in death, and the cycle of time is one of renewal. Even when we don't acknowledge it, this is what we're celebrating.

On New Year's we mark our emergence from the hollow of death, and a renewed ascent into light and life. After accepting death, celebrating what was, and finding the spark of light that exists in the darkness, we take our first steps forward into something new.

It's such a beautiful process. We walk through it over the space of months, giving proper time to each phase, processing the feelings that come with saying this goodbye that is also a hello. It's a blueprint for how to process other deaths. We allow ourselves to move through - to be moved through - a cycle of time that is bigger and more ancient than we can imagine, and all of us are in it together. Death unifies us. We can celebrate and practice that fact each year, with a beautiful funeral for another cycle of time that we shared.

#death is my roman empire #death #paganism #holidays #halloween #thanksgiving #christmas #yule #samhain

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dishsaop · 2 years

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god, there's just something about the way that the iliad opens with brilliant achilles' wrath, and ends with horse-breaker hektor's funeral, but in many ways the story is about helen. helen, who only shows up a meager six times in all of the iliad, and four of those scenes are in the third book, in what is almost one long extended scene.

the iliad is about war, and the consequences of it, and the tragedy of it, and the men that fight in it, but the iliad is centered around helen. christopher marlowe called her 'the face that launched a thousand ships' and i suppose he was right, in a way. helen was who they blamed the war on. and while you can argue whether or not helen went with paris willingly (it will probably not surprise you to know i believe she didn't, not really, but thats a different argument) what i get most angry about is how helen is portrayed.

yes, she's gorgeous. indisputable. aphrodite promised alexandros the most beautiful woman in the world, and that's helen. and it isn't as if the iliad doesn't drive that point home! the old men muttering on the gates with priam and helen say outright that helen is so beautiful, so like a terrible goddess, that neither the trojans nor the greeks can be blamed for the sheer amount of death they've caused. (putting, then, of course, the blame on helen.)

but the old men also say that it would be best if helen went back on the ships, that she's caused too much grief to stay.

because that's the crux of it, isn't it? that helen is miserable, and so is everyone around her. every scene she's in, helen is either being manipulated/influenced by a goddess (aphrodite forcing helen, iris straight up using divine power to make helen feel things), mourning the fact that she's married to the shitstain that is paris, wishing she'd died as a baby, or all three. she's lonely, she's suicidal, and she's shunned by the trojan women (in all by the very last scene, where the trojan women join her in mourning, which is especially upsetting because we know afterwards just after helen has finally been counted among them after twenty years, they're immediately separated as the trojan women are sold as slaves and helen is taken back with menelaos to be 'possessed').

but helen is also angry. she's furious. comments about helen's beauty are passing and brief. but every scene helen is in, she burns with spiteful rage and justified heartbreak. she tells paris she wished he'd died in battle. she tells her brother hektor, in front of paris, that she wishes she could have married someone as brave and noble as hektor, instead of the pompous shameless paris, and wishes that hektor could rest instead of suffering the burden of paris' actions. she stands up to aphrodite.

of all the scenes in the iliad, that one is my favorite. beyond the comedy of helen immediately spotting how weirdly alluring this old woman is and seeing through aphrodite's disguise, helen is incandescent for just a brief tirade. she asks whether aphrodite has found a new pretty boytoy to whisk helen away to, to make aphrodite happy, or if maybe it's back to be possessed by menelaos? helen calls aphrodite treacherous, and refuses her command. helen demands that instead, aphrodite suffer as helen suffers. demands that if aphrodite wants someone to fuck paris so bad, aphrodite can do it herself, can step down forever as a goddess and become paris' wife and slave instead of helen. i will not serve his bed.

helen is furious, and it's only aphrodite's threat (don't make me hate you as i now terribly love you, lest i remind the greeks and trojans alike of their hate and trap you in it to kill you) of death that has helen going to paris. and even there, with aphrodite watching, helen tells paris she wishes he died and that her old husband can and still could kill him. and after that, paris declaims her rage makes her more desirable than ever, even more than when he first stole her.

helen spends a lot of time miserable. wishing she were dead. i think thats perfectly reasonable, spending twenty years in a city where the only two people who are ever kind to her are her father-in-law and brother-in-law. where countless men die just outside her walls and everyone blames her (and she blames herself, deeply). she misses her family, her home, her daughter. she calls herself a bitch, a slut, wishes the gods hadn't laid this on her but let her die at birth. of course she's suicidally depressed. of course she's angry.

but this view of helen as a petty, self-centered vain model is so infuriating because there's no evidence for it! even if you believe that she went with alexandros willingly, she still spends the entire iliad, the few scenes she is allowed, being vengeful, heartbroken, and utterly furious! it's demeaning and telling to reduce her to her beauty. even in six short scenes we get such a wonderful breadth of her character. respectful and awed to priam, admiring and loving to hektor. missing deeply her home and her kin. lonely, wishing for companionship from the women around her, missing the 'lovely young women her age' from home. absolutely, utterly disgusted by paris. heartbroken and pitying and remorseful of the men dying in the war. she speaks of how she cannot find her brothers on the battlefield (the brothers who saved her once from abduction, but not now, perhaps because of the shame of being associated with her?). the way she admires the greeks on the battlefield to priam. and her fear but also unrelenting fury towards aphrodite.

none of those are about, at least solely, her beauty! to helen herself as a character, beauty isn't who she is. she is angry, and hurt, and spiteful, and devastated, and i love her for it!!!!!!

#ITS HELEN OF SPARTA LOVING HOURS IN THIS HOUSE TONIGHT FOLKS im a lesbian and i love her #the iliad #helen of troy #helen of sparta #tagamemnon #classics #paris #alexandros #hektor #priam #aphrodite #iris #achilles #m text #also very funny to me that people think helen is this shallow bitch when shes clytemnestras sister. clytemnestra the og badass #theyre both full of righteous fury yall

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pangolinheart · 1 year

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There are a lot of things the game just has you roll with despite being five existential crises in a trench coat.

Someone who's lived a very ordinary life is going to react differently.

For example, in the lost future from where G'raha came, Rhiki's family probably died horribly. In canon they're fine and alive and nothing has happened to them, but in the First, isn't that something Rhiki would get stuck on?

So, this has actually been a major sticking point for me in coming up with a backstory for Rhiki.

As I've mentioned before, with Rhiki's kind of run-of-the mill upbeat, outgoing, and peppy personality, along with her youthful optimism and emotional availability, it's hard to imagine that she has some sort of dark tragedy hidden in her background. Before her role as Warrior of Light really started to develop I thought of her as Just A Guy - becoming and adventurer as part of her "wayward-20-something's self-discovery phase. " She seems pretty well adjusted, with fair-to-good self-esteem and mental health (though both of these deteriorate over the course of the story as she becomes, like you so eloquently put it, five existential crises in a trench coat). So, a stable and loving upbringing with no major trauma makes a lot of sense.

But, at the same time, I think having a loving family or support system that's still intact throughout the story would really undermine a lot of her character development, or change the trajectory of it entirely. There are a lot of things that might not have bothered her as much, or people she might not have gotten as attached to, or choices she might not have made if she could go home and get a warm hug from her mom and/or dad. Part of what drives her story in the beginning is that she feels isolated. Moenbryda's death really drives a wedge between her and the scions - everyone is grieving in their own way, but the way Rhiki wants to grieve is not by herself. (she then conveniently makes a new friend but like two weeks later he says "sorry i'm locking myself in this tower forever because it's what a bunch of people who died 1000s of years ago and have never caused us anything but trouble would have wanted :///" We all WANT things G'raha.) She feels like nobody she works with really knows or is interested in her; they're just using her as a blank screen to project the idealized Warrior of Light that they want and need onto.

