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viviennevermillion · 6 months

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when they know you like them

⟡ notes: first time writing for record of ragnarok yayy! guys if you haven't seen this show you should watch it, we have tournament arc, pretty men and sad backstories. comments are appreciated.

⟡ contains: character x gn!reader, how they act when they know you like them but you haven't told them, varying lengths because i am inherently biased

⟡ characters: buddha, beelzebub, hades, nikola

⟡ warnings: all of these are fluff except for beel's which is full of soul-crushing angst i am sorry

He's such a tease and you can't even be mad at him because unlike Loki or Hermes he's genuinely sweet about it. He overheard Brunhilde talking about how you like him and he decided to have some fun with it first before he confesses.

You meet him by the tree he likes to relax under before his fight and he's happy to see you. "Hi fam! What a pleasant surprise!", he exclaims and waves at you when he sees you walking towards him from a distance, "to what do I owe the honor?"

When you tell him you just wanted to wish him luck before his battle, he grins and pats your head repeatedly before resorting to poking your cheek. "That's sweet of you, bud", he sits down under the tree again and pats the patch of grass by his side, gesturing for you to join him; an offer which you gladly accept.

"I know you don't like being told what to do", you start and let out a sigh, "but don't you die on me out there..."

He lets out a hearty laugh.

"I'll accept it this once, because it's you", he chuckles and leans closer, whispering in your ear with a tone of voice that sounds like it's laced with honey, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're worried about dear old me..."

You stay silent in response to this, which just seems to amuse him more. "You know…best not to lose yourself in worry and fear, it does not do you any good", he warns with a challenging tone, cupping your cheek gently to inspect the emotion that's showing on your face, "getting too attached can often be our demise..."

"I'm good, thank you", you reply dryly, not giving in to his teasing. You reach into your bag to pull out some candy you brought along. "Offer for my favorite god", you state nonchalantly and hand it to him. "So I'm your favorite, huh?", he chuckles, booping your nose, "that's interesting."

He eats some of the candy and remarks that it's tasty before his attention shifts to you again. "I found meditation can help with worries like yours", he explains but can't hide the smile that's tucking at the corner of his lips, as he's fully aware how easily your focus shifts when he's around, "I can show you some techniques if you'd like."

So he spends the next 10 minutes instructing you on meditation and you're trying, but at this point you're suspecting that with the way he keeps whispering instructions into your ear and leans close to you or holds your hand, he's setting you up to fail. "I'm starting this on heightened difficulty", you mumble dryly and he chuckles again. He's clearly having a blast with this.

He's leaning so close to you that you can feel his breath on your lips and he's like "do you feel enlightened yet?"

You open your eyes to glare at him. "You're the bane of my existence."

He forms two peace signs with his hands and sends you an innocent smile. "That's when I'm at my cutest!"

Before he leaves for his fight he gently pulls you into his arms. "Don't worry too much, buddy, I'll be fine", he has his arms wrapped around your shoulders in a comforting embrace. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, relaxing into the warmth of his chest. "I'll see you after the fight, pinky promise", he smiles and gently squeezes you before making his way to the arena.

When you join him again after the battle he's finishing up that bag of candy you gave to him. "I heard you bailed from the infirmary", you let out a sigh and sit down next to him in the grass. "Are you here to drag me back?", he sends you a questioning gaze. You shake your head. "I know better than to try that."

He lets out a satisfied hum and you hug him. "I'm glad you're okay", you whisper and he looks at you with a fond expression, way softer than what you're used to from him. "I told you not to worry too much", he keeps an arm wrapped around you and leans closer to you again until your lips are almost touching, "I think you need more meditation." He grins and plops a candy into his mouth.

You look at him through half-lidded eyes and sigh. "You know what- fuck this shit, next time I'll just bring pocky."

He lets out a laugh and presses a sweet kiss to your cheek. "That's one way to do it."

One word: Panic

He meets you after his round because you're one of the people who tend to his wounds. You're so sweet to him; you have no idea, not the faintest clue about the curse he is afflicted by.

He's darkness incarnate, at least in his mind; only ever leaving his secluded quarters these days to fight; like in the tournament. To fight, never to protect. His hands weren't made for protection; his heart wasn't made to be loved. But who can really help the things they long for in this life?

Meanwhile, you're like a ray of the sun that mistakenly fell into the depths of hell from which he crawled. He had been shunned; detested for what he was, yet you didn't seem to notice. He thought it was stupid. Or perhaps these were his defenses talking.

Or maybe you knew exactly who he was and simply chose to pay it no mind. Also stupid.

He acted cold around you in the infirmary. Brushed you off with quick responses. Yet you always smiled at him with this carefree, kind expression on your face. Just the way his friends had done once upon a time. Images flashed his mind of their dead bodies and the horror of what he had done. He didn't mean to, he knew he was cursed, yet he hated himself; hated that he was host to the monster that lived within him.

He left the infirmary early that day. Best not to spend too much time around people who were nice to him. It might just get them killed, he thought with bitterness clouding his mind.

But you weren't convinced when he had told you that he was fine upon leaving. So to make sure you didn't release him in bad condition, you sent him a letter, asking him how he was faring. To be honest, you didn't expect that he would actually respond, considering how closed off he was when he met you. But Beelzebub was a lonely man. Terribly lonely and suffering in silence without an ounce of company, just waiting for the day someone or something would be able to put an end to his existence. But that was a dream that felt far out of his reach. So he settled for the next best thing: easing the pain.

So for the next few weeks, the two of you changed letters and every time he opened up a little, you felt joyful and loved that you were getting to know him better.

When you ask him out one day, Beel's heart freezes. This was all too familiar... attachment. Something he couldn't allow himself to have. Something that would bring destruction upon the innocent.

He clutched the letter tightly in his hand, crumpling the paper in the process as he paced back and forth through his room, trying to calm his breathing; trying to make the thought of Lilith's dead body leave his mind. He couldn't allow anything to happen to you. He was a monster and you didn't deserve to become the next tragedy in his life. For weeks now since you had started exchanging letters he put extra locks on his doors at night; some of them with numbers only he knew; he'd freeze the keys and hide them throughout his room in the hopes that he would wake up before the monster could escape the confines it was in.

After receiving the letter where you had confessed that you had taken a liking to him and would like to go out with him; he woke up on the following morning with his room in shambles. Some of the furniture was torn apart, papers were scattered across the floor and the door showed signs of abuse and violence; large scratch marks and some broken locks.

He sent you a letter inquiring about your well-being this time. The wait for your response was spent in agony.

When he finally received a letter back; being informed that you weren't anywhere near his room that night, that you were safe and sound; relief washed over him.

But that was the last letter he ever sent. He deemed it too dangerous to keep you around. You deserved to live and to thrive. Nothing that should be cut short because of his selfish desire for companionship.

As the months went by, the letters got less and less. Until finally you stopped sending them. That was the first time he had cried since Lilith's death. The first time he had slumped down on the floor and sobbed helplessly. His room became silent again. He was alone once more with nothing but the shadow of what could have been.

The only one who is actually normal about the whole thing.

Hades is a gentleman and he doesn't have enough humor in his heart to tease you like some of his fellow gods would.

Once he has a hunch that you have feelings for him; he prepares to ask you out.

He's very classy with it. He buys you a bouquet of roses and brings them to you, greeting you with a soft smile that few actually get to see on his face. He appears confident and casual; the only sign of nervousness being that he keeps fidgeting with the collar of his shirt without noticing.

Of course you immediately notice the bouquet. But you don't bring it up until he does. "Hades! Good to see you", you greet him and give him a smile. He smiles back at you. "Y/n, I- was wondering if you'd like to have dinner sometime?", he stumbles over his words one time but overall delivers the question very professionally.

You're a little caught off-guard. After all; Hades is not someone where you notice he has feelings for you unless he decides to let you know. "Oh...", you take a moment to process, "I'd love to!"

Hades is glad to hear that answer. Whatever was he worried about anyway?

He takes you to a nice restaurant on your date, both of you dressed up in fine clothes and Hades can't keep his eyes off you. His expression softens every time he looks at you and he finally realizes how much you make him weak in the knees.

Despite everything, he keeps his confident demeanor, offering to pay for your meal and making conversation with you during the date so the atmosphere never turns awkward.

It's mostly him complaining about his job really.

"And it's not even like they don't know that trying to feed the Cerberus is forbidden; it's very clearly stated in the 'Welcome to Helheim' leaflet and yet every month someone loses an arm to that thing-", he pauses in his rant to look up at you, "I'm sorry if you don't want to hear about my work."

You shake your head. "It's fine, I think it's quite interesting", you reach for his hand and hold it on the table, "hold on- there's a leaflet?"

Hades chuckles and pulls said leaflet out of his pocket, handing it to you. "Rule Nr. 2: 'You cannot actually climb out of Helheim. Seriously, stop trying'", you read aloud and raise your eyebrows, "I feel like there's a story behind that one." Hades gives you a painful expression. "I wish there wasn't."

Hades likes holding your hand on the dinner table and he always makes sure that you have a comfortable and fun evening

Despite his calm and serious demeanor, the man is absolutely whipped for you, so the more chaotic you are, the more likely it is that he'll end up joining you in shenanigans that are unlike anything he'd do if you weren't a part of his life.

Loki once catches him dancing in the rain with you, absolutely drenched from the water and Hades just sends him a death glare. "Not a word." Meanwhile Loki is just trying to keep his wheezing in.

If he feels like you're up for it, Hades asks if he can kiss you after the date. For a man so stoic and serious, his kiss is very gentle.

You never have to worry about Hades knowing how you feel about him because your feelings are in good hands with him.

Is probably having a whole crisis about this.

He doesn't even notice you like him, he just sees you as "y/n, who listens to me talk about science" and that's what he appreciates you for. He has such tunnel vision when it comes to his work that he doesn't even stop to consider how he feels about you until Raiden of all people brings it up.

He's like "Wow you're so lucky that someone like y/n has their eyes on you!" and Nikola stops in his tracks like excuse me what-

"Don't tell me you didn't notice... they're down bad for you?!"

The shared human contestants lobby was a mistake, Nikola thinks

Other people have to spell out all the obvious signs to him that show that you're romantically interested in him for Nikola to "subscribe to the hypothesis"

That's when the panic starts.

"Like, what do I even do, I've never been on a date before!"

Raiden raises an eyebrow: "Seriously? Never?"

Nikola corrects himself as he paces from one side of the room to the other. "Well technically I have been on ONE date before but it was a disaster because I accidentally caused the misconception that I'm trying to build a nuclear bomb, which i wasn't-"

Basically, Nikola has no fucking idea how to approach romance

He ends up sending his pigeon to deliver a letter to you, asking you out on a date, which he describes as "a fun day full of scientific experiments" and he's ecstatic when your answer is yes.

"Don't worry, this'll be fine, I even got them a gift", Nikola says, excited about your date.

The "gift" turned out to be a giant laser he built specifically for you. He was confident in it at first but ever since people kept telling him that usually flowers or chocolate are appropriate first date gifts, he's been nervous. To everyone's surprise, you end up absolutely loving it.

