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azullumi · 26 days

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”know it’s for the better” ; aventurine

summary — memories come in waves and tonight, he’s drowning; the grief of his past haunts him and visits him in his dreams; alternatively, you comfort and assure him after his nightmare.

pairing — aventurine (w/gender-neutral reader)

warning — 2.1 QUEST SPOILERS (about his past)

tags — established relationship, angst with comfort, soft and kind of insecure aventurine, mentions of alcohol (he just drinks a glass that’s all), there’s some fluff if you squint, lots of metaphors, mentions of death, mentions of depressing and negative thoughts, all told and narrated in aventurine’s POV, i never proofread, 2.1k words ; one-shot

tagging — @toorurs !! dedicating this to you

note — this is what reading his character analysis, character essays, scene and dialogue interpretations, and his whole ass lore and dissecting each one of it does to you. day 3 of writing for him.

“kakavasha.”

he opens his eyes to the sight of his planet: seemingly empty, barren, as nothingness continues to stretch towards the horizon. there was nothing on this land but the stench of death and cruelty that lingers in the air—it was heavy, thick, as if the clouds were binding him down to the ground and forcing him to look at what once was. he could feel the ache in his chest, the feeling of familiarity starting to seep into gaps between his fingers, and the the lump starting to form in his throat.

he knew this place, the stones that surrounded him and the mountain that leered over him. he knew of this, was all too familiar with it—the sunken ground and disturbed dirt from when his sister knelt before him with tears in her eyes as she uttered her promise of reunion before she bid him her farewell (he’ll always carry her last words as if it was part of his existence). the memory plays in his mind all over again, the voice of his sister echoing:

“this is where we go our own way, kakavasha…”

“...this is a gift from gaiathra, and you are kakavasha, whose good fortune will bless your sister with success.”

“as long as you are alive, the blood of the avgin will never run dry. so run, kakavasha, do not be afraid, and do not look back…”

he could feel the rain starting to pour down on his form but he doesn’t run, he doesn’t move, he doesn’t seek for something that will shelter him from the cold. instead, he stands under the pouring rain with heavy shoulders and thoughts that seem to claw and scratch at him. no matter how much he tries to cover up and escape from his past, to run and run until his feet hurt, until he falls and crumbles to nothing, it will still haunt him. it chases after him; it hides in the corners of his room, behind the wallpapers, and amidst the settling dust and cobwebs, and it creeps up on tuesday mornings as he tries to revere the sun that once never shined on him. he’s always painfully reminded of the things that he has to carry—the weight of his sister who carries her parents, and who carries their parents.

“...the rain will accompany you, and the rain will bless you.”

the distant cries, screams, and roars all ring inside his ears but the sound of the rain breaking into smaller pieces as it falls to the ground that he walks on masks it all.

he feels so pathetic. the hatred that he has for himself continues to gather and manifest into his likeness to sing choruses of condemnation in the guise of shattered and broken praises that are shaped like knives, stabbing his guts and making blood spill from his lips (he doesn’t know what his mother looked like anymore yet he could remember the distinct smell and taste of iron as blood stains his skin).

“why are you all doing this…” he remembers what he answers to her sister before she walks off to her death. he remembers asking her as he covers his ears with his small hands—too weak and frail to even carry stones, much less move boulders. he remembers the pain, the confusion, the guilt of it all. he was just a small child who had too much to hold.

what even is the worth of his life? it was just merely 60 tanbas. even if he dresses himself in luxurious and expensive clothing his past self could never dream of having, it doesn’t rid of the grasp the ipc has over him; his shackles. the cold and harsh metal is not there anymore but he could still feel it tugging on his neck, he could still feel the letters burn as it engraves itself—death would have been a more merciful fate for him than being held by such cruel and dirty hands.

“kakavasha.”

aventurine opens his eyes to the sight of his ceiling. there was no empty land that is of semblance of his planet before him but instead there were the patterns, the walls, and the chandelier that hangs in the middle of it. he was in his room; the silence accompanied with the ticking sound of the clock strikes a balance between quietude and noise.

1:56, he looks at the time. it was still deep into the night—the stars cast its light into his room as it poured itself on the cold floor. there was a rustle by his side and he turned his head to look at you, peacefully sleeping in the comfort of his blankets and you mumbled something underneath your breath though he couldn’t hear it. your face scrunches for a moment before it relaxes into a soft one and he watches all of it happen; he wonders what you’re dreaming of.

unable to sleep—a heavy feeling resides in his chest ever since he woke up—, he slides himself out of the bed. slowly and silently, dare he might disturb your sleep. he slips into his slippers before walking off to the direction of his kitchen. he doesn’t even know what he’s going to do there; he’s not even thirsty nor hungry, he just follows where his feet brings him (that’s how it usually was for him, often aimless and wandering with no direction in mind, he just doesn’t where to go, where he belongs).

he’s not an alcoholic but sometimes he just seeks for the bitterness of the liquid—to replace the taste of blood on his tongue and momentarily feel what it’s like to have nothing on your shoulders; his hands are empty yet it holds so much. he pours himself a small glass, honey-coloured liquid spills into it and a few drops gets into the surface counter. he picks the glass up, swirls the liquid for a few moments and watches its motion, before he brings it to his lips and drinks it all.

the scent is harsh against his nose and the liquid burns at his throat. the taste was too bitter and he felt like spitting it all out but he didn't, he continued to swallow it until there was nothing left in his fill. he tried to think of something else, to avoid those thoughts from entering his mind: the plant there needs to be watered, that reminds me of the light bulb has to be changed, do i even have a future ahead of me?, the painting there is slightly out of place, am i even supposed to survive?, are you still in his room?

he wonders if you’re still tucked in his sheets, if you’re still sleeping in his bed, he wonders what you were dreaming of that got you mumbling and knitting your eyebrows, he wonders when you’ll walk away from him after you realize how ugly and utterly worthless he actually is.

“‘rine?” a voice calls out to him along with the light sound of approaching footsteps. as soon as you enter the kitchen, you are greeted by the sight of him: an empty glass in his hand with a newly-opened bottle of alcohol in front of him. it was currently 2 in the morning, your lover was missing from your side when you woke up but you found him drinking alone in the kitchen.

“what’s wrong, my love? are you okay?” you ask, worry following your tone as you spoke. but aventurine remains silent. he can’t tell you his thoughts, of the overwhelming despair that drags him back down to his misery, and it’s not because he doesn't want to but he can’t—it would break your heart.

(and you know his silence too well. you didn’t carve yourself inside his heart just for nothing, you didn’t consume his flesh to not know the humming of his thoughts inside his chest.)

“you know you can tell me anything, right?” you didn’t care that he’ll break your heart. you wanted all of him and that includes his hatred and anger. if it makes him feel better, break it, shatter it into pieces and you’ll keep on picking yourself up for him. even if you don’t have the ability to stop the downpour, you’ll walk with him through the rain.

after what seems to be moments of hesitation coming from him, he shuffles from his seat and approaches where you stood. and he lets himself fall and crumble for you to catch him in your embrace—he feels safe, he feels okay but the grief, misery, and guilt still tugs at his heart ever so often as it beats.

(“where do i put all of this grief?” he asked you once while you admired the stars with him. “you hold them until it turns to love.”)

you caress his back softly, a small act of comfort as you cradled him in your arms. he doesn’t put all of his weight on you but he pulls you close and buries his face on the crook of your neck, heaving out a sigh as he did; you let him, let him whisper his worries and write his thoughts on your skin.

“did you have a nightmare again?”

“…not really.” the faint smell of alcohol wafts to your nose as he speaks. “i just…”

“it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“i’m sorry.” he says and you didn’t fail to notice the crack in his voice and the feeling of something warm and wet on your skin. you hold him closer, tighter, and you brush your hand against his hair, tangling your fingers in his soft locks.

“you have nothing to apologize for. it’s not your fault, kakavasha. nothing is ever going to be your fault.”

“it feels like it does.”

“no, no, my love… you were just a child. you did all that you can to survive and fulfill your promise.”

you start to gently sway him into the melody of your hum and he follows your form like the wind would on your hair. this continues for long until he’ll let go—you’ll hold him for as long as he wants to if it would lessen his burdens.

“i wouldn’t love you any less nor will i think of you as worthless.”

he has days likes this, days where he contemplates and thinks of everything, days where he doesn’t know what to do or what to say, days where he feels like he never changed and he’s still the same weak child who walked away from his sister instead of begging and asking her to go with him (the survivor’s guilt goes hard), days where it feels like everything is falling apart and he’s left on his own again, days where all he wants to do is to just cry in your shoulder—

“are you feeling better?” you ask him as he lifts his head from your shoulder; dry tears are left like trails of stars on his features. you cup both of his cheeks and wipe away the remnants of his misery and ache.

“mhm, a little bit.” he nods and you beckon him closer to your lips just so you could kiss his forehead before peppering his whole face.

—but there are days of warmth and sunlight. days where it all feels a little bit bearable and he can breath, days where every step he takes isn’t heavy, days where he could taste the kindness of the sun on his lips, days where he wakes up with you by his side and thinks he could have this forever, days where he could hear his mother’s lullaby that would comfort him, days where he could hear his sister’s voice telling him that she’s proud of how far he have come, days where everything feels okay and worth it.

years of these little bits of happiness—in silence, in chaos, in tranquility, in destruction—he wants a lifetime of it with you. and though kakavasha was never a greedy man, the ache, the yearning, and craving for those moments with you fills the empty spaces of his thoughts; you looked like what peaceful dreams are made of.

“i love you.” he knows that you know that already, he just thought he’d say it again.

#aventurine honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #honkai imagines #honkai x reader #honkai #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr x you #hsr aventurine #hsr x reader #aventurine imagines #aventurine x you #aventurine #star rail aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine angst #honkai x you #honkai star rail x you #azul.writes

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loveinhawkins · 10 months

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Steve’s bat bites start to bleed again during the drive out of The War Zone.