That's what drives her to become so close Haurchefant - he treats her like his good buddy, the adventurer rather than the Savior of Eorzea. And being so close to Haurchefant is what makes it so traumatic when he dies, which is what eventually leads to her becoming a Dark Knight and confronting some of her issues (so she can make room for more issues.) It feels like if she had supportive parents or a guardian or n extended family to return to who could, if not directly advise her or sympathize with her issues, at least affirm her identity and personhood and reassure her that there are people who care about her for who she is, all of these things would have been a lot less impactful. As I was playing and thinking about Rhiki I had a hard time imagining her taking a break to go have lunch with her parents, though she's definitely the kind of person who would do that if she could.

(It's also worth noting that I've never really envisioned Rhiki having a super-personal vendetta against Garlemald. She opposes them and their actions of course because Garlemald is such a caricature of an evil empire that an evil Ascian designing it specifically to be as cruel and malicious as possible is the most believable explanation for it's existence. But she doesn't have a burning hatred or desire for vengeance towards Gaius or Zenos or Varis or anything like that. I guess I could retcon one but honestly I think it's very funny that Rhiki can't be bothered to remember who Zenos is 90% of the time.)

So I've created a paradox for myself: she's so normal and positive that she almost can't have had anything super traumatic (like losing her parents) happen to her, but her loving parents/family/support system can't still be alive and intact at the beginning of her story for her to develop into the character she is.

Even without a family to worry about, I'm sure it's still horrifying to realize that in the currently-existing future everyone you know has died horribly. She has plenty of friends and loved ones outside of the Scions that got kidnapped and turned into ghosts on the first with her. But I feel like anyone who had any close ties to anyone other than Alphinaud, Alisaie, Thancred, Y'shtola, and Urianger would probably feel the same way. (Plus, she's immediately presented with a pretty "simple" way to avert that future so, y'know, she's just gotta focus on doing her job. She probably learned to tunnel-vision in on the steps to achieve her goal like 3 major catastrophes ago.)

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #asks and answers #shadowbringers #shadowbringers spoilers #rhiki tag #*rhiki voice* i'm going to buy 1000% into this weird little yellow grub so i don't think about the fact that urianger has been lying to me #about whether or not saving the first is going to kill me #because if i think about that i'm going to lose my mind and start screaming and never ever stop

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teslacoils-and-hubris · 2 years

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ok taking a break from the essay I should be writing to wax poetically about the Primordial Beasts at the center of the world of loam (a fun fictional world-building project of mine, for those who missed Dr Jackal's introduction post lmao)

under a cut because this is probably going to get long, but feel free to read! I'd love any constructive criticism or ideas people feel like suggesting since the whole concept is still very nebulous in my head, and I want to get it ironed out more so I can really focus on the more modern structure of the world

before anything, before time or space or death, there were monsters. Huge Primordial Beasts with only the basest animal desire; to devour. They consumed and killed but never truly died because death didn't exist yet.

until something changed, and they stopped coming back after death. The time of monsters ended with the last Great Beast starving, having consumed all the others. The corpses of giant, unknowable animalgods rotting away into the stardust that would form the whole universe.

But you cannot truly kill a god. Over billions of eons, their souls started walking up. Becoming immensely powerful forces in the world they now inhabit, almost like if radiation had a brain. As they stand naturally, they cannot exhibit their will onto the land in any actionable way but are instead bound to how people interact with them. I'm thinking that if enough particles originating from one specific Beast find their way into one spot, they condense into something physical, but it's different each time.

Dr. Jackal accidentally fused with the soul of a Beast, and now they share one mind, essentially becoming a new person. The unfiltered power and ruthlessness of an animalgod combined with the consciousness and planning skills of a human genius, with memories stretching back to before creation.

There is another force called the huntsman who is like an oil slick or tar pit, trapping poor creatures that get too close and possessing them, completely overwriting their mind and body to fit the needs of the Beast. Because it's not fusing with them, it doesn't gain any mental faculties, its only drive is still to consume. It's like if an oil spill was hungry and also a parasite.

then there's the Beasts that haven't quite "woken up" yet. An entire town who worships the giant crystal at the center of their settlement. Extended exposure to the Primordial Radiation has turned them into a single hivemind, headed by the cult leader "queen". They have no interest in expanding their hive, though they will gladly take new converts trespassers and help them see the light.

A black spire miles high with a single door. the inside is an evershifting labyrinth, though no one who hasn't been inside would know that. And no ones ever made it back out.

A radio tower in the desert transmits an unsolved, repeating code.

all of them still hungry. Still looking to devour

#world of loam

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thefinancialpyramid · 2 years

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Black Americans Have Had Too Little Life Insurance for Decades. Here’s How One Agent Is Fighting That

When America talks about race and money, life insurance doesn’t get as much attention as topics like wages or mortgages. But there are disparities in the way the insurance industry has served Black Americans too. Atlanta life insurance agent Ebony Ruffin, whose agency specializes in helping Black families build wealth, has seen these first hand.

“Black families are definitely buying life insurance now,” she says, as the Black middle class expands and the industry has gradually begun paying attention to them. But, she adds, the community remains “underinsured as a whole.”

Data bears out Ruffin’s observations. For example, Black respondents to a 2020 survey by Haven Life were actually a little more likely than whites to have life insurance coverage — with 8 in 10 Black consumers saying they had it, compared with 7 in 10 white families.

But Black survey respondents carried a lot less coverage. Where the average death benefit for whites who had insurance was $150,000, Black consumers carried only $50,000 — a third as much. Income disparities don’t fully explain the gap either. Black respondents in the survey made $50,100 a year on average, only about $5,000 less than whites surveyed.

We spoke to Ruffin, founder of Ruffin Consulting Services, to hear what she thinks about how the life insurance industry is serving Black families.

Here’s our conversation, edited for length and flow.

Q: Looking back historically, in what ways do you think Black customers were traditionally served, or perhaps ill-served, with life insurance?

Well, there was of course redlining when it came to how mortgages and bank loans were extended, or not extended, to Black customers. And I don’t think the life insurance industry entirely escaped that legacy, of not serving Black families fully enough.

Insurance was sold to the community, the focus was on burial coverage. Term life was sold, but permanent life [like whole life and universal life] was never really mentioned. Burial insurance was the main product. When the insurance man visited my grandmother, for example, the conversation was, you know, “Mrs. Ruffin, we want to make sure you have enough money to bury your brother, we know you love him so much, and you want to make sure that you have enough in life insurance to bury him.”

So while burial coverage was perhaps all that some families could afford, the emphasis on it may not always have served customers who could afford more coverage, to replace lost income and so on.

Q: What do you see as driving the healthy levels of acquisition now — at least in terms of families having some kind of policy?

I think it starts with growing affluence compared with past generations. More people in the Black community are owning their own businesses, going to college, getting a good education, and with that has come higher levels of wealth — and a desire to preserve that, and to pass it along to their children and grandchildren.

That concern with passing along wealth is increasingly important to the community as more things about our history are being uncovered and better disclosed. Events like the destruction of “Black Wall Street” underline that there have been a lot of barriers and threats to Black people keeping what they have. That’s made it a higher priority for people to do what they can now to lessen future pain, to create generational wealth so that the next generation actually has something to work with, rather than having to start again from the beginning.

Q: So people have policies but maybe not ones that provide sufficient protection. Why does the amount of coverage for Black policyholders so often fall short? And how do you address that with your clients?

Black families are still underinsured, and to me the root cause of that is not affordability, in the sense of not having enough for the premiums. Instead, I think it’s more of a mindset, perhaps based on the low amounts that their parents or grandparents may have taken out.

When people see what it costs to have a benefit of, say, five to seven times their annual income, as is often recommended, there can be a tendency to say: How can we tailor that cost back a little bit?