"Oh my god I've always wanted a giant laser!"

"See? That's what I said too", Nikola gives you a fist-bump.

Nevermind you're going to fit together just fine.

Your date mostly consists of him guiding you through various science experiments and rambling about the scientific principles behind them.

"I understood nothing of what it was you just said but I think it's endearing how passionate you are about this", you chuckle.

His last experiment is one where he turns the lights in the room off and uses several lenses and light sources to make beautiful lights in all colors dance across the walls and the ceiling of the room. You're in awe about the beautiful sight.

"You see, this happens because the light reflects off the-" he can't finish his sentence because he's caught off-guard by the kiss you press to his cheek. You then lean your head on his shoulder. "Let's just watch them for a while", you whisper and reach for his hand. He supposes he can continue explaining later and smiles at you softly.

#shuumatsu no valkyrie #record of ragnarok #ror #snv #buddha x reader #beelzebub x reader #hades x reader #nikola tesla x reader #ror buddha #ror beelzebub #ror hades #ror nikola tesla #snv buddha #snv x reader #ror x reader #snv loki #snv hades #snv nikola tesla

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tavtime · 8 months

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There is something skittering around in my brain tonight about the way that BG3 intends the audience to view mind flayers as individuals vs as a species, and the way that plays out in the player's relationships with Omeluum and the Emperor.

I mean, one of the primary gears upon which the story turns is that when a person becomes illithid, the soul they previously had is destroyed (but not their memories of the person they were). This is presented as an insurmountable wrong - literally socially aberrant - and it certainly is so from both the point of view of the gods concerned with mortal souls, and illithids' mortal prey concerned with keeping their brains in their heads.

The Emperor's storyline takes this to the conclusion that the condition of being soulless is, in and of itself, a complete destruction of the individual; that whatever it was before, the illithid will be invariably manipulative, inherently untrustworthy, and unable to reconcile its needs and desires into peaceful coexistence with non-illithids. It's certainly the conclusion you're intended to draw from Duke Stelmane's story, as well as numerous supporting texts, most notably from the creche.

But then... Omeluum offers the refutation to that. Here he is, leading a peaceful life because he just... wants to. Absent a soul or comprehensible mortal desires to operate as a moral compass, Omeluum still chooses to contribute to the Society of Brilliance. He voluntarily and at personal cost researches alternative food for himself so that he doesn't need to feed on sentient beings. He helps the player character multiple times, despite the fact that doing so carries variable risk with little promise of reward.

So clearly, being illithid in and of itself is not what makes someone manipulative or untrustworthy: it's not a baked-in species trait. The Emporer isn't Like That solely because he's a mind flayer; he's like that because... he's like that. That's who he is as a person. That's what he has become, in his current incarnation, and yes, some of it is certainly due to his transformation (having your soul shredded and your will broken would screw most people up pretty badly, I imagine), but not all of it! If something about his circumstances had been different, maybe he could've been different as well. Maybe his moral compass would have pointed in a similar direction as Omeluum's.

#this is a really long-winded way of saying 'i think I could fix him' lmao but actually I do. i do think he could be fixed.#I'd like to believe that the game gives us Emp's narrative mirror on purpose yk?#there's a reading here i think was intended about whether people are born evil or whether they choose to be #also a reading i don't think was intended but intrigues me anyway re: the value (or lack thereof) of empathy as a moral framework #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #the emperor #omeluum

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byeolgirl · 2 months

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HOW TO FALL IN LOVE WITH YOURSELF !

"Your first priority should be yourself"

-san.ateez

By: byeolgirl..

falling in love with yourself is a journey of self-discovery, self-acceptance, and self-compassion. Here are some strategies to help you cultivate a deep and radiant love for yourself:

1.Embrace Your Uniqueness: Celebrate the qualities that make you uniquely you.Embrace your quirks, your strengths, your vulnerabilities, and all the beautiful intricacies that make up the tapestry of who you are. You are a masterpiece of love, a symphony of light, and a treasure trove of kindness waiting to be discovered.

2.Practice Self-Compassion: Treat yourself with the same kindness and understanding that you would offer to a dear friend. Be gentle with yourself in moments of struggle or self-doubt, and remind yourself that you are worthy of love and acceptance just as you are.

3.Nourish Your Body and Soul: Prioritize self-care activities that nourish your body, mind, and spirit. Take time to rest, eat nourishing foods, move your body in ways that feel good, and engage in activities that bring you joy and peace.

4.Set Boundaries: Honor your needs and boundaries by saying no to things that deplete your energy or compromise your well-being. Surround yourself with people who uplift and support you, and let go of relationships or situations that no longer serve your highest good.

5.Practice Gratitude: Cultivate a practice of gratitude by acknowledging and appreciating the beauty within yourself. Take time each day to reflect on your strengths, accomplishments, and the unique qualities that make you shine.

6.Forgive Yourself: Release yourself from the burden of past mistakes or perceived shortcomings. Practice self-forgiveness and let go of self-criticism, embracing the journey of growth and learning that comes with being human.

7.Engage in Self-Discovery: Explore your passions, interests, and desires to uncover the depths of your being. Allow yourself the space to dream, to create, and to express your true essence in all its vibrant colors.

8.Surround Yourself with Love: Surround yourself with people who see the beauty within you and reflect back the love and light that you embody. Cultivate relationships that nourish your soul and remind you of your inherent worth.

9.Affirm Your Worth: Repeat affirmations of self-love and worthiness daily. Remind yourself he blessings that life has to offer.Remember, my dear, that you are a radiant being of light, worthy of love, kindness, and all the beauty that life has to offer.Embrace yourself with open arms, shower yourself with love and kindness, and watch as your inner light shines brighter than ever before. You are a masterpiece of love, a symphony of light, and a garden of kindness waiting to bloom. Embrace the love that you are, and let it illuminate the world around you.

#becoming that girl #glow up #wonyoungism #wonyoung #dream life #it girl #creator of my reality #divine feminine #it girl affirmations #love affirmations #that girl #love yourself #self love #confidence #self healing #self development #self improvement #stardiary #study blog

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evilminji · 9 months

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The Anti-Ecto Acts... could literally start WW3

I am sitting here, contemplating China. The country. Literally one of THE OLDEST countries. With a truely massive population. And... I will admit my ignorance. But from what I have heard? They are big on honoring the Dead.

Their Dead.

The Dead of China. Hundreds of millions of souls. Which, statistically, would mean the average human ghost has a good chance to come from the region. And they are not alone.

Again, my ignorance curses me, but if my general knowledge is to be believed? It is a common practice in Asianic Countries. Oh sure, they won't argue there might be BAD ghosts. But that's to be expected! There are bad PEOPLE! They die.

They have monks and priests for such things. Specialists. Ancient problem, tried and true solutions. They move on and have lunch, consider what options there are for dinner. Business of the day and all that.

But THEN.

Fanatics from the West. Painting themselves as Men Of Science, not only dare to play god, but tear open a hole to THE AFTERLIFE? And start ATTACKING indiscriminately? They stand before an international stage and spew clearly bigoted pseudoscience, to justify their genocide, while ALSO letting God's and demons run roughshod over the WORLD, just so they can try to convince everyone they have the right to MURDER YOUR ANCESTORS?

They OPENED THAT GATE! They LET THEM OUT! There is a difference, culturally, for many of your countries between the soul of a dead man (powers be damned) and a SPIRIT OF LIVING STORMS.

You are not IDIOTS. Tigers are dangerous. Wolves are dangerous. But someone walking into a crowded mall and releasing frightened wild animals DOES NOT mean we go into the wilds and start killing! We charge the madmen you attacked innocent people!

The fact that tigers and wolves are dangerous IS NOT NEW. The fact that the souls of the dead are dangerous is ALSO not new! It is not malicious. It is INHERENT. A state of being. That is why they are not encouraged to linger! We love them, but this world is not built for them. It is fragile and barren, built for the living.

But dear sweet FUCK, the WROTH.

How? Many countries EXACTLY. How many religions? SPECIFICALLY honor and protect the dead. Declare in no uncertain terms, the SANCTITY of the soul?

How many people have LOST somebody? A friend, a lover, a CHILD.

And in one breath you give them hope then THREATEN it? "They may still be out there... we are going to brutally torture them to death. Because your loved ones are animals to us."

The UN would have the SINGLE most ugly, barely contained, riot imaginable. Spiritual Leaders would be tearing CHUNKS out of the US. The Pope, the Dalai Lama, you name it. You can NOT invade THE AFTERLIFE and not have it IMMEDIATELY become a religious concern.

Not to mention the international SAFETY concern. One countries actions? Unleashing beings that can effect the GLOBAL ECOSYSTEM? The ENTIRE planets weather? Plunged EVERYONE into Eternal Sleep??! How can that not be considered DILBERATE after the first one!

Your grand idea is to ANTAGONIZE them? Make MORE of them come through??

"Kill death itself". You fanatical NUTJOBS! That's not even a NEW hypothetical! That ends HORRIFICLY for literally EVERYONE. Eternal starvation, suffocation, crushing, and worse! We suck the planet dry, over populate so horrifically we end up BURIED UNDER OUR OWN CHILDREN, and suffer FOREVER without the release of death!

You fucking MORONS! Eternal life is a well known CURSE!

Their science is shaky at best, hardly peer reviewed. DEEPLY unethical. And clearly dangerous! Radioactive!!! In a population center?! How many innocent people have been exposed!?

And if the Ghost are reaching OUT? Imagine meeting long dead countrymen, who come to you fearing for their very SOULS. Who have lived in peace. Unknown to you, for CENTURIES. Who beg you, in YOUR native tounge, to help. Talks of people disappearing. Fear and desperation.

This is not to say world leaders are great and benevolent figures, free of greed or sin. Nor their governments. But it is quite another thing entirely, when they talk... and all you can think is "you are talking about my dead father. My late wife. My deceased son."

When they spew their HATE. And back hand your loved ones by doing so.

What powerful person has not lost SOMEBODY.

All this? And I have not even TOUCHED on the shit storm DC would add on top. The Drama? The IMMEDIATE near certain SMITING? You want to MURDER Superman's FAMILY??? I'd say pick a god and pray, but you've already made enemy of ALL of them.

So... good luck and get fucked?

@hdgnj @the-witchhunter @stealingyourbones @nerdpoe

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #minji rambles #humans LOVE them some dead people #your anti bullshit is NOT welcome at their table #local ethics board weeps blood at sight of Fenton Research #just wait until them an OASHA see the Labs!