It’s a slow realisation, a creeping dampness on his skin.

He stays as still as he can, keeps his movements small and contained when turning the steering wheel; he thinks he mostly gets away with it, manages to park the RV and pitch his voice on just the right side of normal as he tells the kids to scram.

Awareness of his surroundings grows a little fuzzy around the edges, but he senses enough to know that he’s alone—the silence feels heavy, makes his ears ring.

He lifts himself up out of his seat, one hand clinging onto the headrest for balance. The ringing gets sharper, more high-pitched; he shakes his head to try and clear it.

One step forward, then another, and another.

There’s a slight rocking motion under his feet. It feels a little like he’s in a boat that’s docked, constant movement even in the gentlest of waters.

His palms brush against the bathroom door.

“Okay,” Steve whispers to himself.

He hangs onto the sink to keep himself upright—feels the room sway, as if the waters underneath have suddenly become stormy.

With one hand, he finds the knot in the bandage.

“Okay, okay…”

Pulls.

Steve doesn’t think he blacks out, not quite, but there’s a shift, a dizzying tilt… and then, somehow, he’s sitting on the closed toilet seat.

And…

The bat bites must cause hallucinations or something.

Otherwise, Steve cannot explain why Eddie—who notoriously threw up and passed out during a dissection in Biology—is currently pressing a clean bandage against his stomach, staring down at the blood like he can’t look away.

“You’re good, you’re good,” Eddie’s saying.

He’s clearly trying to sound calm, but it’s just coming out strained, like what he really means is this is all a fucking nightmare actually, but we’ve gotta find something to be optimistic about.

“Think it just needs some more pressure,” he goes on. “Yeah, there, see? It’s stopping. Oh, thank God.”

Steve feels more gauze getting wrapped around his middle—if he wasn’t injured, it’d almost be a nice sensation, Eddie’s touch somehow the perfect mix of both firm and gentle.

As he works, Eddie hums nervously.

“Talk to me Harrington,” he says in a shaky sing-song. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging, man, gimme some awkward small talk. Got any hopes? Dreams? Anything I should know?

Oh, so many things, Steve thinks, still light-headed.

But then he really does mull that over: his mind goes to The Upside Down, to belatedly telling Eddie about the hive mind, and oh shit.

“Hey, weird question,” Steve says, “but I’ve not been, like, asking you to make it cold in here or, um, anything like that?”

Eddie blinks. “Uh. No?”

“Okay.” Before he lets the relief of hearing Eddie’s answer sink in, Steve adds, “If I ever do, you need to lock me in here and get out. Tell Nancy.”

Eddie’s staring at him like he’s grown a second head. “Sure. Cool. Cool! Uh, for any particular reason or—?”

“Just in case—like, I don’t feel any different, but—one time, Will Byers, when he was in The Upside Down it, like, infected him? Like a virus. Except more… possession. And they had to kinda… burn it outta him.”

“Ha,” Eddie says. A beat. “Oh fuck, you’re serious.”

“I really don’t have the energy to be messing with you, dude.”

“Sorry. Sometimes you all just say things, y’know? And if I don’t get it, I’m like, well, they’ve been living through this for a while, maybe they’ve got a code going on.”

“I mean,” Steve says, “we kinda do.”

Eddie shakes his head. “So when Buckley said she dealt with a human-flesh-based monster, and the one before that was smoke-related, that wasn’t just, like, a really fucked up metaphor?” Eddie’s eyes are wide, pleading. “Please say it was a metaphor.”

“Sorry,” Steve says sincerely.

Eddie sighs through a lacklustre chuckle. “You’re fine, Steve. As for, uh, being possessed, I don’t think so. You’re no weirder than usual, but—”

“Wow, thanks. Means such a lot coming from you.”

“—you were a bit, like, out of it for a few seconds, but it just looked like you were gonna faint on me. Um. How’re you feeling now?”

“Good,” Steve says. When Eddie raises an eyebrow, he tacks on, “As good as I can be, I guess. Still.” He groans slightly as he stands, goes back over to the sink. “Better check.”

“Check? What?”

Steve runs the water as hot as it will possibly go, until the steam is evident. He sticks his hand right into the stream, hears Eddie hiss as the water scalds his skin.

“Okay, yup. Not possessed.”

“Fucking fantastic. Now I want it cold,” Eddie says.

He takes control of the faucet, nods for Steve to put his hand under the now cold water.

After a minute or two, Eddie sighs and collapses onto the toilet seat himself.

There’s a squeak as Steve turns the faucet off—his skin’s probably not had the good of the cold water for nearly long enough, but it’ll do.

Eddie’s tipped his head back so he’s facing the ceiling, eyes closed. Steve watches him with sympathy; he really must hate blood.

“Eddie. You can go.”

“Mm, nope,” Eddie says without opening his eyes. “I’m fine right here.”

“Suit yourself.”

Steve turns back to the sink, frowns at the tiny mirror above it; there’s black spots on the glass, but he can make out enough. Christ, the bags under his eyes are horrific.

“Relax, Casanova,” Eddie says, almost as if he’s heard Steve’s thoughts. “You look good.”

“Uh-huh. Think your brain’s fried from being on the run.”

Steve leans against the sink with one hip, finds Eddie looking at him with a small smile.

“Yeah, probably. Or maybe being on the run just suits you.” Eddie’s eyes flicker down. His smile falters. “You know, in an ideal world,” he says conversationally, “you’d be in a hospital getting stitches.”

Steve scoffs. “In an ideal world, I’d be in bed sleeping.”

“Amen to that,” Eddie says lightly. But he still looks sombre. “Seriously, though. If it gets… you know. I’d drive you.”

“To the hospital? What are you gonna do, Eddie, wander up to the front desk? Sounds like a real interesting way to get arrested.”

But Eddie doesn’t leap at the chance to make a joke.

“Steve,” he says softly. “I mean it. I wouldn’t care.”

“That would sorta ruin the whole priority of hiding you.”

“That’s—” Eddie huffs. “That’s not the priority.”

“Huh, that’s funny, cause it is in my book.” Steve nods at the door, to his whole world just outside. “One of many.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “And your name better be right at the top, Harrington.”

Steve hums.

“In bold. Underlined.”

“Whatever you say.”

Eddie groans quietly, runs a hand down his face. “You worry me, man.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“I know. Just…” Eddie hesitates. “Don’t go off alone. You know?”

Steve thinks it over. He steps forward and offers Eddie his hand.

Eddie takes it.

When Steve pulls him up, he stumbles a little, as if he feels like he’s on a boat, too.

“Oops, sorry.” He grabs onto Steve’s forearm for balance. “Think this should be the other way round, man.”

“Hmm, I don’t think so.”

Steve leads the way out of the bathroom—doesn’t mention the fact that, really, they’re both holding each other up.

There’s a bottle of water left in the back. Steve twists the cap off. Drinks.

“You too,” he tells Eddie.

“Huh?”

Steve considers him—thinks of the little flare of panic he felt when watching Eddie walk through the woods, tiptoeing around vines. How he had a sudden instinct to catch up to him, to make sure he wasn’t alone.

“I’m making a deal,” Steve says. “I won’t go off alone if you don’t.”

He lifts the bottle up as if making a toast—drinks again then passes it over to Eddie.

For the slightest of moments, their fingers brush; Eddie’s rings skim over Steve’s knuckles.

“So what’s this?” Eddie asks. “Legally binding magical water?”

Steve shrugs. “Cool metaphor,” he replies.

You say you just turn heel and run, Eddie. But sometimes I think if there was a fire, you’d run towards the flames if it meant no-one else got hurt.

Eddie smiles. Tilts the bottle towards Steve.

“Guess it’s a promise, then,” he says.

He drinks.

Steve prays that it holds.

#reciprocal hurt/comfort & protectiveness because they notice each other and care so damn much. with a side of banter of course ❤️#pre steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie

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bbangtans · 25 days

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daybreak | jjk | oneshot teaser

Summary: One of your favorite things to do when you were in your early 20s was stay up late where reflective conversations eventually blurred into nonsense as the sun rose alongside someone you thought you would spend the rest of your days with… Now you’re stuck in New York City for one night due to a delayed flight with that very person standing there in his leather jacket and guitar case in hand across from you at the airport gate. See, fate is a funny thing and Jeon Jungkook could always find the humor in anything.

pairing: rockstar!ex!jk x f!reader genre/tropes: angst, fluff, exes to ???, right person wrong time/second chances, jungkook is so romance film lead coded – charismatic and well-spoken and genuine and ughhhhh i be fawning frrrr, this takes place where both jk and reader are 28ish, jk is a lead singer in a band with tae-jimin-yoongi, and y/n is a working professional rating/warnings: M | alcohol consumption, lots of swearing, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (don’t be all willy nilly with this tho!!!), dig bick jk lmfao, oral (f receiving), heavy petting, multiple orgasms. a/n: inspired by my faaaaaave movie before sunrise bc if there’s anything namjoon and i have in common, it’s that we are yearners 🤝 word count: ~10k POSTED: link

You cursed every cliched metaphor referencing the elusiveness of time… the grains of sand slipping through fingertips, the ticking of clock hands that echo in the back of your head, the passage of breezes, and the eventual rising of the morning sun.

Jungkook smiled gently, wiping away a tear with his thumb which you didn’t even feel form as it fell down your cheek. “Don’t worry.”

“I just want you to know that I loved being in this moment. Sharing this night with you, that tonight it felt like New York was all ours. I could have never seen its beauty and experienced its magic the way I did with you.” Barely managing through your cries, you gasped for a breath as you tried to make out the next words. “But why did things have to turn out this way?”