That resistance sometimes means selling the client a certain amount now, but coming back to them in a year to ask: Did you receive a raise through your job, how is revenue through your business? Are you able to increase your premium by $25 to $30 to get the coverage level you really need?

Q: On the whole, across all demographics, women are less likely to have life insurance than men. Do you notice a gender gap in coverage within the Black community?

I do, but it isn’t necessarily that particular gap. For a lot of the clients I work with, the women are leading the narrative of life insurance in their household. The men don’t always find it a priority. Which is a real concern, of course, given the history of health for black men in our community. [Life expectancy in 2020 for Black males in the U.S. was nearly seven years less than the overall norm — 68.3 years, compared with 75.1 years for the male population as a whole, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.]

We also have to acknowledge the fact that the woman in the household will more than likely outlive the man, and the cost of insurance for men is much higher. And premiums get higher, of course, the longer you wait to get insurance. So by the time a Black male gets to his late 40s or early 50s, and is considering life insurance, he will experience sticker shock, especially if he looks to get a permanent life policy.

Q: What could or should the insurance industry be doing to better serve its customers of color? .

I think the same things it needs to do better for all of its customers. The industry doesn’t do as good a job as they should with any community in educating customers about their products and why they’re needed. That’s why I decided to do an educational video series.

Also, I think the financial products industry as a whole could be smarter about finding ways to sell solutions that combine products. For example, I’ve decided to be certified to offer investment advice so that I can recommend, say, a solution of buying both a life insurance policy and an IRA, and have greater capability to make sure the solutions all come together.

Credits: Paul Reynolds Date: Jun 15, 2021 Source: https://money.com/life-insurance-for-black-families-interview/

#lifehealthadvisors #areteautomation #blacklivesmatter #lifeinsurance #financialpyramid #protection #legacyplanning #estatetax

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storiesforallfandoms · 3 years

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bloodlust ~ jasper hale;twilight

word count: 1754

request?: yes!

“I’m not sure if you do Twilight, but if so can you please write a Jasper Hale x reader where it’s just him coming to terms with his feelings and trying not to push the reader away just cause they’re human. Thank you no matter what love :))”

description: when she thinks he’s avoiding her because he hates her, he has to tell her his biggest secret

pairing: jasper hale x female!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of death

masterlist (one, two)

I didn’t understand Bella’s extreme obsession with Edward Cullen after they started dating until Jasper Hale started showing me the same attention.

I had known Jasper since the Cullens moved to Forks. Or rather I knew of Jasper. Much like his adopted siblings, Jasper kept to himself or to the Cullens. It wasn’t until our English teacher paired us together for a project that I finally got to know him.

Despite the whole school knowing that Jasper and Alice were together, I started to notice that the way he looked at me, or the way he treated me, mirrored Edward and Bella’s own romance. And before I knew it, my feelings also mirrored Bella’s.

I felt on top of the world to have the attention of such a beautiful man. I felt unworthy, but at the same time I felt a sense of pride. And overall, I felt strong, romantic feelings for Jasper; feelings I was sure he had for me as well.

Until he started ignoring me suddenly. He wouldn’t talk to me, he changed seats in English class to be further away from me. He wouldn’t even look at me when we were in the same room.

“He hates me,” I said to Jessica as Jasper drifted past me in the lunchroom without acknowledgement once again. “I don’t now why, but that’s the only reason I can think of that he’d be ignoring me.”

“Or Alice has him back on her chain,” Jessica suggested with a shrug.

“He and Alice broke up a while ago, Jess,” Angela pointed out. “Didn’t you know that?”

I laughed as Jessica shook her head. “The great gossip of Forks didn’t know something? Mark the calendar, Angela, this is a historic day.”

Jessica threw her nearly rock hard dinner roll at me.

That evening while I was home alone, a knock came at my front door. Confused, I went to answer. I was shocked to see Jasper stood there, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Jas?” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“I owe you an explanation,” he told me. “Care for a drive?”

I followed him to the flashy sports car he drove, one of very few in all of Forks - the others belonging to his siblings. He held the door open for me as I got in. He was in the driver’s seat and had the car started before I even had my seatbelt on.

Jasper’s driving was way too fast, and he was weaving in and out of the cars too carelessly. I was starting to regret my decision to get in his car. One hand was gripping the passenger door so tightly my knuckles were white. Jasper noticed and chuckled.

“Relax, I drive like this all the time,” he assured me.

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better,” I muttered. Jasper chuckled again, which made me slightly annoyed.

After some time, Jasper pulled up to a hiking trail a short ways out of town. I watched him unbuckle his seatbelt and get out of the car. He paused, waiting for me to follow. I was starting to feel panicked and wondered why I had decided to go with him. Why had he brought me out here alone? Why hadn’t I told anyone where I was going before I left home?

We walked in silence for a while. I started falling behind, stumbling over the twigs and rocks. At one point I almost fell, but Jasper was quick to steady me.

“I forgot you can’t walk as quickly as I can,” he said. “We’re almost there.”

“Almost where?” I asked, but he had already started walking again.

We came to a clearing where the sun was just peaking through the trees. Jasper paused, looking back at me for a moment. “This is going to look silly for a moment, but know there is something serious underneath it.”

Before I could ask, Jasper stepped into one of the sunny patches. I gasped as his skin lit up like a diamond under light. He looked anywhere but at me, as if afraid to see what my reaction to this was.

I approached him slowly, extending a hand towards him. I poked some exposed skin, wondering if I was about to find out I was dreaming or that Jasper had never been real to begin with. His skin was cold and hard as stone, and I realized in that moment that I had never touched Jasper’s bare skin before.

“What is this?” I asked. “What are you showing me?”

“I heard you talking to Jessica and Angela at lunch today,” he explained, “about whether or not I hated you and if that was why I was avoiding you. But the truth is I was avoiding you for the opposite reason. I don’t hate you, (Y/N). I never could, but I’m dangerous. To you, anyways.”

I stepped back, feeling very uneasy. “What do you mean, Jas?”

“I’m not...human,” he explained. “And I haven’t been for decades. There are many names for what I am, but the most commonly used is vampire.”

I felt like the air had been knocked out of me. I was convinced this was some sort of practical joke on me, but I didn’t think any of the Cullens were capable of doing that.

“Are...are all of you...” I started, trying to find my words.

“We are,” he confirmed. “Carlisle found all of us and changed most of us. There’s a very long history about our family. I won’t go into it now, I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked him.

Jasper stepped out of the light, his skin almost immediately returning to normal. Every logical part of me was telling me not to let Jasper get closer to me, but at the same time I trusted him. I didn’t think he was going to hurt me, I trusted him not to hurt me.

He reached out for me, but hesitated. Against my better judgement, I stepped forward to let him touch me. His hands were cold against the skin on my exposed arms. His golden eyes looked down into mine and I felt myself subconsciously leaning into his body.

“Because I feel something for you that I’ve never felt for anyone besides Alice before,” he told me. “And I know you feel the same way for me. I tried to distance myself for your safety. I’m still new to living with humans as I was the last to join the Cullen’s lifestyle of just feeding from animals, but I realized that was only hurting you more. I needed to tell you so that you could make your own decision about how you felt for me.”

He was right, it was a lot to take in. I had so many questions, but at the mention of Alice I realized there was one outstanding question I needed answered before we went any further.

“What about you and Alice?” I asked. “You two have been together...I guess basically forever. What made you two decide to break up?”

“Alice, Edward and I all have special powers that we developed after we were changed. Edward can read minds, I can feel and manipulate emotions - which is how I know for sure that you feel the same way for me - and Alice can see the future. She saw many visions that included you - most of which included the two of us in a romantic setting. I told her it would never happen because I loved her so much, but she was so sure I’d love you too. She told me to wait until we were paired up for that project and I’d actually get to know you, then I could make that decision.”