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mooishbeam · 8 months

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『♡』 General’s Day Off

♡ featuring: jing yuan x f!reader

♡ summary: the general has been stressed as of late. a day of relaxation is what he needs. wc: 2.8k+

♡ cw/tw: non-sexual nudity, fluff!

notes: whew I've been waiting to do some jing yuan fluff for a while my lil smoochie. the next one is gonna be so long oof but I can't wait. art by ArtRobiins on twitter :) <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

The dozing general hadn’t had a moment of peace since Phantylia’s invasion. The Xianzhou Luofu was still recovering from betrayal, and its people were on edge ever since. Jing Yuan wouldn’t admit his weaknesses, but the welfare of his people weighed on his consciousness greatly. It bled through his ghostly skin and sinking eyebags stretching at the tired corners. The threat of another disruption loomed, and so he obsessively prepared for the untold attack. He busied himself with preventative measures, documents upon documents stacked on his desk. Yanqing had never seen him behave so adamantly, so sure of some eventual calamity. Though his demeanor reflected that of a lazy, carefree man, his heavy heart and soul bore the curse of immense grief. He needed to portray a headstrong and unwavering strength, otherwise the reality of his situation would be too apparent to the Luofu. His close friends were lost to the unpredictable winding ties of fate; he couldn’t stand to mourn another. Especially with you around.

If you and Yanqing weren’t by his side, he would be undoubtedly consumed by sorrow. Your warm smile on the mild sunrise planted a blossoming light in that dimming core. Patience was a virtue when it came to his stubbornness; you could tell he was unwell, but whenever you voiced your concerns, he aimed to ease your worries with fleeting promises of rest. He would sooner die than see tears in your eyes at his affliction. Bailu was overseeing his recovery, until he proclaimed a sudden influx of health, and steadied his posture as if it was as spry as before. Yanqing attempted to keep him in her care, but he was forced to watch Jing Yuan push himself beyond inherent limitations.

Mornings on the Luofu are always quiet. It gets hectic during the afternoon, so you take the opportunity to do some calming activities. Jing Yuan was already gone before you woke; he hadn’t been getting much sleep lately. You stir the dark bitter substance in your cup and stare out at the endless blue, pondering how you fell in love with such an obdurate man. That is, before you glimpse his half naked body dreaming, shadowed by the snowy curls spilling down his back in your memory. You can’t help but smile.

You receive a knock at the door, and rush to answer it. These days, news about Jing Yuan and another injury shaded your mind. You open the door, and it’s Yanqing, at attention as if he’s facing the general.

“Good morning, ma’am, I have something to report” he says, straight and dutiful. You giggle at his professionalism, and a tinge of pink grazes his ears. “It is a good morning. You know you don’t have to be so formal with me, Yanqing.” He drops the soldier-like pose and sighs with a slouch. “I know, ma’am. But I really need to talk to you.” You invite him to come inside, and you both sit at the dining table quietly. You notice him shifting uncomfortably in the chair, a far stare in his contemplation.

“Did you eat? I can make something.” He cuts back to reality from the broken silence. “Ah! No thank you, I ate already” he stammers. You offer your most welcoming smile. “What would you like to discuss, Yanqing?”

“It’s...about General Jing. I’m really worried about him. He spends a lot of time working now. I’ve tried to get him to relax once and a while but he’s always up and out the door. I can’t get in contact with him for hours. And he’s so tired! Sometimes when I look over his shoulder, the things he’s writing are nonsense!” You allow him to continue, it seems that Yanqing became more relieved with honesty for each grievance he admitted to. “He struggles to hide it, but I see him grab his side in pain whenever he stands...I don’t know what to do. So, I wanted to tell you.” Your head is propped by your hand, taking in all the information you suspected was occurring. Perhaps you should’ve strapped him to a hospital bed for eternity. You click your tongue in annoyance, Jing Yuan is truly a gorgeous handful.

“I knew it.”

“Oh, you did?”

“A sneaky suspicion, I guess.”

“I can’t get through to him.” You let out a dejected chuckle. “Me neither. He’s really the worst, stressing us out like this.” Yanqing subconsciously nods his head, fumbling with his thumbs. “I never thought you’d help me go against the general” you tease.

“N-no! I’m just trying to help him recover, is all!” he splutters, waving his hands over his face. “I’m kidding. I know you care about him. I do, too. I love him more than anything in this universe.”

Your mind replays every kind gesture; the fresh bouquet of flowers he got you every few days, sharing unending stories that kept you awake at night while you both gazed at the stars, his tendency to be horrible at games that weren’t chess, and the warm hug enveloping you just as you dozed off in his arms. You endured to be strong for him up until this point, but bittersweet longing pierces your thoughts. The truth spills down your cheeks.

“Oh no, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. If you’re willing to help, could you do me a favor?” you whisper, wiping the persistent staining tears. Yanqing stands at attention as if he’s accepted a life-or-death mission. “Of course.”

“Please make sure his schedule is clear tomorrow.”

You aren’t sure if your plan will convince him to stay home, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. Unfortunately, he didn’t come home as you expected. You slept intermittently. By the time you woke, the sun was just rising, casting a rose-colored gradient across the sky. Still nowhere to be found.

Click. The door creaks open. Jing Yuan stealthily moves his hand behind it and tiptoes past the welcome mat. The screech makes him pause briefly, before sliding against the wall to get past the snitching door. Right as he closes it, he whips around, only to see your figure swaddled in a quilt waiting for him on the couch. Too tired to react, he flashes a weak smirk, and sets his scroll on the table. His shirt is wrinkled and turned a dirty beige, most likely from fighting, with the collar undone. Truthfully, he was elated to see you after hardly being home for weeks. You made the blood and bruising worth it—it ensured your life and protection.

“Oh? What’s this?” You make grabbing motions with both hands, reaching out to him from your spot. “You ordered a general?” he jests. You unfold the plush quilt and beckon him to your embrace. “Mhm. Come here, honey.” Be it lack of sleep or resolve, your body looks too comfortable in this moment, and he falls to temptation. Kicking off his boots, he quickly strides towards you and dives in your arms. He’s extremely heavy, nearly twice your size and probably the fluffiest weighted blanket you’ve ever felt. He melts in your hold. The buckles from his waist prickle your soft flesh, but the vibration of his breath soothing in your ear makes you forget. You rub the firm muscle of his back with one hand, it’s taut and anxious. You untie the red bow and tangle your other hand through the puffs of marshmallows between your fingers.

“Your delivery is here” he mumbles.

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for it for sooo long.”

“My apologies. I got caught up at work.”

“I’m sure.” You pull his hair back to gaze at his jagged features, those dark ringed orbs filled with amber. “Do you want me to have a heart attack wondering when you’ll come home?”

“If that were to happen, I’d jump in the coffin right after you, my dear.” You pinch his nose, and he laughs. “However, I must return soon.” His voice sounds flat, defeated. You go back to stroking his hair. “No. You have the day off.”

“Really? And who arranged that?”

“Yanqing. He told me about your...reluctance to relax.” Jing Yuan half rolls his eyes, but never moves to leave your warmth. “That boy, he’s nervous over nothing.” You poke his side to test the pain and watch him instantly wince. He sighs deeply at your irritated expression.

“(Y/N), I can’t just stop over a feeble injury.”

“You took a spear in the chest, and nearly died. I wouldn't call that a feeble injury.”

“The Luofu needs me.”

“I need you.” He surveys your upset expression. Did he ever stop to consider your feelings, how despondent he’d made you from reckless habits? He deemed himself fortunate that you chose to stay. He gently pecks your temple.

“You’re right. I won’t go anywhere.” Your face lights up, and you wrap your legs around him tighter. “Good, you’ll enjoy yourself. I have something planned.”

You start preparing your plan, arranging the master bathroom to a calming variety of aromatic trimmings and sheer drapes hanging just above the tub. Jing Yuan didn’t know what constitutes a spa day, and so you briefly described it as a “day of relaxation”. You didn’t want to ruin the whole surprise. When you get back to the living room, you have a pen and paper with scribbles on it.

“Mr. Yuan?” you say, pretending that his name is somewhere on the unwritten list. He grins and plays along. “Are you here for the spa package?”

“Yes, I am. I didn’t know the receptionist was so breathtaking” he teases. He always knew how to fluster you. You do some fake calculations and nod to yourself, ignoring the hands wandering on your body. “For everything your total comes out to…3 kisses.”

Jing Yuan cradles your face with calloused hands. “Hmm, that's quite expensive, but I think I can manage.” Pressing a soft kiss to your awaiting lips that lasts too long between breaths. It feels desperate, like you’ll float away if he lets you go. You part for air and place your finger over his mouth. “Payment accepted. Right this way.” He kisses your finger, and you guide him to the bathroom. You nudge him inside, and immediately the aroma of vanilla and perfumed petals escapes from the steaming shower. It was spotless and arranged similar to an exotic getaway. “Please undress and get comfortable. I’ll join you inside shortly.” He nods and starts undressing. You gather everything you need and head inside.

He’s sitting on a stool under the rainfall showerhead, scrubbing down his body. The water bounces off his admittedly neglected hair, and he turns so that the heat doesn’t creep into his wound. You hadn’t realized showering was painful for him. You follow him into the shower. “May I?” you ask, motioning for the semi wet loofa in his hand.

“Be my guest.” His knees support his elbows, and you kneel behind him to massage mild soap into the sudsing loofa. His scars are much more apparent now, healed but carved roughly on the war-torn muscle. You delicately lather the product across and down his mole dotted back, gingerly kisses littering his shoulder blades. You spread the soap to his sternum and stomach, and you feel his tense form caving to your touch. Jing couldn’t recall receiving affection of this caliber, and so it was nice to be pampered, to feel you closer than he’d ever imagined. It was as if you two were the only people existing in this moment, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

After he’s properly washed, you expose his skin to the dew and allow it to run down his back, making sure to block the scar from further distress. You stand and grab the shampoo bottle, squirting an ample glob in your palm. You plop it onto his scalp, and begin working it through his thick mane. Your nails massaging and manipulating the sensitive skin makes him nearly drool. It’s as though you’re shaping his brain, and hums of approval rumble up your hands. He leans back on your stomach and enjoys your digits frothing substance. You almost see a ghostly tail wagging violently at each caress. When you pull his bangs back to wipe his hairline, you gaze at his face, a content smile prodding the crinkling corners of his mouth. “Are you falling asleep?” you whisper, washing away the soap from his forehead and roots. He groans in response and snuggles his head under your breasts. The sounds of serene rain beading the floor echoes in the humid foggy space, and the sweet scent of citrus conditioner crowds your nose. You squeeze out the remaining water. His eyes ajar from infinite slumber once your hands leave his cleansed scalp. You turn off the shower and escort him to the tub. An iridescent blue sparkling liquid stills in the marble stone, complete with botanical flora bobbing aimlessly.

“There’s more? You’re spoiling me.” He soaks in the room temperature tub, unwinding above bath salt gradually dissolving. You undoubtedly added a concerning amount of eucalyptus and lavender to the water, hoping it would miraculously restore him instantly. Positioning the stool behind him, you pull his hair back with a headband and start to mix a face mask in a small wooden bowl. His head lays in your lap, watching you diligently combine cream with medicinal powders and clay. You brush the blend over his face and neck, cool to the touch.