The loud caws of the seagulls as they flew over the pier and the cold morning air fell onto forgotten senses as the only thing you could feel was the intensity of Jungkook’s stare on you. From your forehead that he placed a tender kiss upon, to your eyes that mirrored that silent longing his contained, the nose that he nuzzled against his, and chin that he held softly in his rough hand… It was like he was taking a picture of you at that moment. A moment where he was not rockstar Jeon Jungkook, but the Jungkook who always found a way to make you laugh and the Jungkook you dreamed of sharing matching rings with. And you were not the person living too fast for anyone to keep up with, but a person who could find the beauty in anything and the person that Jungkook could write a million and one songs about.

“Shh,” he comforted you as his arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. “I really can’t thank you enough for tonight… I’ve never hated to see morning as much as I do now.” He chuckled dryly at the irony of all.

You pulled back, surprising the man who towered over you. You held his confused face in your hands and smiled. “Me, too. I hope you know that.”

“I do now…” He whispered as though louder words could break the moment before placing a chaste kiss on one of the hands that cupped his face.

“Now what?” Your hands fell from his face and rested on his chest.

Jungkook sighed in contemplation as he peered past you into the blossoming orange horizon before recentering his eyes on you and grin losing its warmth and being replaced with sadness. “Good morning, I guess.”

The gravity of the situation settled upon you both silently.

“None of that dramatic ‘goodbye’ shit in the morning!” You tipsily pointed at Jungkook with your beer who only laughed at your theatrics as some foam spilled.

Between chuckles, Jungkook was barely able to let out. “Okay, then what do we say at the end? When it’s morning?”

“What people always say at that time – ‘good morning’ and not goodbye. Let’s make it a nice ending for us, I feel like that would do us both justice.” Your gaze was too hazy to see the seriousness that lined his face but he shook it off and plastered his signature smile despite the storm in his heart. “I know it’s a little cheesy, but I don’t want to be sad in those last minutes with you.”

“Okay, we’ll bid each other ‘good morning’ when dawn comes then we go on with the rest of our lives. No sad stuff.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

“Good morning, Jungkook.” No matter how dazzling your smile was, Jungkook could never be distracted from the tears that lined your gorgeous eyes.

No physical closeness could ever combat the weight of what daybreak meant for you both.

#jungkook #bbangtans ff #bts fanfic #bbangtans jk ff #bts #bts x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bts x y/n

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cocoreallylovesraiden · 2 months

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How MK1 characters sleep with their S/O (liu kang, bi han, kung lao, raiden, shang tsung)

This is very casual and nonsensical but pointless useless headcanons give me life sorry; I might do this for other characters but idk which oops

Liu Kang

- I am in-between the idea of him needing sleep at all (being a god and all), but either way I think he would be in bed with them to spend time together.

- Mattress hard like a rock, so you’d be better off laying on top of him for any kind of soft squishy comfort.

- Likes the physical pressure on being laid on, would secure you in place with a hand on the small of your back, or cradling you closer if you lay your head in his chest.

- During the summer months he would be too hot to comfortably lay on, so either he just longingly stares at you back (rip) or holds your hand in the middle of the bed.

- Wakes up/ gets out of bed at the asscrack of dawn and folds the spare blanket next to you so its like he’s still there… and then becomes annoyed that you’d rather cuddle the blanket than wake up and see him.

- Laughs at you when you want to buy more western soft pillows or fluffy blankets, but he gets them anyways and then now HE can’t sleep bc it’s weirdly soft.

- Will read as you sleep in his arms, and has resorted to using your unconscious elbows to flip the page bc his hands are being held hostage.

- Likes to watch you as you sleep and tries not to smile when you twitch from a dream, even when you drool onto the pillows; is content to do so until sunrise.

- Sometimes tho in the middle of the night when you roll over you just see two military grade flashlight beacons glowing in the dark staring at you like an eldritch monster.

- “Hello, dearest 😊.”

- He says, like you didn’t almost piss the bed in fear.

Bi Han

- Has a meticulous string of tasks and duties he must fulfil before he can even think of getting into bed, and he still manages to be under the covers same time every night.

- Becomes VERY cranky if you are not in bed with him within 15 minutes and when you eventually settle into bed, his back is turned towards you and he huffs like a dramatic housewife.

- Self-assigned big spoon (non-negotiable) and loves resting his face in the crook of your neck, his favourite way to rest after a long day. He isn’t the best with words (in terms of emotional vulnerability) and uses little actions to let you know how he feels.

- His hair gets EVERYWHERE. It’s in his mouth. It’s in YOUR mouth. If you have long hair, have fun waking up 20 minutes earlier to sleepily untangle your newfound spiderweb of human hair.

- Doesn’t toss and turn and is a very light sleeper- it’s required of his job. At the smallest sound his eyes are open, and he cannot rest until he’s gone and checked the locks and such.

- You know when Asian dads wake up at 4am and just go hack and cough in the bathroom yeah that’s him… that’s how YOU wake up.

- You both look like hot fucking garbage in the morning it constantly looks you both are two struggling new parents who had a metaphorical baby keeping them up all night.

- Debates smothering you with a pillow if you snore and keep him up before a busy day.

Kung Lao

- I hope you’re a heavy sleeper.

- His snoring sounds like sails ripping, it’s so loud he scares himself awake sometimes.

- “BABE WHAT WAS THAT?”

- You girl….

- Doesn’t matter what season it is, what temperate, you two are always still too hot and on the verge of breaking into sweat, even after you’re dressed down to just underwear.

- Maybe you fall asleep a safe distance away from him, but halfway through the night its like looking an abstract painting of human limbs, his foot is on your stomach and your face is smashed against his knees. Chiropractors are scared of you two.

- You both complain about how annoying the other person is to sleep next to, but can’t sleep alone at night- the bed feels too big or too cold.

- It’s like when you wake up from a nap not knowing what country you’re in, drenched in sweat and covered in those red lines but every morning.

- Talks in his sleep and you have several videos in your camera roll having incoherent conversations with sleepy Lao.

- “Hey baby… Are you asleep?” “Not now babe imgndh tm running for presdidentnt”

- Yeah king you do that!

- He SWEARS that he’s a big spoon but likes being the little tiny eeny weeny teaspoon looks at you with the ugly goo goo gaga eyes until you relent and wrap your arms around his waist.

Raiden

- I don’t care unless it’s past a certain time in your relationship he will sleep on the couch or DIE

- He is traditional to an almost irritating extent YOU WILL NOT DIE IF YOU SEE MY UPPER THIGH OH MY GOD

- But let me tell you once y’all do share a sleeping space its over for you… He uses that farmer strength to squeeze the life out of you. Like Kung Lao where you fall asleep laying next to him and wake up in the alligator death roll fighting to breathe.

- Death by beefy man arms sounds great until you need to pee and have to scrap at 6am against an unconscious man (he is winning).

- Likes it when you nuzzle under his chin, but when he’s really tired, he really just wants to lay on your chest and have you smooth his hair.

- Feels a certain need to be the Bigger Strong Man but secretly wants to be cuddled and babied a little, just doesn’t want to ask for it.

- Doesn’t matter because however you sleep, you’re waking up to that child-holding-their-favourite-teddy-bear GRIP.

- Likes to chat about both your days before falling asleep, and will verbally ask like “are you asleep?” And then stop moving, breathing, thinking because he’s scared to wake you up. You have to smack his face half-awake like RAIDEN YOU CAN BREATHE before he relaxes.

Shang Tsung

- Idgaf if he’s a man and if you’re a woman, he is the girlfriend.

- Wants you to kiss the top of his head and stroke his hair, you can feel his ugly ass smug smile against your skin the entire time.

- Even if he does love you, I can see him being unable to sleep with his back turned to you; he has to be acutely away of what you’re doing (sleeping. Your tired ass is sleeping.)

- Unless of course he’s being the little spoon. Rolling eyes emoji.

- Another very light sleeper, but when he’s deep in sleep he has reoccurring night terrors, and maybe even sleep paralysis, so he clutches you tightly like he’s scared you’ll up and leave him.

- When he wakes up he’s probably frozen, so he grounds himself by listening to your heartbeat or readjusting your hold so it’s tighter and more compressing.

- Doesn’t matter if it’s a big ass bed or stack of pelts on the forest floor, you are not allowed to move a SINGLE INCH away from him. You two occupy 25% of this bed’s real estate.

- If he wakes up first, he is slipping out without a word. If you wake up first and god forbid, try to let him go, his eyes are snapping open and looking at you so judgementally.

- Throws your boots at you if you oversleep like. Wake up you Lug. We have things to do.

- Looks amazing the moment he wakes up and makes fun of you for having bed hair and overall being uglier than he is.

- Pokes your cheek and makes your head loll about if he wakes up first and chuckles at how cute he finds it, catches himself being mushy, then pinches your nose so you wake up.

#mk1 #mortal kombat x reader #mk1 x reader #liu kang #liu kang x reader #mk1 bi han #sub zero #bi han #bi han x reader #kung lao #kung lao x reader #raiden #Raiden x reader #shang tsung #Shang tsung x reader #mk1 2023 #no offence kung lao i would suplex you #shang tsung is like a stray cat are you gonna kill me or rub against my leg

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bumblebeesfromvenus · 3 months

Text

Diamond Rings 💫

Bale!Bruce Wayne x wife!reader

A/N: I finally got around to writing this lovely request!! Fluffy morning sex is perfect for Bruce AHHH 😭 and this is also the sequel to 'My Precious Jewel' !! Get your nom noms :3

~Fi 🐝

《Prompt》: the ask is here!

《Requested by》: anon <3

《Warnings》: NSFW CONTENT. proceed with caution. Handjob, edging (barely), PiV, throat holding (???), creampie (don't be like them), lil bit of cockwarming, so fluffy it's sickening, Bruce is a hopeless romantic, change my mind. (You can't)

《Word count》: 2.6k

Sequel to My Precious Jewel ♧

Can be read as stand alone as well though!