I winced. Knowing that Alice saw visions of her boyfriend falling in love with another woman - a human at that - before Jasper even knew I existed made me feel guilty.

“Was she angry?” I asked, my voice a whisper.

Jasper laughed, a beautiful sound that echoed through the otherwise empty woods. “Not at all. If anything, she was excited. She claims that you two are going to be best friends the way she is with Bella, and she’s very excited to have another female in the family. That is...if you’re still willing to be with me with...what you know now.”

I had to admit, the thought of the person I was in love with being a vampire was terrifying. Not because of the needing to drink blood to live - like I said, I trusted Jasper. If his or any of the Cullens’ desire for blood was a risk, they wouldn’t be living amongst humans. But the thought of growing old while Jasper remained the same age forever, of him eventually not wanting to be with me because of that age difference was terrifying. And the alternative...I didn’t want to consider that right now.

I moved closer to Jasper. He moved his hands to my waist, pulling me so that my body was touching his. Our lips were inches away, and I finally leaned in to close the gap between us.

His lips, much like the rest of his body, were cold, but I felt a sensation when kissing him that I had never felt before. I placed a hand against his face, gently stroking his hard skin as our lips moved perfectly together. His grip around my waist tightened a little, but not enough to hurt me. It felt more like he was making sure I wouldn’t disappear on him.

I pulled away first, resting my forehead against his. “I hope that gives you your answer.”

He smiled and I felt a happy sensation wash over me. I remembered he said he could manipulate the emotions of others and I wondered if his happiness was so strong that it was effecting me as well, or if he wanted me to know how happy he felt.

“We should get you home,” he said. “Your parents will probably be worried sick if they come home and you’re missing.”

“You’re right,” I said. I reluctantly pulled him his grasp, but took his hand in mine as we walked back to the car. “But can you not drive like a maniac on the way home? I’d rather not die of a heart attack in your car.”

Jasper chuckled. “No promises. One thing you have to learn about vampires, we love to go fast.”

#jasper hale #jasper hale imagine #jasper hale x reader #jackson rathbone #jackson rathebone imagine #jackson rathbone x reader #twilight #twilight imagine #twilight saga #imagine #one shot #request #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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marvellovegalore · 3 years

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Breaking You

Chris Evans

Parte Deux - Hurting You

Synopsis: You begin to feel the true consequences of you hurting Chris and it's beginning to overwhelm you - and him.

Word Count: 2,483

Author's Note: I listened to quite a few songs to truly get into the vibe of this but The Cinematic Orchestra - To build a home (slowed) really got me into the energy I want to be delivered from this write-up. Happy Reading! Feel free to let me know how you feel!

Warning: Explicit Language, Mention of Mental Illness, Sexual Content

You’ve rarely had to consider yourself as someone who runs from her problems. You’d probably proudly tell anyone that asked that you quite confidently tackle your problems head-on.

However, you’ve created quite a serious problem for yourself. A broken heart.

What you have periled numerous men with, is now afflicting you. The odd thing is, is that you are exulting in it. It’s an oddly familiar sensation; it drowns your body in an intangible sickness that paralyses and asphyxiates you.

You sit at your piano, watching the silent and unmoving countryside. The fields of Portofino showered with golden sunlight, the brio reflecting into your room.

You haven’t pushed aside the sheer curtains since you arrived four days ago. You’ve taken your first shower this morning, the water sinking you into its comforting, warm embrace. You don’t really want to tell yourself aloud why you chose to come back to your grandparents’ old house, when stuff is going wrong. You’ve decided that playing the piano and smoking your days away is better than confronting yourself in the mirror - good thing all the furniture is covered with sheets. The sorry state of your face would make you plunder even deeper into your melancholy.

You will yourself to forget him and try to forget his existence.

But it’s virtually impossible, with him promoting a new film three towns over.

Good thing is you feel physically incapable of stepping outside of the confines of the house. The ladies that tend to the house scurry around the town buying food for the house and maintain its upkeep, they attempt to feed you three meals a day or four. You refuse most of the time, and they regard you with concerned gazes.

How could you begin to explain that with breaking a man’s heart, you subsequently had broken your own? His words blistered with bitterness bit you and dragged you down to the same pits of sadness that you plunged him into. You can probably say that you loved him, but you’ll probably truly never grasp why you can’t stay in something that requires such cemented commitment.

“Signora?” Your house governess interrupts your train of thought, you pull your cigarette away from your lips. “Sí?” She presents you with a letter addressed to you. The handwriting vaguely familiar to you. You thank her and dismiss her, the cigarette back in between your lips.

The letter doesn’t inform you of who it is from, but you hope, in the depths of your ribs that it’s from him, but you couldn’t possibly understand why he would ask to meet with you. He left you wordlessly two months ago and hasn’t been in contact since, not even through subliminal messages on social media. You can wager that you’re probably dead to him. It was made clear to you when you stood at the beach outside of your friend’s Malibu compound. He would rather die than get back with you; you don’t blame him.

You turn back to your piano, the keys feeling like lead beneath your shaky fingers. You play out a melancholic tune, your fingers feeling like they’re losing blood, you play clumsily, your eyes welling with tears.

You do have to admit, you feel extremely guilty for leaving him.

Life was beautiful with him.

He would have served you the sun on a platter if it meant making you smile - but you’re meant to destroy beautiful things.

It was what your father told you. You ruined his marriage to your mother; your sheer existence drove her to the brink of insanity. Since you were conceived you were a parasite that took the love your mother had for your father and you guzzled it out of her, taking all of her focus and affection. When you were born your parents refused the diagnosis of postpartum psychosis. Your mother believed you were an angel sent from heaven and doctors were trying to take you from her; so, she slowly succumbed to the madness and your father eventually was forced to send her away. The resentment he felt towards you all but scented the house, you were a poisonous leech, and you were treated as such.

You take the last drag of your cigarette and drag yourself to your walk-in closet, you decide on taking another shower - scrubbing away the odour of tar and smoke. You ready yourself for your strange and mysterious encounter. You dress yourself and half an hour later rush out to your car. The sun is low in the sky by the time you start driving away from the house, the countryside hugging you from all sides.

The drive is long into the town centre. The sky is blushed with pink and tinges of orange. You park your car and take a slow walk to the Splendido Mare; you enter the hotel’s restaurant and are led to a table. Your order a glass of wine and wait. After ten minutes you take out the letter, you read it from start to finish and confirm that the invitation was not a figment of your imagination; you were indeed summoned here by a mystery writer. Whom you hope is him.

You sit for half an hour at your table, you sip your anxiety away through two glasses of wine, you step outside and smoke two cigarettes and yet you’re still waiting. You flit through your phone notifications; you decide against your better judgement to type his name into the Goggle search bar. You fleetingly glance around the sparsely attended restaurant. You lock your phone without looking at the updates about him.

The thought of him makes your chest ache, harshly. The pain is tangible, you place your hands over your chest and wince. Something is not right.

You’re not aware of his slow approach, his hands wringing around each other, his cheeks red with nervous energy. He wishes he had had a shot of something - anything before getting here. He doesn’t recall what filled him the mad inspiration to send you a stamped letter to meet him at his hotel restaurant. He doesn’t know whether he wishes he had just called the brunette and spoken to her tonight; but he misses you. Madly.

He pulls out the chair in front of you. You can both tell that you’re holding in your breath.

Every time you see him it feels like the first time, all over again.

And he feels the same, but for either of you to admit it would be succumbing to defeat. You’re engaged in a silent and unspoken battle of wills.

“You sent me a letter?” You show him the letter. He nods, you sigh. “What is it you want to talk about?” You’re afraid to look into his eyes, they’re huge lakes filled with your dreams and deepest desires.