“Feels nice.” he breathes. “Doesn’t it? It’s made with-” you go on a passionate tangent about the ingredients included, he simply stares at you, the twinkle in your eyes while you trace his cheekbones. What did I do to deserve someone so kind and selfless, constantly seeking out my well-being and nurture-

“Are you even listening?” you accuse. He snaps out of the trance, and nods unconvincingly.

“I was.”

“What did I say then?”

“Mm, something something, your beautiful eyes and lips, I want to kiss them.” he drawls. You grunt disapprovingly, and place thin slices of cucumbers over his eyes. “No looking until it's over.” He pouts like an unruly child. You snicker and scoop a chunky clump of brown sugar scrub between your palms, rubbing together to coax warmth. Kneading the grains along his robust biceps and torso in wide circles, you’re sure you heard snoring at some point. Your hands unrolled a dull ache, and you wanted to stop, but his chest heaving deeply in relaxation pushed you to continue. You ladle water over the sugar and face mask, rubbing it dispersed. With a pristine face, you pat serum and moisturizer into the skin and admire the glowing haleness slowly returning. He sits up, freeing his eyes and gazes at you.

“How do you feel?”

“I always feel good whenever you’re around, my love” he flirts. You huff and drain the water. “You should dry off. I’m gonna give you a massage.” He steps out the tub to dry but attempts to follow you out of the room. You turn and he’s right behind you, his massive presence covering your silhouette. “Jing, I’m getting stuff ready. Can you wait here?” He says nothing and embraces your nude figure, nuzzled in your hair. You grab his arms, prying room to look up at his hiding face. You’re shocked to see tears brimming in his eyes threatening to overturn. You wipe them as they fall; somehow, he’s still grinning. He couldn’t register why he was crying yet. “Are you okay-”

“I missed you greatly.” he murmurs. You kiss his nose and pillow his shaking arms and legs. Dispelling the fears and insecurities that strangle him to a gasp. It’s easier to breathe. "I missed you, too.” He picks you up bridal style, and you yelp.

“Wait, but the massage” you contest. He walks to the bedroom, swaying you without a care in sight. “That won’t be necessary. I just want to hold you.” He lays you on your back and climbs over you. Despite all the space on your king sized bed, he intertwines your bareness with the velvety sheets, and locks you in his arms. His cuddles are cushiony and pure, cocooned like a life-sized teddy bear. You had numerous things planned today—you'd make him dinner, cater to him, watch a movie—now that you’re snuggled cozily, you couldn’t envision leaving this bed. “I didn’t get-” you yawn lengthily “-everything done.”

“You've done more than enough. It’s time I take care of you.” He kisses your forehead, and your eyelids feel dense as they ultimately come to a close. He wished your eyes would remain open, he wanted to stare into them for as long as possible. “Truly, thank you, (Y/N). I needed this.”

He listens to your soft breathing, your heartbeat pounding methodically against his. “I love you. So much” you say in trailing hushed tones before drifting to a distant dream. Maybe you’d dream about him, somewhere on a different planet with your children, spending forever together. For now, things are just as they were before.

“I love you more.”

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x y/n #hsr x reader #hsr x you

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fantastic-nonsense · 4 months

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I wouldn't mind the heavy focus on warrior Amazons so much if they were allowed to be competent instead of just being used as red shirt cannon fodder. But it seems DC only hypes up the Amazons as deadly fighters so other characters can look more impressive when they take them down.

Oh and Happy New Year.

Happy New Year! Forgive me if I use your ask to talk about a piece of the Wonder Woman mythos I've wanted to discuss for some time, because your complaints offered me the perfect segue to write a nice, in-depth meta on it and I couldn't pass up the opportunity.

Honestly, I think a lot of people (both creatives and readers) either don't know, forget, or fundamentally misunderstand the nature of the Amazons' warrior status. So they often get reduced to "deadly warriors who strike first," "supposedly deadly but generally incompetent warriors when outside of their own books," or "militant man-haters" by a lot of people. None of which are true.

The Amazons are incredibly competent warriors and have been since Marston's first portrayal of them in the 1940s, so I don't inherently mind them being shown as such. However, where people get bogged down is insisting that they be shown as deadly and trigger-happy offensive fighters who are happy to strike first and hard, which fundamentally goes against the philosophy and thematic messaging built into Amazonian lore.

DC's Amazonia, lore-wise, is traditionally framed as an Aphrodite vs. Ares "peace and love vs. violence and war" story. In Marston's original rendition of the Amazon's backstory Aphrodite is not only their patron goddess but also their sole creator; it was only after Crisis on Infinite Earths and George Perez's long-overdue lore expansions that the rest of the goddesses became co-creators and co-patrons of the Amazons. Regardless, Ares and his domain are consistently invoked as what the Amazons don't want to be like or engage in. That behavior is the antithesis of what Amazons are supposed to be. This lore informs literally everything about how the Amazons view both their combat abilities and their duty to the goddesses.

The contemporary Amazons are, for the most part, women who died in terrible and traumatic ways at the hands of men (usually through domestic violence, murder, or as conquests of war). When the goddesses created the Amazons by reincarnating these women via the Well of Souls, they specifically charged them to become their champions. And what did these goddesses want? They explicitly wanted justice and protection for women in a violently patriarchial world. The Amazons being warriors is thus specifically tied to an understanding of necessary self-defense and protection (both of themselves and other women), not offense.

Which of course is what lands the Amazons on Themyscira in the first place: invoking the goddesses' ire by not obeying these commands after their rebellion against their enslavement by Heracles and his men crosses the line from the necessary battle to achieve their liberation into wanton violence and revenge:

"The battered Hippolyta prayed to her goddesses and found the courage and inspiration to free herself. Athena had reminded Hippolyta of the Amazons' purpose and mission—but not all of the Amazons remembered. Or cared. They yearned for vengeance. For retribution against those who violated them...and under Antiope, many found it." -Wonder Woman: Our Worlds at War (2001)

And as Hippolyta and Menalippe tell Antiope:

"No, Antiope. Never vengeance; never again!" /// "That is Ares' way, Antiope. We achieve no glory by embracing the Dark God's power!" -Wonder Woman (1987) #1

The Amazon way is promoting a society based on love, equality, truth, and peaceful conflict resolution, not vengeance and violent combat. It's a philosophy that defines Diana's mission in Man's World as an ambassador, teacher, and living example of her peoples' way of life:

Enraptured, they listen to her dissertation on equality between the sexes, tolerance, peaceful coexistence. Social Philosophy 101, Amazon Style. -Wonder Woman (1987) #170

Diana's gods-given mission was to spread the Amazonian ideals of conciliation—to give those living in the World of Man the proper tools to peacefully coexist with each other. It was her life's purpose to teach the possibilities of respect and love by being a living example of an upbringing founded in those ideals.

Truth-seeking, diplomacy, and peace are the Amazonian way of dealing with conflict, not violence. And when you are forced to engage in combat (and you should be prepared for that eventuality because sometimes it will happen), your goal should be self-defense and de-escalation, not offense and prolonging the conflict longer than necessary.

This is also, as an aside, why Diana (and specifically Diana in her capacity as Wonder Woman) does not usually carry offensive weapons like a sword and why her primary "weapons" are the Lasso of Truth and protective bracelets. She's the official representative of her peoples' culture and personally deeply believes in that cultural philosophy. Other Amazons have different views on the matter, including her mother, but Diana grew up completely separated from the World of Man and fully immersed in that belief system, which deeply informs how she views her mission as Wonder Woman.

Personally, I think many (but not all) of the problems re: depicting the Amazons in the modern era come from various writers attempting to solve contradictions that don't exist. They see "kickass trained warriors living peacefully on an island" and see that as a contradiction they have to solve: why do they train if they're pacifists? Why do they fight if they're peaceful? In reality, it's not a contradiction: their status as warriors and champions is specifically tied to self-defense and protection (both of themselves and others), but given the choice they don't want to have to take up arms to protect people because that goes against their fundamental cultural philosophy. Outsiders and meddlesome gods are the ones who force them to do that! What they want is for everyone to be treated with love, respect, and understanding so they don't have to!

And there's a lot of problematic elements built into the concept's execution, but this is the core thesis behind the split between Hippolyta's Themyscirans and Antiope's Bana-Mighdall. The Themysciran Amazons have had their fill of violence and war; they just want to live in peace. But a) they were specifically tasked with guarding Doom's Doorway when they were taken to the island, a duty which necessitates perfect combat readiness, and b) their history is littered with examples of people refusing to leave them alone. So they train, in case someone decides to take shots at them, but otherwise live in peaceful isolation. Meanwhile, the Banas looked at that same shared history and went "we need to take the fight to the outside world. Offense is the best defense, and the only way to protect ourselves and the other women of the world is to actively seek vengeance for the violence women face." So they chose to actively intervene in Man's World, fighting constant battles and exacting revenge for any women mistreated at the hands of men.

...which is also why Artemis was such a necessary and interesting addition to the Wonder Woman mythos (even if she's often handled...poorly), because she and Diana represent two diametrically opposed views of how to protect and represent both their cultures and the women of Man's World, but that's a rant for a different time.

Anyway, the Themysciran Amazons' martial pacifism as a cultural value isn't a contradiction; it's one way of looking at a history filled with violence and victimization and saying "no more." And it's a pretty subversive way of doing so, which (well-written) comics tend to note!

So yes, the "Amazons are warriors" mentality has always been there and has been solidly emphasized at various points throughout Wonder Woman's history, and it should be acknowledged and shown that they're all incredibly competent in battle when they're forced to engage in it. But the way in which it gets emphasized is what defines whether a writer has a solid understanding of the history and baggage that comes with depicting the Amazonian struggle and the socio-political issues embedded in their lore. And unfortunately...many writers just don't seem to get it.

#sorry for just ranting about this but I HAVE to correct the narrative every time this comes up. it's not a want. it's a need.#someone hire me to write a political history of Amazonia #I could do SO MUCH with the recurring themes of isolationism vs. interventionalism as a method of self-defense #dc comics #wonder woman #wonder woman meta #diana of themiscyra #artemis of bana mighdall #queen hippolyta #dc amazons #dc meta #long post #asks

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sprout-fics · 1 year

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König x 'Maus' F!Reader

(Part 6 of "Little Mouse" Series)

Word Count: 4.5k Rating: Teen and up Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Dark König, Angst, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Found family, Hints of yandere König, Canon bending Warnings: General dark romance themes A/N: A bit of a longer chapter, and no Maus + Konig, though some desperately needed plot/character development. We will be going back to our hunter/prey vibes with the next chapter.

He rises from the shadows of the cliff.

You see him, see the way his body unfurls from where he crouches. The silhouette of him plucks at the veins of your heart, winding a song that feels ancient in its origin, primordial. Instinctive, bathed in a touch that seeps a crimson so dark and deep you think you might drown in it. It soaks you to the bone, dyeing you in a wash of terror that spreads outwards as his body towers higher, higher-

A monster.