Masterlist ✨️

Please don't copy my work! I put a lot of effort and heart into the things I write.

🍾●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●🌼●●●●●●●●●●●●●●🍾

The morning sun was streaming in through the curtains, tickling your face. You stirred, craning your neck to take a peak at the time. 8:39 am. You sighed sleepily, turning around and snuggling closer to the man who had his strong arms wrapped around you.

You smiled softly as you saw his peaceful expression, still dreaming away. Feeling a cold sensation on your hot skin, you gently lifted the covers. The hand that held you tightly yet so lovingly had a gold ring sitting on its ring finger. You quickly inspected your own hand, finding a golden wedding band there as well.

You had to stop yourself from squealing like a little girl when you realized that all of it, the wedding, the reception and the kiss weren't a dream. You were officially married now.

There were so many emotions bubbling up in your chest. Unbridled joy, disbelief, and pure excitement. But, you'd decided to deal with all of that later, and for now just enjoy your first morning snooze as Mrs. Wayne.

You pressed a sweet kiss to Bruce's lips, and closed your eyes, burying your face in his t-shirt clad chest. It wasn't even 9 in the morning. You'd sleep till dusk like this if you could. Safely in the embrace of your now husband, feeling each other's steady heartbeat and soft breaths.

A comfortable silence lingered over the estate, safe for Alfred who was probably doing all kinds of things already. You'd urged for him to sleep in today, he deserved a break. But, to your dismay, you knew the man and he couldn't just sit and relax even if he was chained to the chair. Well, as long as he enjoyed whatever he had to do you wouldn't complain.

Your slightly parted lips were pressed right above his heart, gently brushing the cozy fabric of his shirt with every breath. One of your arms was slung over his waist, your fingertips gliding over his back in whatever random pattern your wrist decided to carry out. It was a soothing gesture, making Bruce hum sleepily as he pressed his lips to the top of your head, your hair tickling his face.

His arms tightened around you, making it clear that he didn't want to leave the bed either. He felt like he had been put in chains, in a loving and warm way, not in a constricting and controlling manner. The chains that were your love and affection kept him tied down, sinking into the soft sheets, with an even softer you in his grip.

"Don't ever wanna leave this bed..." you mumbled into his chest. A drowsy smile tugged at Bruce's lips as maneuvered you closer so your legs were intertwined.

"I don't either... never wanna be without you." He sighed, feeling the familiar and gentle call of sleep.

"Wanna sink into the mattress, let it swallow us whole."

Your husband chuckled softly. Lack of sleep and early mornings did tend to bring out the poet in you.

"You can tell me all about that in, say... 4 hours?" His words were jumbled, the heavy fog of slumber taking over his brain. It took you a minute to put together what he said, as your own brain was still neatly tucked in its own metaphorical bed.

The furrow in your brows softened when you understood what he was trying to tell you, and you pulled the blanket tighter around the both of you.

"Very, very good idea."

Soon enough, you slipped back into colorful dreams, safely tucked against Bruce's chest.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

A strange feeling that settled in Bruce's bones is what woke him up. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling by all means, it was just... odd. A peculiar buzz in his skull, that slowly trickled down into his spine. It was euphoric almost, making him hazy about his surroundings but too aware of every nerve in his body.

His shirt was soft, too soft, and the buttons on the pillowcase dug uncomfortably into his ribcage. The sliver of sun that managed to sneak its way through the thick curtains fell directly on his face.

His nose scrunched up as the blinding light slowly burned his eyes. Yet the warming and comforting feeling on his cheeks made him stay in place, taking in the new day instead of pulling the covers over his face.

He shifted slightly, shivering when a cool sensation set the nerves in his thigh on fire. The sight of your hand, your married hand, on his leg, made a fire ignite in his stomach that was so ravenous and destructive it could've turned him to ash from the inside out.

The gleaming of your ring, the ring that he put there, made his heart rush and his cock twitch in his briefs.

"Been waiting for you to wake up." With a sweet smile playing on your lips and a certain glint in your pretty eyes that he'd seen many times before, you stroked your thumb over his skin. Your touch made his breath hitch ever so slightly, which didn't go unnoticed by you. It never did.

You were able to read Bruce like an open book, all the tricks he'd acquired over the years and used on the public to shift his image didn't work on you. They never really had, even from the beginning. For some odd reason, that he couldn't explain, you could see right through him.

"Hm, yeah? Could've just woken me up, honey. You're my wife now, after all." Bruce grinned, a strong arm sneaking around your back and pressing you flush against his chest. Your cheeks were on fire. That word still flustered you to the high heavens, and you reckoned it would for a little while.

"It would've been a shame to wake you. You looked like you were crafted by the gods." You whispered softly, pressing your lips to his in a tender but hungry kiss. Bruce melted into you, his eyes fluttering shut as he lost himself in the feeling of his lips on yours, moving gracefully against each other. With heavy breaths, puffy lips and glazed eyes you severed your connection.

"The sun sitting on your cheekbones," your fingertips traced over his face in such a gentle manner, one could assume you were afraid of breaking his peacefulness.

"And on your lips," your thumb swiped over his bottom lip, which curled up into a smile.

"Down your neck... it would've been a crime to break such beauty."

Your hand settled on the back of his neck and gently kneaded his muscles.

"I'm flattered, though no beauty can ever match yours, my love. You will eternally be the universe's rose, blooming in all your glory no matter if the sun shines or not."

"You need to stop reading all those books Alfred recommends to you." You giggled, an obvious blush on your face.

"I don't think I will." He smirked before capturing your lips in a kiss again. It was desperate and full of passion, making you sigh softly against his mouth. His hands became needy, grabbing at the fat of your hips. Bruce trailed his kisses over your cheeks, to your jaw and down your neck, sucking and gently biting at your skin.

You moaned quietly, your body sinking into the sheets at the feeling of his lips against your skin. Grabbing at the hem of his white shirt, you swiftly pulled it over his head, revealing his mouth-watering physique to you. The hand that had been resting on his thigh up until this point now cupped the tent in his briefs, stroking gently but with a firm hand.

He groaned into your shoulder, squeezing you tighter.

"None of that, baby, look at me." You cooed softly, gripping the hair at the base of his skull and gently pulling him away from your neck. Your hand dipped into his underwear and gave his cock a few strokes before shoving his briefs down his thighs.

Never breaking eye contact, you licked a fat stripe over your palm, guiding your hand down to his dick and rubbing at the tip. His lips parted slightly and few throaty groans left him.

"J-Jesus Christ, sweetheart, your hands really are magic." He breathed out, his head tipping forward just a smidge as you found a steady pace with your hand wrapped around him.

"Only for you, always for you.." you whispered against his cheek, feeling his breathing speed up. His hands were digging into your hips by this point as you circled the tip of his cock with your thumb, his pre-cum and your spit slicking him perfectly.

When you ran your finger over the underside of his shaft, against the bulging vein, pretty moans spilled from his lips as he approached his high. But before he could float on that cloud of bliss, you retracted your hand and left him hanging on the edge. His eyes were hazy and filled with need and desperation as he let out a frustrated groan.

"You're gonna regret that, little minx." Bruce smirked, but there was a fire in his eyes that made the heat in your belly boil over.

"Will I?" You challenged with a wicked smile, making him chuckle before smashing your lips together and silencing any further comment you might've made.

He pushed you onto your back and quickly pulled your nightgown over your head before sliding your panties down your legs.

Bruce's hands were placed on your inner thighs, pushing your knees further apart. He groaned at the sight of your glistening cunt, pupils swallowing the brown of his irises whole. Your naked form isn't something he hadn't seen before, but his mind was foggy with emotions of all kinds; the golden sunlight that painted your skin, the way your hair fell into your face, and that sparkly diamond on your finger making his heart swell in his chest.

You were his, through and through, and he never doubted it, but to see that solid piece of evidence sitting so nicely on your ringfinger made something stir in him; something primal, almost.

His hands trailed to your waist, kneading your flesh, as he leaned forward to be closer to you.

"I'd eat you till morning, honey, but I need to be inside you." You could tell that he was trying to hide the urgency and need in his voice, blanketing it in a soft and loving tone.

"I need you inside. Please, my love." You begged needily, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in until his dick was prodding at your entrance.

"Besides," you whispered when his head found its place in the crook of your neck,"you can always have me for breakfast later."

With an amused huff, he slowly pushed inside of you, filling you up delightfully.

"You'll be the death of me." Bruce groaned, intertwining your fingers on both hands and pressing his forehead to yours.

Your beautiful moans echoed softly in the bedroom when he started to slowly thrust his hips into yours.

The movement knocked the breath from your lungs every single time, your nerves tingling with a sizzling fire that crawled up your spine. He sped up his thrusts, moaning and groaning against your lips.

You pressed your hand against his chest to slow him down again.

"Slow, slow... wanna feel every part of you."

You could've sworn you heard the faintest whimper escape his throat, gripping your hands tighter has his cock dragged along your walls. You could feel every ridge and bump, your head lolling to the side in bliss.

With languid and deep thrusts, Bruce continued to bring the both of you to the edge of your ecstasy. As your moans got louder, you reached for the hand with his ring on it and gently placed it around your neck.

Your husband shifted his weight so he wouldn't fall on top of you, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. You placed your ringed hand on top of his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

You just wanted him to gently hold your throat, wanting to feel the cold metal against your burning skin.

"You won't hurt me, I promise. Jus' need you to hold me- fuck!" You cried out at a particularly deep thrust, squeezing your eyes shut and digging your nails into the back of Bruce's hand.

"Look at you. My pretty fucking wife. All mine. I made you mine, and everyone knows. They just need to look at that pretty diamond ring on your finger." His voice dropped an octave, and his words were almost a growl as he plunged in and out of you.