He hesitates, a ghostly sentence is formed on his tongue – he decides against materialising it. “I heard you were nearby; thought we could catch up.” He motions for the waiter. You narrow your eyes in - almost offence. What does he think, that you’re old pals?

He wants to catch up, but you want to do everything. Mostly profess your adoration for him and make love to him.

You despise the feeling; you’ve never felt like this for anyone. The alien feeling makes you heat up, your chest rises and falls quickly; agony filling your body as if you were a vessel to claim. “Right,” is all you can utter.

“What have you been up to?” He’s ordered two martinis, his eyes connecting to yours. You wince as the pain in your chest returns. How can he be so close yet so far?

“I was filming a fragrance campaign recently.” You speak quickly, an itch to smoke tickling your fingers. He nods, his eyebrows raised high.

“Nice.” He sighs and extends his clasped hands further onto the table. You look even more beautiful than in his thoughts, which he can’t expel you from. It seems your haunting presence is with him to stay, and his imagination can’t do any justice to your face and your intoxicating smell.

The conversation you have over your first drinks is dry, emotionless and full of hidden desires.

After each of you have three cocktails you let out the first laugh. He’s released himself a bit from the shackles of wanting to one-up you, his joke about his dog’s stubbornness reminding you of the good days of domesticity with Christopher and his dog. You move out to the terrace, candles flickering in the wind; you share more laughs. Memories being shared between you about life together.

There’s a clear shared emotion - longing. You crave the late summer nights sharing the dance floor with his friends or yours; him undressing you slowly in your pool; the nights watching the fire pit in your Santa Barbara home; the dinners enclosed in brick walled Italian restaurants with candles illuminating your elated faces.

“Come up with me.” His suggestion is quiet, his lips edging closer to yours. You nod, overcome with emotion. He grips on to your hand, the grip of a man thanking his lucky stars. He leads you to his room, on the top floor. A paradisiacal view of the sea and hills greeting you. The sun has set completely, and the moon casts a pale light over the buildings across the water.

Chris closes the door, and no sooner is he clutching at your lips with his. His hands smother you onto him and you meet him with the same desperation. Your hands slip under his shirt and moan into his mouth, your lipstick smearing over his lips. You feel him inhale your smell; he sighs desperately as he pulls you closer to him. You fall onto the chaise lounge in front of the open doors leading onto his balcony. The wind whispers sweet nothings onto your skins as you meld together, your bodies wanting desperately to be combined. He removes your clothes with familiar precision and your fingers touch him where you know he likes it.

The grooves of his skin are familiar, his dick entering you slowly as your fingers caress his tanned skin. He looks spectacular underneath you, his skin illuminated by the moonlight. You ride him slowly, you lips adventuring each other, like your bodies are each other’s long lost home territory. Your lips touch again, but it feels like the first time all over again. You feel yourself melting, your brain feels high, your limbs terribly relaxed. You guess this is what true love feels like. There’s nowhere else you’d want to be.

You love him. Only him.

He turns you over, on all fours, one hand gripping your throat and the other around your hair. He thrusts into you - with passion, his lips ghost over your shoulder. You feel your eyes close, the strength to fight the sedation unable to be found. It goes on for a while, and he flattens you onto your stomach. He lays on top of you, his hips gyrating against your skin, his arms encircling your torso. You feel safe, his head laying to rest in between you shoulder and jawline. He inhales your scent and kisses your shoulder, his lips printing their mark on your skin.

He turns you over and takes a deep breath, his eyes hold your entire world. They’ve trapped you into his universe and you have no desire to leave. He’s your whole world and you gave him away on a silver platter - but he’s here. He accommodates himself in between your legs and gives you a hug, his lips find yours in the darkness. The moonlight bathes you generously and he nestles himself inside you again. His lips refuse to leave yours; his thrusts grow in fervour; he wants to bury himself inside you and never leave.

He’s so deeply, and madly in love with you.

He can’t believe you hurt him. He hates you for it.

He pulls away from your kiss, his breathing heavy and slightly laboured.

His hides his face in the nook under your head. You feel like crumpling when you feel tears run over your shoulder, you hug him tighter. You want to stitch his wounds closed, tightly with your bare fingers and your lips. You want to mould your bodies together and live forever in this moment. His fingers reach for your clitoris and he makes love to you in two different ways. Your head lolls back and you feel ecstatic, currents washing over you slowly and you orgasm.

Chris kisses you desperately, swallowing your moans. He thrusts into you, complementing your orgasm. He releases himself into you, slowly moaning into your mouth.

After a few moments he stands up from the lounge chair and heads to the shower, as he walks through the door, he turns to you. He smiles in a way that you understand is an invitation to join him in the shower. You stand slowly, your legs feeling like jelly. You join him for a warm shower, peppered with tender kisses and saccharine touches.

Your bodies unconsciously refuse to part until you’re lying in his bed. He turns off the lamp and lays facing you.

A sweet look embalms his irises. His hand lifts itself to nestle under your cheekbone. He regards you softly.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice shaky.

You smile sleepily, “I love you too.”

You’re hypnotised to sleep by his soft breaths.

—

The sunlight reflected on the lake wakes you out of you slumber, the first dreamless one you’ve had in months. You turn to the side where Chris is and find nothing but empty air. You sit up quickly; the room is deadly silent. Nothing but your movements on the bed make noise. You scramble out of the bed and look for him.

There’s no trace of him in the room. You let out small wail of desperation. What if it was all a dream?

You pace the room, an uneasy feeling setting itself in your chest. You feel the space between your ribs tighten and your head feel faint. Your legs feel weak and unsteady, you crumple into a heap near the chaise lounge. Your breath feels constricted, massively so. The world begins to spin, and you fall onto your back.

It feels like a heart attack.

You can barely feel your heart.

You drag yourself to the counsel table, desperate to reach the phone. Your hand misses it massively, instead a hotel branded paper flickers down next to you. You pick it up, the tightness in your chest limiting your movement.

I guess this is goodbye, I can’t get over the fact that I’ll never be able to trust you. No matter how much I want to.

I hate you for ruining us

I’ll miss you, forever.

With all my love,

Parte Quatre -

Tags -

@chvntelle-99, @krispy-toes, @hampass, @calimoi, @saltyflowermakertaco

#chris evans imagine #chris evans #chris evans x female reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans angst #chris evans smut #chris evans fluff #andy barber #andy barber series #andy barber one shot #chris evans blurb #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers fanfiction

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frosted-night · 3 years

Note

Do you have any headcanons for cast as humans? I mean as a human au. (If this is too big of an ask thats fine)

BOY DO I

Let me just get my tome out n read y'all the lore I've made for no reason.

Jack

Left home after graduating to join a caravan and traveled across the country. He came back home after his parent's sudden deaths. He didn't want to leave his brother to deal with the estate by himself.

He still has his van from his adventures and he wants to paint it again to symbolize his new phase in life. It still has living accomdations inside it and Jack has little desire to change it.

He has a few tattoos, such as a hurricane symbol on his neck and a snowflake above one of his ankles. Jack also has a few ear piercings he did himself and he's surprisingly good at it.

If Jack isn't driving he travels by longboard. He had a skater boy phase but it payed off since he can still do a few tricks here and there.

(Sometimes I see human Jack either as cis or trans. It depends on how im feeling. A trans Human Jack post will be seperate from this one)

He's a skilled forager and grower since he had to do that as his years as a nomad. Jack wouldn't claim he's as skilled as Aster but he can be a runner up behind him.

Jack never had a solid relationship on the road. It was very fleeting feelings but he didn't seem to mind. Settling back down at his hometown had reawakened some buried feelings though.

He's fairly well known in his hometown for being a mischievous bastard in his teen years and his past with playing on the local hockey team.

Jack would describe his aesthetic as a love child of punk and free spirited hippie lifestyle.