Something from fairytales, the thing that would haunt your nightmares as a child and yet exists even now. Older than your deepest fears, the horror of the thing before you seems etched into your very marrow, an intrinsic instinct to run, run away from the massive form before you. You can only make out the outline of him as he moves, the edges of him wavering in the darkness like a supernatural entity. A poltergeist. One that stretches out with phantom limbs and whispered voices, promising sinister prophecies.

"What made you think we were done, Maus?" He murmurs into the shell of your ear, his massive arms snaking around your front, secured there like bands of steel.

"I'll take better care of you." He promises, and his hand catches yours, smoothing his thumb into the soft, sensitive skin of your wrist.

"Hello, little Maus." He purrs from where he stands, far above, backlit by the waxing crescent moon.

"I'll see you again." You hear his voice all around you, surrounding you, within you.

"Soon."

Now that same creature, that cryptid looms above you, and when he moves he seems to blur at the edges, the darkness of him shuddering into nothingness. A void. You can hardly make out the details of him. When he shifts it leaves an incandescent aftereffect that sears into the back of your eyelids. Too bright and too dark to trace. Red pulses there behind your vision with every drumming heartbeat.

He turns to you, and you can see the bleach tears that pool across his hood, draining down into lasting marks that you think will burn into your soul if you stare too long. You see his eyes then, and they glint when his eyes focus, when he reaches a hand towards you that drips of shadows-

Yet he doesn't touch you. Doesn't extend his hand to grasp at your shivering form.

Instead, there's light.

Soft, glowing, it radiates like sunlight through dappled trees, where dust hovers like glimmer dust. Enchanted, gentle, warm.

Edelweiss.

Delicate pale blossoms that spill from his fingertips, their bright centers twinkle with soft whispers of peace, an entreaty you can't fully comprehend. They sing out to you, against that terror that seems so inherent, so primal it almost pains you to struggle against it. Yet even when the scarlet of it thrums and groans in your veins it's muted by the brightness, the strange, hesitant words of the shadow that offers them to you.

"I won't hurt you, Maus."

When you look up, it's not a monster.

It's him.

---

"Rookie."

You awake fighting, instinctively throwing out your limbs in a sloppy offense that's easily deflected by broader, calloused hands. The gesture does nothing to calm you, not when the world is an enigmatic amalgamation of movement and dizzying, blurring sensations. Squirming, you try to raise your voice, arching off the thin padded cot where you lay and blindly grappling with whoever is trying to subdue you.

"Rookie!" The voice calls again, and now your wrists are caught in a steel grip as you buck, try to yell-

Light floods your vision, and there's another voice now, murmuring a question you can barely make out, startled and concerned. You blink against the brightness, stilling long enough to clear your vision, allowing the hovering face of Gaz to float into view.

"K-Kyle." You manage, and your eyes trace over the still fading scar over his brow, the one he earned on that night all those months ago, when you'd been stolen away into the darkness.

Kyle's eyes are concerned, shocked at your violent awakening. He hunches over your prone form, leaning his weight down so he pins your hands to either side of your head, his shoulders blotting out the crackling fluorescent light above you.

"You're okay." He tells you almost instantly, voice softer now. "You're safe. Take a breath."

You blink at him for a few moments, thoughts rapidly trying to process his words and your hazy surroundings. Yet you follow him when he inhales, holding the air in his chest before releasing it. The sigh whooshes from your lungs, curling up between you and draining the coiled tension from your still drowsy form.

"That's it." Your sergeant smiles at you, brown gaze wrinkling at the corners. "Just had a bad dream. You're okay."

You swallow, feel the dusty, dry air crack against your throat before you speak. "Y-yeah. I'm okay."

"Good." Kyle declares, and his fingers flex around your wrists, loosening. "I'm going to let you go, try not to punch me again, yeah?"

You manage a nod after a moment, mind still churning with the unknown waters of confusion. Yet when he releases you, you keep still, wait for him to pull completely away before trying to sit up.

You cradle your brow in your hands as you do, dragging your palms over the planes of your face in an attempt to reorient yourself. Gaz turns from you, allowing you a few moments to gather yourself before you at last turn to him. There's a pinched, worried look on his face, arms crossed as he leans against the wall.

"You good?" A voice asks from the doorway of the bunk, and it's Soap, his muscular forearm arm braced on the doorframe as he regards you skeptically.

"Yeah...yeah. I'm good." You tell him, even when he quirks an eyebrow at you. "Just...sorry. Had a nightmare."

Soap merely shrugs, but averts his eyes from you as a frown tugs at the corner of his lips. Before you can ask, he focuses back on Gaz.

"Briefing is ready, Price is expecting us."

Gaz nods, eyes looking down in thought for a moment before they refocus on his comrade.

"Give us a minute, we'll be there." He replies, and you blink at the tone in his voice. Grim, contemplative. He regards Soap with a look that conveys a meaning you can't decipher.

Whatever it is, it's enough for Johnny, who gives a single nod before vanishing, his footsteps fading down the hallway.

There's a silence that lingers after him, stretching long and tense between you and Gaz. You cast a glance at him, but his gaze is focused downwards, towards his boots. He doesn't speak.

"...We should go." You offer, standing and moving towards the doorway to follow Soap. You're stopped, however, by Gaz's hand that catches across your bicep. You blink, turn to him, brow furrowed in worry. Yet Gaz's expression is dark, serious, intent on your skittish, frightened eyes.

"He hurt you, didn't he?"

The question feels like a gunshot. You feel the impact before you hear the sound, your body tensing automatically, coiling under the blow. It's a blatant reaction, one Gaz takes it with narrowed eyes and a tightened grip.

"Who?" You manage, but it's a bluff Gaz sees straight through.

"König." He answers instantly, and you only wind further into yourself, feeling panic rise at the intensity of his accusation.

He sees it then, sees the sudden flash of alarm that glints across your gaze. Almost immediately he blinks, face softening as he realizes he's startled you, watched you poise to flee under his touch.

"...Sorry." He offers, gaze averting, hand releasing your arm and dropping back to his side.

You don't speak, trying to summon the words needed to answer his question, to grapple with the strange, forbidden secrets in yourself he can't be allowed to see.

"It's just-" Gaz tries, then stops, swallowing before he faces you once more. His eyes are sincere, open and bright as they regard you. "I can see it. We all can."

When you don't speak, Gaz takes it as an indication to continue.

"You won't talk about what happened that night. I mean, we know from your report, but you won't...won't talk about it. You try to act like it didn't happen, try to just ignore it."

"Kyle-" You try, reaching for him. He pulls away.

"Even then, when you've seen him again, anytime he's spotted over comms you get this look in your eyes, like you're trying to figure out what to do with yourself."

Kyle's fists clench at his sides, his brow knotted. Yet his gaze is unwavering, staring straight at you and almost pleading.

"You keep saying he didn't hurt you, but every time you hear his name you tense up, go all stiff like you're scared. It...it makes me think he hurt you, and you won't tell us."

"No!" You try, voice rising quickly, trying to step towards him. Yet the sudden pitch of your voice betrays you, and Kyle's eyes widen then darken at the tone of your voice. You cut him off before he can say more.

"Kyle I swear to you, he didn't hurt me."

Yet Kyle seems unconvinced, lips pursing into a thin line as he stares at you, his eyes trying to uncover the secrets hiding below the surface.

"You don't have to hide it." He offers after a few moments of tense silence. "Nobody is going to judge you for it. I just..."

You see it then, the flash of something across his gaze that looks upset somehow, poisonously guilty.

"I need to know if it was my fault."

You blink, lips parting as Gaz's gaze shifts away.

"Kyle." You ask gently, and when you step forward this time he doesn't retreat. "Why would it be your fault?"

Kyle doesn't answer straight away, nor does he move when your fingers skim across his arm. He allows the touch, even as he avoids your gaze.

"I was your partner." He murmurs at last, and his voice drips with hurt that's self-inflicted. "I was supposed to keep you safe, and I failed. I'm...I'm sorry."

In the silence that trails after Gaz's words, you hear the sound of your heart cracking.

Frozen where you stand, hand outstretched and skimming across his arm, you feel the weight of your secret weigh down inside you. Like a taboo, forbidden gravity, the truth of your answer, of the reality within you drags you downwards into yourself. The pressure of it threatens to fracture outwards, cracking along your sinews, your spine, the shadowy depths of you.

What do you even say?

It's true. König never hurt you. He's saved your life more times than you care to count by now. He was your captor, your abductor, and yet his touch to you has never been anything other than firm, guiding, grounding against the conflict of mystery that churns within you.

You see him even in dreams, your mind conjuring visions of bleach-streaked tears and shadows, only to douse it in his gentle entreaties, the lulling warmth of his words. He ripples across your thoughts, a massive, hulking behemoth that you should be terrified of, and yet somehow find that fear within you absent.

No, you're not afraid of him. You're afraid of the truth, the raw jagged breadth of it that threatens to slice your heart from the inside out.

You don't want him to be your enemy.

You...you want him.

The realization comes so sharp and fast you jolt, flinching away at the exact moment Gaz turns his gaze to face you once more.

Silence, stillness between you both.

Then, blooming deep and wounded across Gaz's face: Hurt.

"N-no, Gaz." You try, voice cracking in your throat as his expression changes. "It wasn't your fault, you were injured too, I-"

Yet Gaz seems to have found whatever it was he was looking for inside your eyes, wild and panicked as they are at the revelations he can't see. His face sours, mouth dipping and brow furrowing as he turns from you, shrugging off your hand.

"I get it." He tells you, and even with his terse tone you can hear the pain there, the aching sensation of regret that clings to his skin. "Just...don't blame yourself. Please."

You don't dare to breathe, and it's within that absence that Gaz brushes past you, makes his way down the hallway to the briefing room. His footsteps fade, and you're left behind, hands clenched at your sides, trembling as you try to hold back the warmth that pricks against the corners of your eyes.

Don't blame yourself, he said. All while his own guilt growls, gnaws at his bones, hidden away in a place you couldn't see until it was too late.

You're such a fool.

Too obsessed with your own guilt and shame over the conflict of your feelings, you didn't notice how much he was hurting, how he watched every expression flicker across your face and betray you.

If you just told him, confessed to him the truth, then surely he wouldn't harbor this hurt, this pain inside him over his supposed mistake. How were you supposed to do that though when you could barely accept the truth yourself? What would he even think? To realize you...might have feelings for the man who hurt him?

"Rookie!"

Price's voice echoes gruff and loud down the hallway, calling out for you.

You wipe your face dry on your arm, swallowing down your bitter regret and turn to follow him.

The team murmurs amongst themselves, but when you step into the main area with the table full of maps and supplies they hush, turn to you.

You see Soap's hand fall from Gaz's shoulder quietly, tucked back to his side.

When Price clears his throat you all turn to him, with his hands planted on the table, body leaning forward and head raised to return your gaze.

"Our enemy is KorTac." He states grimly, taking a pause to fasten his eyes around the members of his team. "An elite private military company composed of international operators that are highly skilled and extremely well-armed."

You watch as Price's hand smooths across a number of manila folders scattered across the creaking metal table.