"You're s'good to me, honey. The perfect husband f'me." You moaned, your lips clumsily brushing against his as he panted on top of you.

"God, I love you." He grunted, his movement becoming sloppy as he was nearing his climax. You could feel the bliss gnawing at your limbs as well. Bruce trailed his hand between your bodies and circled your puffy clit, which only made you succumb to the pleasure faster.

"F-Fuck- oh my god, I'm so close!" You almost screeched, trying to ground yourself with him in any way you could.

"Come f'me, yeah?" He heaved, struggling to get the words out between his groans. Any more moans and cries were muffled as his lips greedily found yours, the tip of his cock hitting that spongy spot inside of you over and over again.

With a a strategic swipe over your clit and a well timed thrust, your orgasm crashed into you, jumbled 'I love you's falling from your lips as Bruce spilled inside of you with your name on his lips. The hand around your throat tightened only a little bit, prolonging your high that much longer as bliss clouded your brain.

Bruce gently lowered himself on top of you, steadying his breathing against your chest. You were catching your breath as well, tracing patterns on his bare back. He was still nestled deep inside of you. He rolled the two of you over so you were on top of him, your cheek pressed against his shoulder as you relaxed in his arms.

"I love you so much." You mumbled, eyes falling shut. You didn't know what time it was, but it didn't matter to you. You had nowhere to be except right here, snuggled against your husband.

"I love you too, sweetheart. Are you alright? D'you need anything?" he asked softly, pressing kisses to the top of your head.

"Hm, no. Jus' wanna stay like this. Maybe take a nap." You yawned, making Bruce chuckle.

"Do you need anything?" You questioned in return, placing a kiss to

his shoulder. "I could use a nap as well." He laughed softly, pulling the covers over the both of you.

"Good. Cus' I'm not getting up." You sighed, letting yourself be loved by him. His hands lazily ran through your hair, lulling you to sleep.

"Sweet dreams, baby." He whispered against your hairline, coaxing a sleepy smile onto your lips.

"You too, my love."

Both of you drifted off with the sun high up in the sky, not a care in the world that it was well past noon. Your hearts beating in sync, your soft breathing mimicking each other and connected deeper and closer as ever, the bonds of your love shinning in the dwindling sunlight with your hands intertwined.

If Bruce could make you wear his heart, he would, but for now the diamond ring would have to do.

You were his and he was yours. The perfect balance of love.

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《Taglist》: @certifiedredhoodlover @allysunny

Let me know if you want to be added! <3

#bumblebeesfromvenus #bale!bruce wayne #bale!bruce x reader #bale!bruce wayne smut #bale!bruce wayne x reader #bale!batman x reader #christian bale #the dark knight #dark knight trilogy #nolanverse

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auras-moonstone · 3 months

Text

say don’t go — ethan landry

word count: 3.2k

pairing: hockey player!ethan landry x fem!reader

based on: say don’t go by taylor swift

summary: ethan has to move to another state to play for his dream hockey team so he decides to break up with his girlfriend, leaving her heartbroken

warnings: angst. break-up. fluff.

author’s note: hiii! long fic bc of my absence:) LOVE writing about hockey player ethan 😫 by the way, i saw retribution the other day, i actually really liked it. it wasn’t as bad as people painted it.

Y/N AND ETHAN HAD BEEN DATING FOR ALMOST A YEAR, which meant that they knew each other like the back of their hands, hence why Y/N had the intuition that his boyfriend was planning on breaking up with her.

The distance started when Ethan was signed off to the Chicago Blackhawks. As soon as he finished college, he would move to Illinois and Y/N didn’t know where she would fit in his new life, if she would even fit. He hadn’t talked about it with her, he barely even mentioned hockey around her anymore. And she just knew—she would soon stop being part of his life and it was a matter of time until Ethan sat her down and tell her.

The waiting was sadness, and as the days flew by it was slowly driving her into madness. And then she finally got the text from him, asking her to go to his house. She drove there with a heavy heart, knowing it was going to be the last time she passed those streets.

Meanwhile, Ethan was pacing around his living room with a tight chest and tears threatening to leave his eyes. He did not want to do it, he had been pushing away the conversation because he wasn’t ready to let her go. He still wasn’t ready, but it was for the best.

When Y/N parked the car in his driveway and got out, she walked towards the entry with slow heavy steps. It was like standing in a tightrope—she held her breath so hard and felt like one wrong step might make her collapse to the ground. She didn’t want to reach the end of that metaphorical tightrope because nothing good was awaiting her on the other side. Yet, she had no choice, so with the knuckles of her shaky hands she knocked on the door.

Ethan stared at the door for a few seconds, and eventually ordered his body to open the door. He faced the most devastating sight—his girlfriend, standing there looking smaller than ever, with dark bags under her saddened eyes and wearing an expression of defeat. At first, he thought something had happened to her but the reluctance of meeting his eyes was enough to make him realize that she knew. She knew what was going on.

“Hi.” he said in a low pained voice. “Come in.”

She greeted him with just a nod and a pathetic attempt of a smile, aware that opening her mouth would just trigger the tears she was trying so hard to hold back. Y/N just wanted him to rip the bandaid off so she could walk back to her car and cry her heart out.

“Let’s sit on the couch.” he said, his heart breaking by her crest fallen state.

“Just say it, Ethan.” in her mind, the way the words left her mouth were harsh and sharp like a knife, but truth was, her voice reached the highest level of vulnerability. The pain in her voice was clear.

He swallowed down the knot in his throat. This was even more painful than he had imagined. “Y/N… I’m sorry.”

She hated herself for feeling the urge to wrap him in her arms and brush away his tears. He was the one tearing up the relationship, not the other way around.

“I don’t understand.” she frowned sadly, trying to make sense of the decision.

“I know you don’t… I just, I can’t do this anymore, Y/N/N. I’m going away, the first months are going to be rough. I need to show them they didn’t make a mistake when they chose me. I can’t afford any distractions” as soon as those last words left his mouth, he knew he fucked up.

Y/N flinched, and took a step back as if he had slapped her. “Oh, wow. That’s just the cherry on top, Ethan.”

“Shit, no. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Maybe you didn’t mean to say it, but it’s what you think. That I’m a distraction. That’s why you’re breaking up with me.”

It wasn’t that. She would never be a distraction—not the bad kind, at least—, but he couldn’t tell her the real reason why he was breaking things off. She would try to fight it, and that’s not what he wanted.

“No.” he sighed. “I just need to focus on doing my best, and I won’t have time for a relationship. I can’t just keep dating you when I can’t give you what you deserve.” he took a step closer, and cupped her cheek. “I don’t want you to hate me. Please don’t hate me, I really think this is for the best.”

“I just… why didn’t you tell me this sooner? These past few weeks were hell, I was constantly scared of this moment to come. It was agonising.”

“I was so selfish, I know. But I couldn’t let go, I wanted to spend a few more days with you. I didn’t know I was already hurting you.”

“You always knew you were going professional.” she whispered. “Did you always know you would break up with me in the end?”

“I didn’t expect to like you so much.” he said truthfully. “You know I didn’t do relationships, so I thought the thing between us would end way before I had to leave.”

“And you couldn’t have told me our relationship had an expiration date? Why’d you have to lead me on?”

“I… I don’t know, Y/N. I thought it was obvious that we couldn’t do long distance.”

Y/N’s scoff resonated in the room. “No, Ethan. It wasn’t fucking obvious. I thought we would try…”

“For what? These things never work. And with my schedule, I don’t see how this could not end in disaster. Why would we risk it?”

Y/N didn’t even contemplate it, and blurted out the words she had been meaning to say for a while “Because I love you…”

Ethan’s mind went blank, and he stood there in front of her completely speechless and frozen. He didn’t even noticed the way Y/N’s eyes got glossy, the way her hands shook or the anxious glances she threw his way.

Finally, Ethan fell on his butt on his couch and buried his face in his hands. It was painful, the way he wanted to say it back and the strength it took to restrain that urge. Ethan loved Y/N, and he knew perfectly well that she would follow him anywhere head first, but he just couldn’t let her do that. Her whole life was in New York, no matter if she was willing to let go of that for him, that wasn’t what Ethan wanted for her life. What if she ended up resenting him for allowing that?

Y/N didn’t know how long she stood there, waiting for him to say something, anything at all, but he wouldn’t even look at her. It was like twisting the knife he had already pierced her with, and she needed to get out of there. The silence was so loud she wanted to scream.

“Guess you didn’t like me that much.” she laughed a humourless laugh. Guess she was his, but he wasn’t hers. It sucks that she had to found out that way. “Good luck, Ethan. That team is lucky to have you, and I’m sure the coach will think so too. You’re going to do so well.”

And then she walked away, and a small part of her was hopeful he would suddenly react and say ‘Don’t go’. But he didn’t, and she had to hold back the tears until she was in the safety of her car, where Ethan wouldn’t be able to hear how much he had hurt her.

MONTHS FLEW BY, and Ethan was still being haunted by those three words and the way things had ended with Y/N. He was living his dream—he was part of an incredibly team, his teammates had been super welcoming, as well as the fans, and he managed to bond tightly with some of them, they were winning matches and the coach was delighted with his talent. He should be the happiest man on earth, but something was missing and he knew exactly what, or who.

Some of his teammates preferred to enjoy the female and male attention that being famous brought to play the field, and others were fully committed to their partners. And then, there was Ethan, who didn’t want to play the field and he had let go of his partner and only person his heart had belonged to. Missing her was painful, especially knowing it was all on him.

Y/N watched every single game of Ethan’s, not matter how overwhelming it was. She loved seeing him achieving his goals and dreams and felt beaten every time the team lost and she had to witness Ethan’s crestfallen face. She still loved him very much, and missing him was the hardest thing in the world.