He has unmedicated adhd

He's 6 or 7 years older than his younger brother Manny and it can make their relationship a bit strained. These days they are trying to mend it while taking care of their parent's old home.

His hair was originally brown but he bleaches it and dyes it white these days.

Manny (Mim)

He's one of the youngest in his friend group, beating Tooth by a few months.

Manny is the 2nd shortest, Sandy being the shortest.

Jack leaving home wasn't easy for him and after a while Manny fell out of contact. He regrets it to this very day but never stopped thinking about his big brother.

He has Thalassophobia, a fear shared with Jack, and Pitch teases him endlessly about it.

He's a natural blonde and his mom used to tell him that he got it from his dad's side of the family. Manny has yet to meet any of his extended family for some reason.

Cleaning out his parents house of their things was one of the hardest parts for him and would have been impossible if his friends didn't help him. (Jack coming home really changed the game too.)

He was a fairly average kid but had a streak of being kind of mean in school. It lasted until high school but he still carries that silver tongue between his teeth.

Tooth jokes about how often Manny visits the local aquarium and he deflects any guesses she makes. North knows Manny is crushing hard on a employee there and has a code word for the guy, "Ocean Man". Aster hums the song whenever he feels like he can poke fun of Manny.

His occupation is working at a pre-school/daycare. He's shockingly amazing with children and has considered a teaching position there but he has yet to decide on it.

Manny has been called a "night owl" by all his friends since his productivity increases when the sun goes down. Thats usually the time he gets to work on all the cleaning he's missed.

He currently lives in his childhood home with his brother. Thankfully their home was paid off by their parents so they just split the bills, but they have considered getting a roomie to help with the expenses.

His dream is to have any kind of a pool in his backyard but he has to wait til the finances balance themselves out.

Pitch

Was the newest person in the group before Jack joined. He's also one of the oldest.

His occupation is a horror novel writer and lives off of coffee even when hes not crunching to meet deadlines.

Pitch fights with insomnia but Sandy convinced him to start taking medication to help him sleep. He got kind of sick hearing Pitch make quick meals at 3am and tripping over his cat.

He has a cat named Onyx and he has that backpack with a window on it that he can put Onyx in. Onyx likes it very much and if she knows hes leaving somewhere she sits by the backpack and stares at him.

Halloween is when he's at his strongest. If he feels like it, he competes with North on who has the best decorations. Jack gave Pitch the idea of using dry ice and its a feature he brings back every other year or so.

He's one of the tallest people in the group, only coming a few inches shorter than North. Contrary to people asking him, he was never into basket ball and was was in the military for a period of time.

Pitch was living a hermit life until he was adopted into the group. With his wife long deceased and freshly dumped, he softly considers it a saving grace that everyone accepted him.

Katherine

An aspiring writer, she currently works at the neighborhood library. She finds it really relaxing since its sat right by a river bed.

She tries not to bug Pitch too much but on occassion she asks him to beta read her works. His criticism and tips energize her to get her works out there ten fold. Kat really wants to write fantasy, a little romance and a lot of kid's books.

Her favorite task at work is reading to kids. Shes an animated storyteller and the kids eat her antics up.

She was great friends with Jack when they were growing up but she followed his antics on a few of his accounts online.

She listens to a lot of rock music and punk pop due to North's influence when she was growing up. He's taken to her to her first concert and she treasures the merch and memories.

She gets around by bike because she hasn't gotten her lisence yet but North gives her lessons on the weekends. Kat's become a local cryptid because everyone has seen her whiz past on her bike at least once though.

A child(Jamie) she read to got her into cryptids and now she eats up any lore she can. They like to infodump on each other when they have the time.

This is post is long enough golly gosh. If y'all are interested i can post the others but for now take these samples. (The Hockey player Jack hc n ex military Pitch hc were influenced by a lovely fic written by my friends over at @bunnimew. Their fic is Surviving On Twinkies And Hope and i highly reccomend it)

#rise of the guardians #guardians of childhood #rotgoc #jackson overland frost #jack frost #jack frost rotg #man in the moon #man in the moon rotg #mim #mim rotg #pitch black rotg #pitch black #katherine shalazar #katherine rotg #headcanons #human au #heehee the ocean man thing is an inside joke

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all-my-love-for-harry · 3 years

Text

I love you meow and furever

summary: the hard part about having animals is knowing we’re their whole life but they’re only here for a small part of ours.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: angst with some fluff, mentions of death (of a pet) and grieving a loss.

a/n: hello again! i know i haven’t posted in a while and i’m sorry! i’ve been writing some pieces, trying to make longer one shots and whatnot, hopefully those will be out soon enough. the reason why i’m posting this is because recently my childhood cat passed away and i wrote this trying to feel a little better. hope you enjoy, please please let me know what you think!

read the rest of my work here.

(gif not mine)

Salem wasn't only a cat. Salem was a companion, a friend. Salem was, for the longest time, her shoulder to cry on. The only one who was there for her every night after a shitty day. She knew from the moment she looked into those yellow eyes that she was going to do whatever it takes to give that cat the best life it could possibly have. Y/n knew pets aren't immortal, and after fifteen years with hers, she tries to prepare herself for the day where Salem couldn't be with her anymore. People close to her tried to avoid the topic, and honestly so did she. Y/n didn't want to talk about how the world would look like after Salem is gone, so she always focused on her furry friend that was cuddled with her on the bed and pushing those thoughts away.

But all the preparation didn't make it hurt anything less when the day actually came.

It wasn't long after Y/n moved in with her boyfriend of two years, Harry. Both Y/n and Salem got used to the house pretty quickly, and Harry never minded seeing the black cat's things around the house, if anything it made him like his house was becoming a home and for once it looked like someone actually lived there. He liked the idea of coming home and going straight to the living room because he just knew he'd find them cuddling there. Salem was also an extremely well-behaved cat, he's never in his life scratched or hissed at anyone and has always been loving and affectionate. As Salem got old, it got harder for him to do things he used to do when he was a kitten. He stopped eating at some point and started to lose a lot of weight, causing Y/n to give him vitamins and all kinds of supplements to help him gain weight again. For some time it worked, and Y/n felt incredibly relieved about it. But then it got hard for Salem to get up and move around, causing him problems to go to the bathroom.

Harry was out at the gym when he got a call from Y/n. It was the way her shaky voice was interrupted with hiccups every few words and how she was practically asking him to rush home without really asking how he knew the moment of putting Salem down has arrived. Harry wasn't sure if he had ever experienced that kind of pain before that day, and to this day he still couldn't describe the way his heart broke into a million pieces when Salem's heart stopped beating and Y/n couldn't breathe because of how hard she was crying. He remembered staying on the floor with her for hours, letting her cry on his chest. She'd stop for a moment, thinking she had no tears left to cry but then she remembered her life companion was gone and a new wave of sobs hit her. That circle went on until the sun went down and the natural light of the moon was the only thing illuminating them.

Weeks passed and Harry didn't even question when he found cat food still in the kitchen, or when he saw Salem's toys and cat trees still around the house. She didn't seem to want to throw them away, and Harry certainly wasn't going to ask her to. He also didn't question the time he found her crying on the floor of the kitchen of their shared house because she bought cat food when she was at the store without realizing she didn't need it anymore.

However, Harry didn't realize how emotionally dependent she was on Salem until he came home one day and found her crying in their bedroom while holding a blanket Salem used to sleep with. He didn't know what to do to help her, and he hated the fact that he felt so useless.

"I just don't know what to do anymore, mum." He said one day through the phone. "I hate seeing her like this."

Anne sighed. "Poor Y/n, everyone knew how much Salem meant to her."

"What can I do to make it better?"