"We don't have names of every agent listed within this company, but Laswell has managed to compile a number of reports on some of their members."

When Price looks up, you see his brow is pinched, his lips a tight, severe frown.

"Many of our allies died to obtain this information."

There's a current of unease that ripples through the team around you, unspoken and yet sinister as the reality of your captain's words sink in.

"These are all operators that have gone rogue from their government and have been privately enlisted in KorTac. They operate outside any government and with full discretion. However, we were able to compile certain information on their previous training and deployments, which allows us an idea of what they're capable of."

Price's hand lands on the first folder, his voice rising as he announces its contents.

"Tor Eriksen. Callsign 'Aksel'. Former Norwegian Maritime special forces. He's a utilitarian. Knows everything from HALO Jump to bomb disposal."

"Jack of all trades." Soap offers, thick, brawny arms crossing.

"Exactly right." Price replies, looking up sharply at the sergeant. "Laswell is certain he's KorTac's specialist. He's highly trained, extremely intelligent, and adaptable."

You watch as Price's hand drifts to the second folder, plastered with a grainy picture of a soldier in full camouflage, his face obscured by a matching mask and sunglasses.

"Kim Hong-jin. Callsign 'Horangi', the 'Tiger'."

"Why do they call him that?" Gaz interjects, and when you look at him he stubbornly avoids your gaze.

"We don't know." Price replies bluntly. "What we do know is that he's former RKAF, sniper training." Price's eyes briefly raise to you, and you try your best to return his even stare. "He's been recorded as the executor of several high value targets on the CIA counter-terrorism wanted list. Highly effective and very dangerous."

"Another sniper." Soap mumbles, and his elbow bumps against your side. You manage to shoot him a nervous smile, but the expression feels forced, hollow.

"Rozlin Helms." Price continues, pointedly drawing your attention back to him. Yet before he can go on it's Ghost who interjects.

"Helms?" He questions from where he leans against the wall, outside the reach of the overhead light. "Thought she was with Shadow Company."

"She was." Price returns. "After the clusterfuck in Las Almas it seems she jumped ship, ended up in KorTac. Now she's their munitions expert and weapon procurement specialist. MI6 has tagged her name attached to several illegal weapons sales moving through Eastern Europe."

"Might explain where that one grenade came from." Gaz mumbles, and you feel his eyes dart to you for all of a moment before they vanish from your form. "Maybe."

"Laswell is arranging an information swap with MI6 regarding her whereabouts. If we can pin her, we may be able to pin where the company is currently operating from."

"We're going on the offense, Cap?" Soap asks, his voice dipping, leveling into a harsh, rough grain at the seriousness of his query.

"I'll be covering that in just a moment, MacTavish. Hold your tongue until then." Price replies, voice smooth and yet managing to convey his annoyance for the repeat interruptions.

"Yes sir."

"Good." Price nods. When his hand drifts to the next folder, however, you see him pause, glance at you.

There's no photo.

"König."

The room stills.

"No real name that we can gather. Former German Special Forces Command. Extremely skilled, extremely dangerous."

You feel them, the eyes of the team sliding over to your stiffened form. When your hands shake, you curl them at your sides, refusing to meet their stares.

"Failed enlistment as a sniper, was assigned as an insertion specialist under the first platoon. His former comrades describe him as a human battering ram. He's recorded as single-handedly eliminating an AQ cell in Berlin, all twelve fighters KIA. He's a weapon's specialist, but besides that we know he has a preference for flash bangs and frag grenades."

You hear Gaz shift where he stands, the hostility radiating off his form, poisonous and acrid.

"I don't need to emphasize that this man is dangerous. Given his...history attacking one of our own, you have full execute authority should you encounter him."

You freeze.

Yet Price doesn't notice your sudden stiffness, like a doe caught out in the open, seeing the glint of a rifle from the trees. Instead, he focuses on Ghost's voice that growls from where he lurks.

"Who's their commander?"

Price pauses, takes a drag of his smoldering cigar caught between his fingertips. The ashes spill downwards onto the reports below.

"Declan O'Conor."

"O'Conor?" Soap exclaims abruptly, arms falling as he takes a step towards the table. "Of the Irish Defense Forces?"

"The same." Price responds gravely, and this time he doesn't bother trying to correct Soap, likely allowing Soap's outburst due to his own sense of shock.

"I thought he was dead! They said he was KIA during that raid in Mozambique two years ago!"

"…They never found his body." Ghost adds in the tense silence that follows, voice deep, cutting as he absorbs the information Price has laid out.

"No, this doesn't make sense." You watch as Gaz shakes his head, stepping closer to look at the clear photo attached to the commander's profile. "I knew Conor. He's a good man. Why would he defect? More than that, why would he go so far as to fake his own death?"

You look between the group, watch as their faces morph from surprise to confusion to anger. Yet when your eyes land on Price, you stiffen at the cold, unflinching weight of them, gazing past you, into the possibilities you don't yet see.

"The agent who compiled this report was found dead at her safehouse last night, just outside of Minsk."

You suck in a breath, feel the air in the room drop several degrees as the men around you straighten, stiffen in surprise.

"Wait." You try, and when you raise your voice for the first time during the entire briefing, four sets of eyes turn to you. "Are you saying that...O'Conor had her killed? For just finding out who he was?"

Price is silent, doesn't respond. Yet the grim, fatal glint in his eyes tells you everything you need to know.

"Creepin' Jesus." Soap breathes beside you. You shiver.

Price straightens then, looming above the table as he fixes his gaze on each of you.

"From what we can gather, KorTac has been mobilized against the 141. We don't know from where, and we don't know by who. What we do know is that they've already proven they can strike anywhere, anytime. This puts not only us, but also our allies at risk, and that is something we cannot allow."

Your allies, you realize. Farah, Alex. Alejandro, Rudy. Nikolai. All them, walking with targets on their backs. Because of this.

Because of you.

"Your company, Maus." He insists, voice lowering. A hand flexes on his knee.

He won't hurt you. He said he wouldn't hurt you.

"The 141." You murmur, and something stabs inside you, guilty and hurt over your own betrayal.

"One four one." König echoes, accent turning over the numbers in a low rumble.

Something changes then. You feel it. There’s an energy that seeps from you, coiled in anger, in determination. It unspools from your veins, spilling loose so the threads of it graze against the men around you.

Ghost straightens from where he leans against the wall, and you catch his eyes as they blink open. Dead, empty, cold. Yet there's an energy there, primal, instinctive, calculating and premeditated. When he steps forward into the light his mask catches the fluorescent glow from above. Not a halo, but a radiance that burns dark at the edges. Mesmerizing. Fatal.

Beside you Soap straightens, rolls his shoulders back and you hear them grind, crackle with years of strength built into his bones. The curve of his jaw grits harsh and unrelenting, eyes piercing. Like a live, sparking wire Johnny oozes raw energy, motion, a durability you can only dream of.

When your eyes move to Gaz, you find him already staring at you. There's a clairvoyance there, an insight you know only him to possess. Gaz divines the shifting currents of events like he's tasting the wind and summoning rain. Now that same acumen seems to extend to you, peeling back the layers of your thoughts and exposing the vile, verboten interior of your mind.

You close your eyes against it, try to blot out despite the howling gale of treachery inside your chest, seeping dark and oily into your bones.

You can't tell him. You can't tell any of them. These men, your brothers, who have fought by your side and come to your aid, who have stemmed your wounds and been the shield for your spear, they should never know the horrific, undeniable truth inside you.

You can't deny it now, the fatal secret exposed in the light of your own realization. The outline of him, of König lurks in your mind, turning as you watch, offering his voice in a double edged greeting that seeps of gentleness, of a sinister threat.

"Hello, Maus."

He haunts your daydreams, your nightmares. He stalks you across the battlefield, keeps you safe, only to turn around and reach for you, threatening to drag you under into his beckoning embrace.

"I'd never hurt you, Maus."

He refuses to kill you, choosing instead to poison you, the drip of his curiosity treacherously sweet and sour against your tongue. It winds through your veins, tinting the color of your blood into something you can't discern, a syrupy intoxication that leaves you breathless, reeling from his onslaught.

It will kill you.

You'll kill him first.

You turn to Price then, see your conviction reflected in his knowing, piercing stare.

"When do we start?"

----

As the sun sets over the Svislach river, and twilight oozes from dusk to darkness, the stars in the heavens above Minsk twinkle distantly. Here, in the metropolis, the lights of the city drown out the constellations above, obscured by wispy trails of clouds. The lingering taste of snow clings in the air, blank and frigid, a clean slate of which to start anew. Yet the stars shine, pinpricks of light against the dome of growing midnight that stretches gently against the horizon.

A set of eyes watches them from atop the warehouse in the center of the city. Crouched, hidden by the shadows, a single breath fogs, curls away from him, up into the sky. Beside him, a weapon missing a single round chills against the nighttime air.

König’s eyes open under his hood, staring out across the river, to where the lights of the city gleam and glitter like midnight lanterns. The freezing air bites at his bones, but he ignores it, seeking instead to set his sights upwards, into the empyrean atmosphere, lost in thought.

The sound of a single gunshot still echoes in his ears, the crack of thunder, loud and brilliant. It electrifies him, sends a familiar, addictive energy coursing through his veins.

Yet the excitement, the rising crescendo of feverish passion feels dulled now, obscured just as the stars by the veil of something else.

"Hmm."

The sound gusts, billows like steam, floating higher. König’s dark eyes take it in silently, mind twisting, churning with contemplation.

"It's boring." He decides at last, mouth forming the words under his hood. Even then his tongue grazes against a familiar taste, a memory.

The AQ fighter before him jerks, and there's a violent, grotesque spume of blood that erupts from his head. It sprays against the concrete wall to his left, an abstract of violence. Yet his hands remain clean, and after a moment König realizes the origin of the shot came not from him, but up from the sky.

He turns.

Backlit by the sun, he catches the shadow of your form eclipsing the light that peeks over the rooftops. The glint of your scope shines in the afternoon light, even as it points down to him, to the waiting target of his body.

You saved him.

The realization sends a pulsing, intoxicating electricity through him, rising into a wild, untamed smile hidden under his hood.

You saved him.

He sees you tilt away from your scope to regard him, blinking in the brightness, and König feels the desire to reach out, to touchyou rise sharply inside him.

Within him, a memory of a memory, one that glows against his thoughts, bright and soft with hallowed light.

"Your name, Maus."

Then, the sound of your voice.

König blinks, shifting now to try and rid himself of the cold beginning to bleed into his bones. Drowsiness pulls at him, fed by the bite of winter and the many sleepless hours spent hunting his quarry.

"Hmm." He echoes again, the sound dragging in his chest, close to a displeased whine.

"I miss Maus."

Tag List (Please reply to this post if you'd like to be tagged in future works for this series!)