But the fact that she missed his face didn’t mean she was ready to see him again, which was why the news hit her like a truck.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re going to pass out.” her teacher asked worriedly.

Tara looked at her with pity, knowing exactly the reason behind her weird reaction to something that was supposed to be an incredible opportunity. “She’s just shocked.”

“Oh.” the teacher smiled. “I assume you’re a fan of the Chicago Blackhawks, then.”

“Something like that.” the girl managed to say.

Apparently, one of the professors had contacts in the team and they managed to convince the coach to let two of Blackmore’s top marketing students work on a special project that involved the team’s publicity. And Y/N had been selected, which meant that he would be seeing her ex-boyfriend for the first time in six months in less than twenty four hours.

THERE WAS A MIX OF NERVOUSNESS AND ANXIOUSNESS IN THE LOCKER ROOM. Knees bounced and no words were uttered because of the uncertainty of the situation.

“Morning.” the coach spoke, exiting his office to stand in front of the team. Rolling his eyes, he let out a laugh then he said, “Unclench your asses, boys, there’s nothing wrong.”

“Why’d you ask us to come minutes early, then?” the captain asked.

“I just wanted to tell you that the following practices and games are going to be a bit different.” the team exchanged confused glances. “We’re having two marketing students present. They’re going to work on the team’s image as their final project for college.”

“Oh, cool. What’s the college?” Chad, goalie and Ethan’s closest friend, questioned.

“Blackmore University. It’s in New York. I have a friend working there and he asked me if I would be up to working with the students.”

Ethan’s hockey stick fell from his sweaty hand, landing on the ground with a resonating thud. Every pair of eyes landed on him, but his shocked face was focused on the wall.

“You okay, bud?” Chad asked, shaking his shoulder.

“W-what?” he blinked a couple of times, then shook his head. “Yes, sorry. I’m just- nothing.”

“You know the school? You’re from New York, right?” the captain asked.

“Yeah… I actually go there. I’m finishing the year online.” he answered.

“Oh, shit.” Chad said, eyes widening as the realization kicked in. “She goes there, right? Tell me she’s not in marketing.” but Ethan’s anxious eyes answered for him. “Well, fuck.”

“What’s going on?” Wes, another teammate, asked.

“My ex… she’s a marketing student. We broke up the night before I moved here.” Ethan said running his fingers through his hair.

“Let me guess, it did not end well.” Danny grimaced.

“It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either.” Ethan began to explain everything about that night.

“Why didn’t you say it back?!” the coach asked as if it had been the juiciest gossip he had heard in years. “You didn’t love her?”

“Of course I loved her. Fuck, I still do. So fucking much. And I miss her like crazy, I’m just not ready to see her yet. She probably hates me and I still think of her everyday.”

Everyone looked at him with soft eyes. Ethan was like a golden retriever, and everyone had a soft spot for him despite having meeting him a few short months ago.

“But no matter how badly I want her back, I can’t. She lives in New York, and I live here.” he sighed. “I’m probably overreacting, though, maybe she’s not one of those two students.”

“Well, you’re about to find out because they are already here.” coach said, looking at the text he had received. “Let’s go.”

It wasn’t hard for the team to realize that Ethan’s ex was there. The two teenagers couldn’t keep their eyes off each other, and the tension was obvious to everyone in that rink.

“So, what are we doing, bosses?” Chad asked Tara and Y/N once the introductions were made.

“Well, Y/N had this idea and I think is amazing.” Tara said, tilting her head at Y/N urging her to go on.

“You’re probably going to hate me.” Y/N started, which was followed by some Oh, god’s and groans. “So I thought we should focus on Tik Tok. Not only is the most popular app right now, but hockey players are super trending there.”

“Why?” the captain frowned in confusion.

Tara and her exchanged smirks. “Hockey rom-coms.” they said in unison.

“Of course.” the words left Ethan’s mouth unconsciously and followed by a deep laugh, remembering when he would catch Y/N giggling and swooning over fictional hockey players.

The beautiful sound went straight to Y/N’s chest. Even though part of her still resented the way he had left her, she couldn’t help but smile. At that moment, the feeling of having missed him was stronger than the hurt and sadness of their break-up.

Two minutes within his presence and she was already a mess. She didn’t know how she was going to survive getting used to being so close to him again, only to board a plan in a few days and go back to just daydream about him. She was already dreading to go back to New York, a place that didn’t feel like home anymore.

FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MONTHS, Ethan lived his victory with pure ecstasy and happiness. Winning always felt good, but he never got to enjoy it fully because he had no family to celebrate it with. But now, even though it was not for him, Y/N was there in the stands. She was clapping and cheering with Tara, and when her eyes connected with his, he swore he was levitating.

“Hey…” Y/N said when he and Chad skated towards them. “Congratulations, guys. You were amazing as always.”

“Thanks, Y/N/N.” Chad smiled. “We needed that victory after the last match.”

“Don’t beat yourself up for that. That referee sucked. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the team bribed him.” Y/N shrugged.

Ethan looked at her in surprise. “You watch our games?”

Y/N blushed and cursed herself internally. “Uh, yeah. Anyways,” she cleared her throat. “Are you going to celebrate?”

“We usually go to a bar after a victory. You’re very invited, of course. Drinks on us, you’ve been doing an amazing job in our social media.” Chad said.

“Told you. Miss Y/N is a marketing genius.” Tara pinched her cheek, making the girl squeal.

“She is.” Ethan said with a proud smile. And fuck if it didn’t make Y/N want to kiss him.

“We’ll drive you. You can go with me and Y/N can go with Eth.” Chad and Tara shared knowing glances.

“Perfect.” Ethan spoke up before Y/N could object. He gave her the keys to his car. “I’m going to take a quick shower, you can wait there.”

After a couple of minutes, Ethan climbed into the driver’s seat “Did you enjoy the game?”

“Yes. It was insane!” she said with an enthusiastic grin. “I’m really happy for you, Eth. You’re living your dream.”

Ethan forced a smile. “Yeah.”

Y/N frowned. “Well, don’t sound so thrilled. What’s wrong? You looked very happy out there.”

“I was. I mean, I am happy. For the first time since I played here, I can truthfully say I’m the happiest.”

“Why? You have won before.”

“Because it’s the first time I get to share my victory with someone I love.” he looked at her with bright eyes. “Every game, I would look at the crowd, hoping to see you there, cheering for me with my number on your back. But you never were, until today. And I have never felt so on top of the world.”

Y/N stared at him dumbfounded. “Eth… fuck. That’s… I- I watched every game. I’m so fucking proud of you. And I would’ve been here, you know that. But you left me.”

“I know.”

“I would’ve stayed forever if you’d said don’t go. I would’ve followed you everywhere. I told you I loved you, and you said nothing back.”

“I loved you, too. And if you hadn’t noticed yet, I still do. My dream had always been playing professional hockey, but ever since you walked into my life, you became part of that dream. I wouldn’t be happy without hockey, but being without you? It feels fucking void. And I’m sorry that I hurt you, I should’ve never let you go.”

“Why did you?”

“You have your family in New York, you have friends, you were about to finish the degree you’d worked so hard for… I couldn’t be selfish to ask you to come with me.”

“It would’ve been selfish to force me to come. But ask? That’s what you should’ve done. We could’ve talked about it. But you didn’t even fight for us, you made your choice and didn’t let me do the same.”

“I was scared you would’ve chosen to come with me, and then regret it and hate me for it.” he confessed, eyes glossing with tears.

“Babe, I could never hate you.” she said softly, brushing his dump hair away from his forehead. “You know what my decision would have been?” Ethan shook his head as he grabbed her hand. “I would’ve told you I could finish online. I would’ve told you that my family isn’t going anywhere, and that I could still visit them. I would’ve told you my friends and I would still be able to text everyday. And above all, that you’re the love of my life. That I want to be cheering for you on the stands with your number on my back. And then, depending on how the match goes, we’d go celebrate together or cuddle as I reassure you that everyone has bad games and you’re one of the best players I’ve ever seen.”

Ethan didn’t know it was possible to fall harder, but there he was. “Do you still want that?” he asked hopeful.

“More than anything in the world.” she pressed her forehead against his and they both smiled. “I missed you horribly. I don’t want to be apart from you ever again.”

“God, me neither. I’m keeping you forever.” he gave her a soft kiss. “You’re moving in with me.” another kiss. “I’m going to marry you.” another kiss. “We’re going to have kids.” another kiss. “And we’re going to grow old together.”

“I love you so much. That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard and I can’t wait to live that life with you.”

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cherubispunk · 3 months

Text

NEPHILIM - Jackson-era!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the disturbing comforts the disturbed.

a note from Lucy: I swear there is fluff! I swear, I swear, I swear! You just have to squint *reeeeaaaalllly* hard. Yes, I read the book of genesis and the book numbers along with some extensive Wikipedia deep diving for like…a paragraph of lore. But is it really ever enough?

playlist | moodboard

wc: 2498

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DARK CONTENT! no use of y/n, I tried to keep her body type as generic as possible but he might be slightly skinny coded so please let me know and I’ll change it in edits, reader is referred to as ‘Bambi’, verbally constipated Joel Miller, brief gore descriptions, heavy religious imagery and references to the bible, biblical lore, bombastic age gap!!! yahhhhh! (reader is in her 20’s/ Joel is in his late 50’s), smut, p in v sex, creampie, fingering, rough sex, possessive!joel, dom!joel/sub!reader dynamic, you know the drill with my writing, there’s probably some form of cannibalism as a metaphor, or brutal violence as a metaphor, religious imagery as a metaphor, etc. (aka, fancy word vomit)

series masterlist | m.list

Genesis 6:4 The Nephilim were in the earth in those days, and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them; the same were the mighty men that were of old, the men of renown.