"Here's the thing, sweetheart. It's never going to stop hurting. Time will help, for sure, but it will keep hurting until it becomes a more bearable pain." She paused. "Let her grieve her loss. When the time is right, you will pull her out of that hole, I'm sure of that." Harry nodded even though his mum couldn't exactly see him. "Maybe not right now but, perhaps adopting a new kitten would help."

"I thought of that, I just didn't know how to bring it up to her. Don't want her to think I'm ready to replace Salem." He sighed. He only knew the cat for two years, but it was enough to know it hurt him too. He's shed a few tears himself, mostly in the shower to try and not disturb his girlfriend. "I'll tell you what we decide, I gotta go mum."

"Please do. I love you, baby."

"Love you too, mum."

Just as he told his mum, Harry started to find ways to tell Y/n they could adopt a pet if she wanted to, he understood if she didn't want to have another cat, but he knew how much Y/N loved animals. She was so good to them and had such a big heart Harry couldn't think she'd stop herself from giving some of all the love she had to offer to an animal that needed it. It could be a cat, a dog, hell he'd buy her a fish if that was what her heart desired.

Ever since Salem passed, Y/n laid on the bed of their bedroom and played All Dead, All Dead by Queen religiously every day through the speakers. Of course, Harry let her be. It was her coping mechanism, he guessed. So when he heard the music upstairs, he immediately knew where to find her. He stood by the doorway, looking at the love of her life lying on their bed. He hesitates to enter the room, not wanting to disturb her, but he needed to talk to her so he pushed himself from the doorway and made his way to where she was, taking a seat next to her.

"Hey, lovie." He said softly, reaching for her hand.

"Hey, H." She gave him a small smile. "I'll be down in a minute."

"Take your time, darling. I... wanted to talk to you about something."

"Is everything okay?" She furrowed her eyebrows.

"Yeah! It's nothing bad, I promise." He said. "I talked to mum, she said the Humane Society back home just got a bunch of rescues in need for a home." Y/n opened her mouth to say something but Harry was not done. "I thought we could drive there this week and go there. We don't need to adopt one if you don't want to but look around wouldn't hurt."

"Harry... I'm not ready." She said. "I'm not sure I can go there without breaking into sobs."

"I'll be there with you, baby. I swear you'll be fine."

"I'm not ready to have another one." She said in a shaky voice. "I feel like... like I'm betraying Sally in a way. It's been only two months and... I miss him, H." Y/n started crying again. "I'm scared of forgetting him, how he was like. What if we adopt one and I forget him?"

"Oh, sweetheart." He cooed, taking her into his arms. "That's not going to happen. Salem will always be present with us and will always watch over you as he used to when he was here. Adopting another pet won't change what you lived with Salem, or how much he meant and still means to you. I get that you're not ready, but I also know how much you love cats, and how you're always thinking about the ones that don't have a home, someone to love them and take care of them. You have the biggest heart, and you've always been so good to animals, I wouldn't want you to close off to the idea of giving one the opportunity to experience what it feels like to have a person who loves them. We don't have to go this week if you don't want to but promise me you'll think about it, alright?"

"I promise." That's all she said before wrapping her arms around Harry's torso, cuddling closer to him.

Y/n thought about it for a while, she really did. Everything Harry said stuck in her head and with every day that passed, she felt less and less guilty of thinking about getting a new cat. The thought was still at the back of her head and it obviously still hurt but Y/n thought she was ready to accept Harry's offer to go to the Humane Society to look at the kittens and doing it without having a mental breakdown. She decided to tell Harry as they were making breakfast, only two weeks later after he first brought it up.

"So... I thought about what you told me the other day." She started. Harry's face lights up as he immediately knew what she was talking about. "And I think you're right. We can go there and look at the kittens. We don't have to adopt one."

"We don't have to adopt one." He reassured her, although he knew that thought might change once they crossed the doors of the Humane Society.

They decided to go on Wednesday. Halfway through the week, probably not many people would be there meaning they would have more time with the kittens if they wanted. The entire ride Harry could feel the anxiety radiating from Y/n's body. She was nervous, very nervous. No matter how many times she tried to convince herself she was fine, she still knew she was going to cry as soon as they entered the building. That's why she let Harry do all the talking and just followed him through the hallway that would take them to the room where they had all the cats. They had the cats and the dogs in different rooms, the majority of the dogs were in cages but the cats were allowed outside of them. They were the only ones there so as soon as they entered, Y/n cooed out loud at the sight of the cats and sat on the floor where immediately a couple of them walked towards her and started to sniff her.

"I'm going to cry." She announced.

"They're cute, aren't they?" Harry said, extending one hand towards an orange cat for it to sniff. "This one's name's Chester."

She looked up at Harry with tears in her eyes. "I want them all."

"I know you do." He smiled sweetly at her.

They spent a couple of hours there, just hanging out with all of the cats. Some of them were shy and wouldn't come close to them, and some would even lay on their laps and take a nap. The only thing Y/n could think about was how badly she wanted one. She's missed having the weight of a little ball of fur on top of you, purring and begging for some cuddles.

"Can we get one?" She looked at Harry again, who was patiently waiting for her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I mean, I miss having a pet. And you're right, I will always love Salem, that won't change."

Harry nodded. "What if we get a kitten? You said that when you got Salem he was already a year old."

"I think a kitten will be amazing."

There were only two girl kittens available, one was a small white one and the other one was a tortoiseshell. The latest was so unique looking, and wouldn't stop rubbing herself on Harry's hand. The cat allowed Y/n to pick her up and started purring right away. y the look in his girlfriend's eyes, Harry knew that was the one.

They decided to name her Misty. They thought it suits her. Y/n couldn't stop smiling even after leaving the Humane Society, and Harry felt so happy about it. They told them they could come to pick Misty up next Monday, so they had to wait almost a whole week to finally take their new kitten home, but that didn't matter. Harry was fine now that Y/n's smile was back on her face. All she could talk about during the week was how excited she was about getting Misty, so Harry knew he made the right choice by taking her there.

When Sunday came, Harry felt how Y/n started to grow anxious again, her guilty thoughts making a comeback. So he decided to give her something to reassure her that everything was going to be fine.

"So I saw you with Sally's blanket again," Harry said, walking towards her with something behind his back. "And I know what's going through that little head of yours, so I wanted to give you something to assure you he will always be here with us." He shyly put what he was hiding on her lap. Y/n's eyes immediately watered when she saw the framed picture of the two of them with Salem. It was from Y/n's birthday. Anne took it after Y/n blew the candles of her cake, a huge smile on her face while Harry was holding Salem, a smile on his own face. Salem was wearing one of those birthday hats. "You can put it by the fireplace, or by your nightstand."

Y/n looked up at Harry. "Thank you." She breathed out, instantly wrapping her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "I love you so much, Harry."

"I love you too, darling. Just as much as Salem and Misty love you."

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs

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astaroth1357 · 4 years

Note

I love reading your how to guide they're fun to read and I was wondering if you do a how to be the brother's sugar mama 🤣

So I'm not going to lie, I'm pretty sure Lucifer would let you be his Sugar Mama over his actual dead body so... I did a Sugar Baby instead. If you really want me to write the Sugar Mama, message me and I wiiilllll but I think it’s more of a stretch then I was comfortable taking otherwise. But if we're doing this at all, we're going to have to do it NSFW people. It’s going to be sort of unavoidable either way, so strap in cause I sure did.

How to be a Demon's Sugar Baby

Make the Most of Your Bartered Soul!

Well, well, well this is quite the arrangement you've made with the forces of Hell now, isn't it? There's nothing wrong with expecting a full return on your investment since you did give away your soul for this so it's time to enjoy that compensation! While we're sure that you're ready to be spoiled rotten by your beloved demon, there are going to be certain things expected of you in order to keep that affection flowing. In our guide, How to be a Demon's Sugar Baby, we will give you insight into what kind of actions you should expect to perform as well as the benefits you can receive when you start pampering your dearest demon! Always remember, love isn't material, but having good stuff is really nice regardless!