@fatedeniedhope @gio-gio007 @glassgulls @sednonamoris @ohgraywardens @greatlydelirious @guyfierriii @wanderingisobel @nijiluvbot @deceiverofgodss @xasement @zwiiicnziiix @bloodyknucklesforme @kkinky @imkumichan @fluidthoughts @secre-flower @sandinthemachine @starlitnotes @00mogars @adorephina @cowanonofficial @dhns-stuff @kgbtardis @kaitlynisinfinite @thisperspective @darlingcyare @rk1v35 @classickook @beeslythebee @the-queerpoet-collecter @artbythedarkside @deepdreamerbouquet-world @blueoorchid @thetiredtoad0-0 @ladystarfishnut @azzoka @sednonamoris @grizzersmamma @regret-roulette @leed-bbg @pasta-m1lk @chemicalalice @oceandeepthirst2

#König #König x reader #König x you #könig imagine #König x y/n #konig x reader #konig x y/n #konig x you #mw22 #mw 22 #cod mw22 #cod mw2 #cod konig #my writing #my fic #reader insert #fic: little mouse

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grntaire · 7 months

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this line. it's both condescending and cautionary. AND it's not the first time their love has been described as young or immature.

this is.

in this scene, the swede is singing "voi che sapete", from mozart's opera the marriage of figaro (mozart hadn't even been born yet, lmao) not only is the text of this piece particularly poignant to ed and stede's love story, especially at this point in the story, but its performance practice is also inherently queer.

the aria is sung by the character cherubino, an adolescent boy who is experiencing love and feelings of attraction for the first time. the song is one that cherubino wrote himself for the countess, on whom he has a crush. he's then coaxed into singing for her by the character susanna, who accompanies him. here's a translation of the text:

Ladies, see if I have it in my heart. I'll tell you what I'm feeling, It's new for me, and I understand nothing. I have a feeling, full of desire, Which is by turns delightful and miserable. I freeze and then feel my soul go up in flames, Then in a moment I turn to ice. I'm searching for affection outside of myself, I don't know how to hold it, nor even what it is! I sigh and lament without wanting to, I twitter and tremble without knowing why, I find peace neither night nor day, But still I rather enjoy languishing this way. You who know what love is, Ladies, see if I have it in my heart.

but, since cherubino is an adolescent boy whose voice hasn't dropped yet, cherubino is always played by an adult mezzo-soprano. so in most cases (though very much not all), he's played by a woman in drag. (these roles are actually very common in opera, they're called pants/trousers roles!)

so like. it's an aria about feeling feelings you've never felt before, your body reacting in a way you've never felt before, and being both overwhelmed and exhilarated by the experience even though it feels like it's driving you mad. and also it's gay as fuck.

#it’s also the aria lizzie sings in pride & prejudice 1995 lol #the second mary said that line i was like oh sick more cherubino content #i played him in a workshop version my freshman year of college <3 #i am not a mezzo but we made it work #our flag means death #ofmd #music things #thoughts

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space-rot · 11 months

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Something Stupid

paring: carmen “carmy” berzatto x reader

word count: 2.0k

genre: fluff, its all jokes bbyy

warning(s): smoking? Its carmy, what else does he do in his free time

summary: when you find peace in the small moments

a/n: better call saul and the bear? together? Well, don't mind if i do. anyways, i do not smoke, i do not condone smoking…but its kinda sexy ngl (thx @officialjimmybuffet for the images, smooches)

There is something so inherently nasty about cigarettes.

The unnatural smoke that burns your eyes, the chemicals that collect under your fingernails, and the smell that manages to leave an everlasting scent on your clothes.

You were never a smoker– somehow managing to avoid the advances of the punk outcasts trying to sell their self-rolled cigs in the back of your highschool parking lot for a dollar each. Sure, there was the typical uncle who seemed, and smelled, like he went through two or three packs a day. The faded voice of a family friend warning the children of the dangers of “the cancer stick,” and that smoking one was equivalent to signing your soul away to the devil.

A scoff leaves you, smirking as you free said cancer stick from its confinement. You were never one to heed the advice from strangers who believed they knew you better than you knew yourself anyway. Bringing it up to your lips and quickly lighting the end, basking in the warmth the small flame brings to battle the chill of the Chicago air.

It's not as though you didn’t know the risks that the habit came with, you are not ignorant to science and health officials; but as you inhale the first hit and can practically swim in the warmth of the filtered tobacco as it fills your lungs, you damn the professionals and all their holier and wiser than thou bullshit. But as you go for a second drag, the door to the alleyway opens and you’re greeted with unruly blonde hair, light blue eyes, and the face of a man who looks like he got the shit kicked out of him.

Because he has, you think, blowing smoke from your nose at the thought. Ever since the transition from The Beef to The Bear, things in and out of the kitchen have gotten easier, but that doesn't mean a headache doesn’t follow. Signing up to work in a kitchen comes with its ups and downs, mostly downs. But those scarce highs are filled with such intense feelings of euphoria, that it is the true addiction that should be studied.

Carmy walks towards you, quick rushed steps, leaning on the wall next to you, close enough to ensure that your arms are touching. A sigh leaving his lips as he rests his weight on the wall, raking a hand through his hair only to continue to drag it down his face. You can see him turn towards you from your peripheral, but you’re looking forward because looking at him means kitchen talk and no matter how long you’ve known Carmy you know that every break talk will just lead to him ranting and raving and you're on a smoke break for a reason and–

The cigarette is plucked from your lips, fingers decorated with SOU disappear with your cigarette just as quickly as they appear, bringing it up to their owners lips for one hit, a second, before he’s placing the stick back exactly where he stole it from.

To say you’re surprised would be a lie. This isn’t the first nor will it be the last time Carmy does this. Hell, he’s the whole reason why you kissed your lungs away in the first place.

You’ve known Carmy for a few years now, having met at that bastard of a restaurant in New York. You weren’t even supposed to be there, having worked at a restaurant adjacent to it, but they were low on staff and the GMs were close enough to send their chefs back and forth when need be.

It was moments before dinner service was supposed to begin, every chef taking last minute precautions to ensure they don't get chewed out by the newly established CDC, Carmen Berzatto. You don’t even know what he looks like yet, the kitchen is doused in pure silence that even asking someone what he looks like seems like a distraction worthy of a mental breakdown from a fellow chef. Even though your check didn’t come from this place, you prepared your station as well as you would in your own restaurant because that’s what being professional means; treating anywhere you cooked with the most respect.

Stepping foot outside and leaning against the wall, you began digging through your pockets for your phone, cursing to yourself when you realized you left it next to your station.

“Hey, uh, I got an extra smoke if you want,” says a voice coming from your right. Turning in its direction, you find a long, blonde-haired man sitting on a milk crate. A cigarette is dangling from his fingers, the smoke swirling dangerously close to his eyes before he brings the cigarette back to his lips, your eyes skimming on the tattoos that decorate his arms and biceps.

“Uh, I’m sorry what,” you question back, having forgotten the original prompt said by him.

“A smoke,” he holds out a carton of cigarettes towards you, “that’s what you're looking for right?” The box is white but decoded with a strip of blue running through the center. The look he gives you is so inviting, but there's only one problem:

You don’t smoke.

Not once has a cigarette grazed your lips. Not once have you been possessed by the ghost of defiance and inhaled the breath of the devil. Not once have you been wrapped in the haze of smoke.

But the look of desperation that’s hidden behind his eyes, the subtle look asking to not be left alone in the back alley of the world’s best restaurant, is enough for you to reach out and grasp your one way ticket to demise–and oh how right you were. How could one assume that a measly little cigarette would alter the rest of your life.

The physics of it seemed easy enough: inhale and then exhale, breath in and then breath out, anybody can do it. So you take the cigarette out of the box, and lean back on the wall, inspecting it like it would sprout legs and run away.

“Hey, uh, do you have–,” the flame of a lighter is already being cupped by his hand. You bend over, close enough to this man to smell the left over nicotine mixed with the atmosphere of the kitchen. He doesn’t look away, mesmerized by the way your eyes drift to the flame to ensure the end of the cigarette is lit, the slight tilt of your head towards the heat. Even when you blink back up to him he doesn’t look away, he’s almost afraid to breathe in this moment, worried it’ll be another thing he manages to fuck up.

But then you're inhaling and–

“Holy shit are you alright,” there’s a hand on your back, patting with a gentle force with the hopes of expelling your coughing fit. “Here, have some water,” he hands you his container of water, because what kitchen has bottled water?

Taking a sip, you contemplate a universe where you can save this situation. How does one manage to fuck up this badly? All of the movies make it look so easy, but the burning of your lungs say otherwise. But the warm hand on your back doesn’t move once you stop coughing, and you turn to see worried eyes meet your own. A beat passes, then two, then a scoff leaves your lips as you shake your head in disbelief.

“Sorry, I uh,” you scramble for something, anything, to save your pride, your dignity. Here is this incredibly attractive man willing to give you a small piece of his world, and you spat it back out in his face. He must be thinking the worst demeaning thoughts, because what chef isn’t thinking in the worst way possible? Here is some person who can’t even inhale properly, what makes them think they can handle the smoke in the kitchen? Coughing up a storm all because of what, one drag of a cigarette and the chef needs to tap out–

“No it's okay, I know these ones taste bad as shit, but they’re the only pack I had on me,” he rubs the back of his neck with his free hand (the other is resting still on your back, not that either of you noticed), “I normally have this other brand, y’know a little sweeter and not as bitter and uh, yeah sorry about that,” he trails off, looking sheepish at the thought of giving out a shitty cigarette brand.

You are given two choices now: one, you can lie and agree that the brand is shit, keeping a small amount of pride and dignity, or two, come clean and admit to this total stranger that this is the first time you’ve held a cigarette and you only agreed because he looked pretty.

A former option has never looked more inviting.

So you lie, you lie out of your ass and agree that the brand is shit and that you have to get back to your station. Packing in a joke about how fucking insane the CDC apparently is and that you’re glad to only be here for the one night. You wish him luck for the night, he gives a small chuckle and wishes you luck as well.

It was five minutes later that someone pointed out that the CDC just walked in from the back and you realize that he was the same man whose cigarette you coughed up.

But that was years ago, and now here you are, with the same CDC behind his new restaurant, a now shared cigarette between your lips. You followed Carmy throughout his time in New York, you followed him to his brother’s sandwich shop, and you will follow him throughout his new endeavors at The Bear. Following him wasn’t always easy, if anything there are more lows than highs, but it’s the small moments like these that make everything worth it.

“You wanna know something funny,” he asks, stealing the cigarette again.

“What?”

“This is the same brand I had you smoke the first time we met.”

Pulling the pack out of your pocket, you let out a hum of acknowledgement, “holy shit you’re right,” the blue stripe around the box stands out against your palm.

You turn to look at him for the first time since he’s stood next to you, backs against the harsh brick of the building.

He’s already staring, a knowing smirk growing across his face, “Thought you hated that brand?”

Stealing the cigarette back, you let out a last puff of smoke, “Only hated it cause you were the one to give it to me.” You finish the cigarette, throwing it onto the concrete and stomping it out, “Come on Berzatto, this place won’t run itself,” you call out with a small wave thrown over your head, walking back towards the kitchen.