The reality of it was, you and Joel were two people who lived in the same small town. Who’s paths crossed once to save your life, and the others when coincidence would grant you that small pleasure. He carried you to the care of an old man with blue eyes now milky in cataracts. Jude. Who nursed you to health in a metal framed bed of an old family home— now the town clinic. The knife that sliced open your side had been dirty, and sepsis soon spread in the bloody gash. Only with Joel finding you in the snow, and Jude delivering you antibiotics, did you recover back to health.

He wouldn’t visit you directly. He would visit Jude and glance at you through the doorway as he passed the hall to the elderly Man’s office. To distract from the man you read stories when bedridden. Parts of biblical scripture; Read the book of Genesis; Read the book of Numbers. Jude being a religious man who had the fortune of holding God in his heart, kept them among his medical journals and books. And the former was far more interesting than the later in your opinion. For in them were mentions of anthropomorphic creatures born of flesh, blood and divinity. Towering tall over common trees and temples built in the name of Lord God. You were no religious woman, but you found comfort in the fables of the Old Testament. And likened Joel to the Nephilim in all ways.

Joel Miller was something of a biblical figure to you. A small glimpse into the past of something archaic, untold, and harbouring on the dangerous. You liked to imagine him as one of the Nephilim. A son of god, offspring borne of a fallen angel and man. A giant of misunderstood nature. Who’s soul had been cast down on earth in punishment. His large hands had bloodshed on them, or so people had said. They whispered it quietly in the spaces between. The places he didn’t occupy often. But he was always on your mind…so there was no place for those whispers there. If he was all that bad…why did he save you? You saw his need to care, protect, understand. Not be understood. But just understand. You would let yourself dream of taking his rough edges to the smooth plane of a whetstone. People claimed you cannot buff brass into gold. That it will only be as such in your head. That it was a fools game, but the fool is rich in content, and poor in sorrow. For the fool has little to worry about while they live in ignorant bliss.

What wasn’t written in any of the books of the holy scripture was this; ‘The disturbing comforts the disturbed.’ But it might as well have been. It was practically the way god intended life to be. You are shaken, and you are weaned on being shaken, until stillness is a discomfort and your body begs to be rattled again. But harder.

—

You took a while to find your feet. Joel took it upon himself to wordlessly help you with any medial or manual task. You were given a house on the edge of town, up a hill in some remote street that was always quiet. It seemed the less social souls resided there. Not that you minded. It was jarring to say the least. Being cast out into the hostile wild. And then brought back into the warmth. Here you had clothes, food, a roof over your head, and community. It stung in the same way it does to run your hands under a scalding tap after labouring out in the cold. It made your fingers numb before they regained feeling. Stiff. And a trouble to flex them back and forth, closed fist, open palm; Closed fist, open palm.

It’s how you earned ‘Bambi’. A name only Joel would ever call you. Dear doe on her wobbly, spindly legs. He’d keep you upright. Despite being a good thirty year sicker than you. Dirty old man. Ditsy little girl.

Your time together was silent. And while he never said he cared, he showed it. By waiting for you each time you were in the stables. And he would walk through town with you a safe distance from his side, up to the top of the hill your house was on. The snow would crunch under his heavy boots and he wished he was lighter on his feet like you. Not a large bulk of a man with heavy feet and even heavier hand. Maybe Joel wasn't large by the world's standards, but he was still a giant to you- muscular, and broad shoulders. With hands that could engulf yours, or cradle the entire crown of your head with a single palm. His arms were strong, and large from manual labour, and tightly knotted with tendons and grizzly muscle like thick twisted ropes that held up sails. What you liked most, however, was his softer belly. Perhaps the only soft thing about him from what little you had seen, or heard, or assumed. You felt an intrinsic satisfaction in knowing he was well fed. And Joel didn't mind it either. It was a reminder to himself what he was in fact as safe as he could be. Anything to not go hungry again. He still kept his brawns either way. Kept his hands and mind busy with patrols and the odd job around town. Fixing roofs, garden sheds, building tables with spare lumber from the woodhouse, and chopping firewood for the colder months. At the beginning of winter he would spend most of his free time ensuring you had enough. He spent hours out in his backyard, swinging that axe down on log, after log of wood. Then carry it up the hill in a wheelbarrow to your front door. He did it for nothing. Nothing but the peace of mind that grew from the seed of knowing you were warm. But he was greeted with something you had baked, or sewn, or knitted, or grown in your empty hours alone. Apple and rhubarb pie, thick woollen gloves, sourdough bread with crunchy, thick crusts that crunched when he broke his bread.

“It’s nothin’.” He would say, and shrug, hands on his hips while he looked back at the finished product of whatever work he’d slaved over that entire afternoon. Be it a pile of firewood, raised garden beds, or a fixed gutter. “Just…do me a favour?” He asked.

“Yeah?”

“Keep that smile on y’face, Bambi. Don’t let anyone take it away from ya.” His face was stern. As if he was telling you, not asking you. But if you were to ever stop smiling he thought he’d keel over and die a little bit inside. Or part of him would anyway. The part of him you now had in your chest unwittingly.

You watched the mountain of a man, Big Bad Joel Miller, warm up. Day by slow day. He was on the threshold of it. Right there. But the toe of his thick winter boots never ventured onto floorboards. He stayed out in the cold. After a while you dared Joel to touch you. Tired of him only meeting halfway. He was a man of few words, but a man of so much action. And when you challenged him with your tongue, he countered with his touch. That night was hell under the guise of heaven for his restraint.

“Y’so bad for me, Bambi.” Joel grunted, his entire weight smothering you against the mattress of his bed. His cock dragging in and out of you slowly. “Old sinner like me ain’t made for you.” So slowly the anticipation ached in the joints of your toes that curled. His grip on your hips casting his handprint in a watercolour bloom. “That’s it, fuck– takin’ me so well.”

You whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, back arching in a deep curve off the bed while his hips altered their pace. Just a tad quicker as you bucked up into him. The two of you climbing in tandem to the high. “That's it,” He repeated in a hiss, followed by a growl into your neck, “Keep archin’ that back for me.” You did just that, holding onto his forearms for leverage as you curled your spine a little deeper. A word came to mind. One you’d heard once before. Only once. But I held such a comfort to be able to label it. Hiraeth. He was that. And what you felt was that. A longing for a home. He treated you like you wouldn't break. But spoke as if words would lacerate you. One punctuated thrust, aided by your own slick was all it took, a moan for him deeper. A tear slipped from your eye and you let gravity do its work, pulling it from you. It slipped from the corner of your eye, and down your temple. “Good girl, Bambi.” He crooned, splaying both of his palms over your hairline and sweeping the hair that stuck to your forehead in the sheen of sweat atop your skin. His large hands dragged over the top of your skull to the crown of your head, down the back of your neck, and gripped. That soft fleshy part at the base of your skull and the top of your still curved spine.

It hurt. It deeply hurt. His calloused fingers, textured by the trigger of a gun, or the handle of an axe, pressing into your malleable skin. But you’d let Joel drag you to hell if it meant he would hold your hand. You didn't care how he touched you– how he was inside you. He could be buried to hilt in your cunt, or knuckle deep in an open wound. As long as he was there. You'd give the heavens, and the earth, and rot in hell if it meant he stayed. Joel swore you had the space for his heart next to yours. But you didn't have the stomach.

You gripped the skin of Joel’s back. Searching for a part of him to hold that would turn off the cynic in him. Or at least try. You gave up on that idea. Because the man that fucked you— the man that loved you in action and not words— was not kind. He was not gentle. He was bold, and sharp as broken glass, and blunt all in the same being. You knew the crease of his brow. You had it memorised.

He hooked a leg over his shoulder, opened you up to his greedy eyes. They misted into dark hickory at the sight of you taking him so well inside of you. Messy little cunt for him to play with whenever he pleased. His nostrils flared as he pressed deeper. And your reaction was as he planned. A cry of his name. Your sex drenched and accommodating every inch. “A cunt made for me.” He gritted through his teeth, leaning forward to sink his teeth into your bottom lip and lick into the wet cavern of your mouth; Take the taste of you back with him when he retreated again; Righting his hips and the angle he fucked you in.

“Made for you.” You agreed in a garble and a slur. As if drunk off the last dregs of his kindness that lay at the bottom of the bottle. Licking it dry for all it was still worth.

“Say it again.” Joel grunted, demanded.

“Made for you.” You repeated.

“Good little Bambi.”

From there it was the crescendo. And it came broken in two halves of two separate waves. The first wave was one of numbing pleasure. The one that fizzled through your legs until you were nothing but a mere speck for a second. And the second was the one that broke you. Had you shattering. It tightened in your womb, behind the mouth of your cervix, and then released in slow flutter; Your walls relaxing and then contracting. And he came after with a groan and spilled inside of you.

He was no gentle lover. In fact, he wasn’t a lover at all. When he fucked you that night…it felt like he was trying to love you— but couldn’t. He was too conditioned to violence. It showed the ache he left behind. Nevertheless, you would take more than he was willing to offer. But what he dropped in your palm you stored away and hoarded like a greedy magpie with shiny little trinkets. He was warm. But not warm like a campfire. He was warm like hellflame. And you were okay with that. You would take your time with him, and slowly pry open a gap in his ribs to slip past. To love him to the marrow. Even the mangled parts. Find him at his very worst — The part humanity suffocated in. And love him there. Silently.