ATTENTION: This guide contains material not suitable for all workplaces. Reader's discretion advised.

Lucifer

What a wonderful selection for this kind of relationship because this demon is loaded! You need not worry about asking for too much. Whatever your heart's desire, Lucifer can provide.

HOWEVER… He's not a very generous demon. Every cent that he gives you, you will have to earn. The man isn't in the business of giving handouts, even to cuties like yourself.

Lucifer can be a demanding Sugar Daddy for sure. He will expect you to be ready for him at the drop of a hat. One text, one call, even a passing mention of your name, and you should be there. No questions asked or you will be punished.

It pays to be astute with Lucifer, too. If you're good, then he shouldn't even have to command you. One step in the room and you should know just what to do and how he's going to want it. Though remember, even if he doesn't say much, he's in control here.

There will be times where he's not looking for a little release and just needs some relaxation. You'll, of course, be expected to provide for that too: back rubs, tea, and pleasant conversation are all options you should get acquainted with very quickly.

Understand this now, anything short of perfection is not tolerated. If he's taking you anywhere, you're going to have to look/be amazing Every. Time. He'll make sure you'll have everything for it, but there's going to be no slacking off with him. Ever.

If you're looking to satisfy Lucifer, you won't just be a side piece or arm candy. You will be a trophy and he will spoil you like one.

Mammon

So maybe you don't like your Sugar Daddy with a lot of cash, but just the inability to say "no" to you in nearly any capacity…? Then Mammon's is your perfect pick!

True, it may not be wise to choose a Sugar Daddy who seems chronically without sugar to give but if there's any gambler in you then Mammon can be a near constant rush.

His highs are your highs, if he's out gambling then he'll want you on his arm or in his lap for good luck. Cheer him on and sprinkle in a bit of teasing because he's positive he makes better bets when he feels on top of the world.

If he makes a killing, then it's an all night celebration. He may even cover you in the Grimm just to enjoy how it looks. You won't stay like that very long though, because he'll need to have his way with you quite a few times before the sun comes up.

Don't fret, most of that money that he makes is going to go towards you anyway. You won't have to worry about him putting his bills over his Sugar (even if it's ill-advised).

Do remember that Mammon is a cheapskate at heart, but you shouldn't have any trouble bypassing that if there's something you want. Flash him some big, watery eyes and he'll cave every time until he goes broke again...

And then his lows are your lows… But if you still show him kindness and compassion even when he's flat broke, we guarantee he will never leave your side.

Leviathan

Are you an otaku/gamer/geek who wants copious amounts of that sweet, sweet merch and a little love on the side? Then you also want Levi.

Just know that this demon is desperate for love in his life so you'll be busy on most days. Levi needs to be lavished in attention: cuddles, pets, kisses, and probably more sex than you can process. He's veeery pent up...

Thankfully, he stays in his room all the time so you can do whatever you like away from prying eyes! Which is good, because he tends to get adventurous when he's confident. There won't be a spot in his room you two have not been before.

Like Mammon, Levi's going to need a cheerleader as much as he does a lover. Nothing is quite like starting a competitive match with someone very vocally in your corner.

We do hope you like anime, video games, or general geekry because he won't tolerate indifference. You need not have memorized the entirety of the TSL Extended Compendium, but you should at least be able to identify his favorite characters or scenes in anything he watches. You won't last long otherwise.

If you can then consider the entirety of Akuzon's wares to be yours. You'll only need to ask. If there's any particular series that you enjoy, expect its merch to be gifted to you whenever he sees it. He'll have very little self-control (especially if it's all for you).

Truthfully, we have no idea where Levi gets his money so just don’t question how he keeps buying you so many things... It's probably some shady cryptocurrency or black market type stuff so we recommend you stay out of his finances, lest you learn something you regret...

Satan

Ah, an intellectual are you? Not satisfied with just a fancy new car or a designer handbag? Do you need the very best that the world has to offer? The most beautiful, artistic, and thought-provoking goods you can find?? Then really your only choice is Satan.

… But do you like pets? We sincerely hope you like pets…

In truth, Satan will want two things from you: some stimulating conversation and a little pet play.

This is very much a "gentleman by day" arrangement. He'll be sure to treat you to very nice things all the time: wine tastings, art shows, even red carpet events thanks to his connections.

He won't mind taking you anywhere as long as you can engage that brain of his. Abstract conversations or discussions about hard topics will earn you even better trips the next time around...

But "by night" you will have a nickname, a collar, and probably a tail plug too. This man is bound and determined to have a cat and he does not care how.

If the idea of crawling for him makes you want to save face then don't worry. You needn't be an obedient kitty, not even for him.

In fact, he'd much prefer you act out from time to time because if there's one thing he likes more than cats, it's brats. Be cute for him and maybe he'll go easy on you if you like.

Asmodeus

Do you like shopping? Just, the act of shopping in general? Do you want someone who won't just sign a check but shop with you? Asmo's the man.

He loves shopping and he loves shopping for you! He won't just stand outside the dressing room on his phone, he'll be a very active participant in making you happy.

A veeerrry active participant… Everywhere… Probably including that dressing room…

You need to understand now that Asmo is insatiable. Whatever you believe a high sex drive is, double it and then you will get Asmo on a Tuesday.

He's giving. Very giving in fact, in money and in bed, but that won't change that he is a monster. His stamina is unreal, his desire is unmatched, and assuming that you are not an incarnation of Aphrodite herself You. Will. Not. Keep. Up.

If you choose to be with Asmo it will be a hellish bliss. You will be pampered like royalty on a sea of euphoria until the tide overtakes you and you drown.

If this warning isn't enough to dissuade you, we wish you the best of luck. Asmo may bring you to the greatest highs of your life, but he very much can be the death of you too...

Beelzebub

You know, food can be expensive. Especially if you have a bit of an appetite… If an endless food supply is what you're after, then you need Beel in your life!

He'll always be down to go out and try new foods or take you to whatever restaurant you like (provided he's eating there too, of course).

Considering the amount that he eats there's no way you can top his bill so order as much as you like! You'll get through what? Four? Five courses? He'll get cut off around 12.

Restaurants aside, food will be mostly what Beel expects from you so we do hope you like cooking. Cuddles and kisses are well and good but this demon needs to eat.

Speaking of which… Truthfully, being with Beel is almost just like a normal relationship but there's just one catch….

Beel is practically an oral addict. He will want to get a taste of you and once he does you ought to resign yourself to being his new fix.

A session with Beel is not for the faint of heart. He can be down there for hours and won't stop even if you're a drooling, overstimulated wreck. His aftercare is sweet but it's a hell of a journey getting there. Be warned.

Belphegor

So maybe all these other options just sound like too much work... You want a Sugar Daddy, but someone who's on the laidback side, right? Introducing Belphegor.

Belphie is a man of simple pleasures. A quiet afternoon, a long nap, and maybe a game or some mischief in the middle of the night. You won't have to worry about doing very much because he won't be conscious very long...

He will, however, get his money's worth in the hours that he's awake.

Belphegor is a lazy soul, so don't expect him to put much work into things. His favorite tactic will be to get you so frustrated that you jump him. Then he can just sit back and enjoy the fun with a smug smile on his face…

If you're not riding him in some way then you're probably going to be his new pillow. He will find a way to sleep on you in every position possible until he finds a favorite and just sticks to that.

As far as what he offers, Belphie will pretty much just toss money in your direction and leave it up to you to spend it. He’s not a shopping man...

In the rare cases that he does go out and buy you a gift take it as a compliment. You’ve motivated him to leave the House for longer than twenty minutes so you must be exactly what he was after.

For more of my “How Tos...” check out my Masterlist!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me hc

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