Carmy laughs, knowing that you hate the story of how you two met. He can’t help but tease ever since he found out he gave you your first cigarette by accident. You didn’t know anything about different brands, just that you found the man giving you one attractive. Carmy only knows this after taking you home after a drunken night with Sydney, you babbling about anything and everything that it took him a few hours to put the whole story together.

Of course he feels bad at certain times, such as watching you pat yourself down for a smoke only to find that you finished your last pack the other day. But Carmy is always there to give you one of his, whether it be his last one or not, only if you two can share it with a small moment together outside.

And so he walks back inside, looking forward to the next smoke break, and the one after that, until his lungs couldn’t handle anymore, only to keep going if yours haven't given out yet.

#carmen berzatto #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto fic

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calmcoldevening · 4 months

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Vincent Sinclair with s/o who is a writer

• You were both creative people, so it's not surprising that you found a common language so quickly and fell in love with each other. His lost soul subconsciously reached out to your light, wanting warmth and support. You were his ray of light in this vile realm of darkness and cold.

• You really saw talent in him, even when you found out the true nature of these beautiful sculptures in the museum. Yes, it scared you and you didn't want to be a part of it, but you saw Vincent rushing around. You've seen the pressure his brother is under and the heartache with which he creates these bloody masterpieces. But no, you didn't condemn him in any way. You gave him peace of mind.

• Vincent immediately found solace in your presence. There was something about you that immediately endeared you to him. Whether it was your beauty or your kind soul, he couldn't answer even to himself. Perhaps you were just an angel sent to him by the Lord himself.

• As soon as Vincent finds out about your passion for creativity, it immediately interests him. Are you writing? How often? About what? He is interested in all the details of your amazing work. While he, being an artist, sees with his eyes, you see this world with your soul.

• Vincent is happy to read all your essays and stories, even if you think they are unsuccessful or stupid. He likes absolutely all your stories. The man is amazed at your ability to choose beautiful, interesting words to describe and the admiration with which you can describe even something very simple and ordinary, whether it's rain outside the window or some kind of plant.

• Over time, you get a little tradition. In the evening, when the Sinclair brothers are already asleep, you and Vincent are sitting in the living room by the fireplace. He holds you in his arms, leaning against the back of the sofa and clasping his hands on your stomach. You sit in his gentle hands, from time to time turning over the slightly yellowed pages of a leather book and reading aloud. These were stories of your own composition. And although your voice was gentle and soothing, Vincent did not give himself the opportunity to fall asleep, wanting to listen to your every gentle word. He squeezes you in his arms when you finish reading. Even if it was the tenth time he had heard this story, the man is ready to listen to it over and over again, because you wrote it. You look up at him tenderly, he's not wearing a mask. Your hand reaches up, tucking stray strands of dark hair behind his ear, and caresses his scar on his face. Your hands are so gentle and soft, Vincent involuntarily closes his eyes. He remembers perfectly well with what trepidation you described his appearance with your magic lines. There was no horror or condemnation in them. Your words were gentle and beautiful, as if Vincent was the most delicate and beautiful flower you've ever seen.

• Over time, he noticed what you often compared his personality to. Spider lily. He had never seen such a plant in his life, so it was very interesting for him to see it. What was he like in your eyes? The man's curiosity was satisfied when he saw the cherished flower in the magazine of one of the victims. "..he was beautiful. Bright scarlet drops of cranberry blood on the icy crystal of pure fluffy snow or gaping spider lilies bursting out from under the snow cover, as if an omen of something significant, inherently divine. His being was bright and innocent, it was completely unsuited to the place where he was born. And yet, he decorated the world around him with his beauty and God's gift.."

• You often created together. You were both creative people, so you really knew how difficult it can be to catch inspiration. And when you were together, the task seemed to solve itself. Vincent was sitting at his desk, facing the exit from the basement. You were sitting across from him in the big rocking chair that Lester brought for you from the city. Your legs were covered with a warm blanket, and your eyes were fixed on the paper, fingers nervously clutching the ill-fated pen. Vincent looked up from time to time, noting your concentration. He always liked watching you work. You were so serious and collected, but at the same time sweet and funny. The man liked to watch your eyebrows wrinkle when you were thinking especially hard. Or when an idea comes to your mind, you bite your tongue slightly, excitedly starting to quickly write something down in your notebook. Every detail about you was just beautiful to him. He was in a hurry to capture you in his drawings right away. You were like a sip of fresh water for him in the midst of a sultry desert.

• Sometimes you missed him when there was a lot of work and he didn't leave the basement all day. You brought him food straight down, but the man didn't react in any way. That's why you were doing something that he would definitely like. You beautifully described all the accumulated thoughts on paper, carefully folding a piece of paper into a beautiful envelope and putting it with dinner. Or it could be a whole sheet of words about how beautiful Vincent is in your eyes. And you took the food to his office along with a love note. Later, he sat alone in the basement, clutching your letter with trembling hands. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. You were so kind and wonderful to him, he wasn't worthy of you. Vincent kisses a piece of paper and pulls it to his chest. After that, he carefully puts it in his box. It was a beautifully decorated box filled to the brim with your poems and stories. Even if you threw out some "unsuccessful" work, Vincent took it away and carefully kept it, sometimes rereading it. Although he liked it more when you read.

#slashers x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair house of wax

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bump1nthen1ght · 7 months

Text

A Very Monstrous Kinktober: Day 14 (Orgasm Denial)

Kink: Orgasm Denial

Pairing: Fem!Vampire x GN!Reader

Other Kinks: Bondage, Sex Toys

Warnings: Non Con, Mind Break

Word Count: 1140 words

Kinktober Masterlist

“I must say, you are lasting for longer than I thought you would. Most mortals pass out by now.”

Victoria tuts, a mix of pride and derision in her voice. The kind of patronizing that would normally have you biting back, bristled by that inherent superiority she walks around with.

Given the gag in your mouth and the ruined state of your mind, however, you can do no such thing.

She yanks at the collar around your neck, forcing your head to turn to the side and look at her. A cold, marble-like hand pets your flushed cheeks, thumb wiping away at your tear tracks.

“But you have surprised me every step of the way, pet.” Victoria smirks, a glint of her sharp fangs in the candle light. “Let's see how long you can last.”

She gives a wave of her hand, using that minor magic all vampires have to make the vibrating buttplug inside you turn up a notch. You moan around the gag, drool running down your chin as you feel that familiar high coming on. Your hips jerk, trying to chase it, grab on tight to something incorporeal. Almost there, almost-

“Uh-uh.” Victoria tuts, waving her hand again and turning the vibration off. You squeal, not unlike a pig, through the gag. Your hazy gaze looks at her desperately, fresh tears bubbling at the ducts. You were so close that time.

“Aww, do you want to come?” Victoria says, setting a knee down on the bed before laying by your side. She props her side up on a pillow, manicured nails playing with the restraints around your wrists, tied to the bed posts. Her soft breasts lay right by your face, ice-cold skin tantalizing close to your heated body. “Sorry, pet. You’re gonna have to work a little harder.”

Victoria runs her long nails down your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It’s just the faintest of sensations, but your body leaps at her every touch and caress. She snaps her fingers and the buttplug slides out of you, soon replaced by an even larger dildo. The burn as it stretches your hole open is welcomed by your body, whose addiction chases even painful pleasure. But after entering you to the base, all 10 inches deep in your guts, the dildo just sits there. Close, but not enough.

Your pleading whines just make Victoria’s smile wider. She kisses your cheek like a gentle lover, even if she is anything but.

“This is always the best part.” She whispers in your ear, lips lingering by your face. The tips of her fangs graze against the skin. “You started out so brave, so headstrong. Convinced you could defeat someone like me with those little toys of yours.” Her wandering hand lingers by your hips, tracing circles across your pelvis. “Now look at you, hunter. Begging for my help, begging for me to touch you.” She nips at the lobe of your ear. “My little toy.”

All her degrading should make you skin burn, should make you furious. You should be dreaming of ripping out of these restraints and plunging a stake in her heart, killing the vicious beast you were sent to kill.

But now all you want is her to do something, anything, to help you. To finally bring you peace.

“I want to hear you say it.” Victoria says, snapping her fingers again. The gag in your mouth comes undone, falling to your chest. But before you can say anything coherent the dildo finally begins to move. A slow and methodical pace, but its something, and its enough to make you moan.

Victoria moves and straddles your hips, snapping her fingers again and to magically remove her red dress. Left in a black, sheer lingerie set, she leans down so her bosom lays right in front of your face. You don’t even think of how this angle would be perfect for stabbing through the heart, rather you wonder what those rosy nipples would taste like. Her smirk, all fangs and power, tears right into your soul.

“I want to hear you say, ‘Let me cum, mistress.’ I want you to relent and give yourself to me.” Victoria’s eyes sparkle with a sadistic glee, no hint of magical compulsion in her voice; No, she wants you to willingly submit. “Become my pet, my little plaything.” Victoria leans down, her breasts finally touching your chest, just enough skin contact to have you shaking. “And then I’ll let you come.”

Victoria leans over so her mouth is right in the junction of your neck, licking a long strip across your pulse. It makes you shudder and moan, hips twitching once again to chase what little friction the dildo is giving you.

“I-” You stutter out, interrupt by a knot tightening in your belly. Maybe you can do it, maybe while she’s distracted you can reach there on your own. Teased and taught, maybe there's enough.

Victoria snaps her fingers, the dildo stops.

You nearly scream.

“P-please let me cum, mistress!” With no hesitation, you throw everything aside. “Please, I’ll do anything. Be your fucktoy, be your slave, please.” Your voice trembles, face nuzzling into her shoulder like a dejected pet. “Please just let me cum.”

You can feel her smile against your neck.

It’s an agonizing few seconds where she doesn’t say a word, just lets you pant and whine, soaking in your submission.

“Finally”. She moans, snapping her fingers. The dildo pulls out to the base before shoving back inside you, hitting your sensitive spot like a lightning strike. Thr toy starts fucking you open like never before, buzzing numbness shooting up your abdomen as you can finally begun to taste your orgasm. You can feel it, finally you might reach it. You whine and moan with abandon, not caring about pride or morals, giving in to the delicious feeling. Please, please let this be real.

“Ah! Oh gods!” You keen, that crashing wave coming closer and closer. The dildo shows no sign of stopping, brutalizing your insides into its shape. Your toes curl up as your orgasms edges nearer, and nearer, almost-

“Fuck!” You scream, Victoria sinking her teeth into your neck as your orgasms finally crashes over you. The pain and pleasure are all jumbled and feel the same, blood running down your neck not dissimilar to the cum staining the sheets. All of it lingers just the same, your body growing limp and weak as it everything slowly fades away.

Your vision is spotty, your brain only conscious of the dildo pulling out and Victoria lapping at your wounded neck, closing it with her healing saliva.

All you remember before you pass out are the words Victoria whispers into you skin.

“I think you’re going to be my favorite toy of all.”

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #monster romance #gender neutral reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #vampire #vampire x reader

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