Joel ran a hand over the flank of your ribs and then curled around your navel to pull your back to his chest. Then kissed the crook of your neck in a silent apology to your skin for each mark or tender bruise he may have left. One that wasn't really needed, but you accepted it by reaching behind you and running your fingers through his thick greying curls. In times like these after it all, in the clot and space in between, you came to realise loving him was like loving being hungry. It felt good to want things. To feed yourself you swallowed your fear instead. You lay there, exhaustion heavy in your bones, a hand of his slipping between your legs to feel the evidence of him being there inside you. His spend sticky and thick and warm between your legs. You couldn't fight the impulsive twitch that jolted your spine when he pressed on your swollen, slick clit and drew lazy circles. “Mine now, Bambi.” He murmured into the skin of your shoulder. He didn't kiss the skin there, but rather trailed his chapped lips over your flesh in such a light touch it felt like it was hardly there. More a trick of the sex hazed, lust crazed mind. “Understand that?” And you nodded in silence with a small smile, watching out the frosted up window pane as the dawn stained the sky a burnt orange and angry red. It refracted and smeared in the crystallised ice. A thin sheet that obscured the image of the sycamore tree outside his bedroom window. The bare branches looked far more like the bones of skeletal fingers than a tree bare of leaves. Its bleach white bark only emphasised your image of it. Your vision. Nevertheless; The blackbird would sing, once again on its branch, a morning song you knew by heart.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller imagine #nephilim

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blackopals-world · 5 months

Text

For my Art

Jamil Viper x fem Dancer!Yuu

Venting from a former ballerina

The ballet was everything.

It is is your life.

Your reason to move.

To dance.

It will take your blood, your sweat, and your tears.

This is not a metaphor.

Yuu engraved these words in her heart from the moment her instructor said them to her at the age of 8. She had started later then her peers and had to catch up.

They had already started graduating to pionte shoes.

Those beautiful shoes.

Silk, pastel pink, the one thing that would make their fairytale ballerina dreams come true.

Now they were her's.

Now it was real.

She would be the next Primadonna. The star.

But heavy will be the head to wear that crown. The beautiful feathered headpiece.

She had to train harder.

She had to dance till her arms and legs bruised turning purple and red. That's what makeup is for.

She danced while her feet bled and ached. Her teacher told her it would make her stronger.

She would stand before the other girls and be weighed and measured. Her every imperfection was pointed out.

Because a ballerina was perfect.

Graceful

Delicate

Effortless

Gorgeous

Perfect

And she wanted to be perfect. Needed it.

She would do what it took. To achieve that dream. Break herself if needed. It was all for she sake of dancing on that stage.

Another grueling practice ended as a guest arrived at the studio.

"Hey, Jamil. You're here early." She said wiping the sweat off very brow with a hand towel from her bag.

"I was hoping to see you practice since basketball practice ended early." Jamil said taking a drink from his water bottle.

Yuu smiled as she bent to take off her slippers, wincing due to her sore feet.

Jamil's eyes were drawn to the scene, his eyes widened.

Unmistakable red marks stained the shoes as Yuu sucked in a breath and dig into their bag for her first aid kit.

"You're hurt!" He exclaimed bending down to examine the wound. "What happened?".

"What do you mean?" she said tilting her head to the side. "It's normal."

"Nothing about this is normal. Your bleeding! Especially not from dancing. You need to take a break" Jamil said taking the bandages to wrap the wound.

Just a quickly he was shoved back as Yuu took the bandages back.

"I can do it myself." She said coldly "I've done this for years. Honestly, what do you know?"

"Enough to know that you're hurt and that's all I need to know," Jamil said strained.

"Butt out!"She yelled before stealing herself "Look I'm not mad at you but you don't get to tell me what I should do. You're not my father and you're not my boyfriend."

Jamil tried to respond feeling his cheeks burn but was stopped.

"You don't know what ballet even is. What it takes. Blood, sweat, and tears. I can't afford to waste time. It's a cut-throat world, Jamil. My form must be perfect!" Yuu said adamant.

"Why are you so set on this!" He yelled trying to find sense in this argument.

"BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE MUCH TIME LEFT!" Yuu screamed at the top of her lungs.

And just like that it was said. She fell silent her chest heaving, tears in her eyes, and her lips twisted in a frown.

"I...don't have time." She said again quieter. Sadder.

"Time for what." Jamil lowered his voice too.

"Ballet isn't forever. Girls don't last for long. You're prime is only a few years, and then the roles dry up. You're body changes as you get older. They don't want that. You're body doesn't last either." Yuu said sadly.

Ballet is a bloody industry and you must do what you must to survive.

It starts so innocent and pure. Little pink tutus and leotards to eating disorders and chronic pain.

But little girls still dream of the stage.

"So you'll break yourself to do it? Don't you care about yourself." Jamil asked taking her hand.

Yuu sighed and looked away. She couldn't look him in the eye.

"I don't know..." She said finally.

Yuu had never felt good enough. She never saw herself as worth much.

"It's okay, I'll show you that your more then you think. You matter to me. Even if you don't see your worth, I do." Jamil said hold her hand to his chest.

#dancer!yuu #twst jamil #jamil viper x reader #twisted wonderland jamil #jamil x reader #jamil viper #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland yuu

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treysimp · 2 years

Text

"I’m not sure how better to say this... do you want to make out on my couch?"

Part 4

GN!Reader x Pomefiore (Vil, Rook, Epel)

Smooching, implied mutual pining and suggestive themes, but nothing explicit. Reader is not physically described.

Other chapters:

Want more TWST? Here's my Masterlist!

I don't know how better to say this, but do you want to make out on my couch?

Vil bit his lip, shrugged, and then put his hand at the small of your back, dropping you into an elegant dip (or it would have been if you hadn’t yelped in fright). You clasped onto his neck for dear life, and to his credit, he did indeed grasp you firmer in response.

Like a movie, Vill traced from the top of your ear to your chin, gently tipping your face towards his before pulling you into a ravishing and intense kiss. Your eyes slid shut as you felt yourself being slowly raised back to standing while Vil generously lavished you with slow and romantic kisses.

You wondered if this could go on for hours, you would do anything for it to never stop. Vil’s kisses were unlike anything you had ever experienced before. You couldn’t help but think that all your dreams of this moment had underestimated him. Nothing could truly compare to his petal lips, his silk hair, and his perfect skin passing over yours softly as you exchanged sweet kisses.

Finally parting, you both stood in silence. Vil held your face between his palms, eyes boring into yours. You suddenly felt shy, but you couldn't look away either. It was like you were hypnotized. It made you wonder how he could ever think there was anyone fairer than he. You certainly had never seen one who was… not even…

“I refuse, by the way,” Vil says suddenly, cutting through your dreamy reverie. His voice perfectly even and serious. You sputtered in confusion at the statement.

“...you refuse?” You repeated. He literally just kissed you? What does he possibly mean by that?

“We are not going inside the hovel you call home.” He says snappily.

You frowned, he’d been in Ramshackle before for a week during the training camp, it’s not like he hasn’t been inside before.

“Well sorry for my ‘hovel’ but that's all I’ve got.” you snapped back, rolling your eyes. What in the world were you supposed to do about it?

Vil’s perfect face fell into a frown, finally releasing your cheeks from his grasp, brows knitting ever so slightly.

“It seems there must be a misunderstanding. Must I spell it out for you?” He says with a huff, crossing his arms and tossing his head to the side, blowing away the hair that had fallen out of his braid from his eyes.

“Yes your majesty, I would appreciate it,” you said, putting your hand on your hip and giving him a confused glare.

Really? What was his problem?

“As an actor, I am only worth as much as the stage I perform on,” he says, extending his hand in a smooth motion to follow each of his perfectly articulated syllables.

“Uh-huh.”

“Usually when I say that, the stage is a metaphor.” he continues, shaking one hand with a finger pointed to the sky while the other rests on his chin in a gesture to evoke thoughtfulness.

“Yep…” you had decided that he would probably be more upset if you didn’t respond to this weird interlude.

“But… in this case I… I…” he begins, eyes opening wide with intensity (perhaps a little too much, if you were honest).

“I will not have my first time intimately touching the love of my life anywhere that is less than gorgeous, Prefect! And that’s final!” Vil practically yelled, his perfect foundation no longer fully hiding the wild flush that had begun covering his complexion. His breathing was heavy, and his expression of frustration quickly turned to one of embarrassment.

Looking almost like he could burst into tears, Vil grabs your elbow and begins dragging you away from your hovel-adjacent mansion without explanation.

“We will go to MY room, we will make out on MY couch, and I will ravish you so perfectly that you will never so much as look at another man with fondness without tonight having been so perfect that it immediately ruins your attraction to him as it forcibly comes to the front of your mind!” he finishes, words tumbling out of his painted mouth at light speed. Vil was pulling you even more enthusiastically than before as his shoes clicked on the cobblestones that lead you to the mirrors.

You couldn’t help it, you burst into laughter. Vil stopped in his tracks, looking positively horrified.

“Look, I… I’m not… You're...” he mumbles your name softly, and the pure tenderness of his voice has you immediately pulling him into a hug even though your shoulders are still quivering with laughter.

“Vil… why didn’t you just say that in the first place? You can ravish me all you want.”

Ears turning red, Vil gives you a sharp nod as he tightens the embrace between the two of you.

“I’m not going to let you forget you said that. I’m not going to forgive you for ruining my beauty sleep so easily.”

"I wouldn't have it any other way, beautiful," you say, shoulders sagging in relief.

“Oh? Mon trésor, do repeat that request?”

You suddenly realized that you shouldn’t have turned your back to Rook when you felt one hand snake across your waist and the other brush behind your arm to grasp your chin. Startled but also more than a little excited at the close contact, you very much could hear each beat of your heart in your eardrums.

Hot breath fanned over your ear as you felt the skim of perfect teeth against your sensitive skin. Shivering excitedly, you stood perfectly still. Feeling as if you moved even slightly, took the smallest breath, or uttered the shortest syllable, the spell would be broken and he would disappear just as fast as he came into your life.

“You know, if you wanted to be caught by me, all you had to do was ask,” he murmured, each word tickling the baby hairs behind your ear.

The heat that crept up your neck was made of more than just embarrassment as you suddenly wondered if you did fall into a trap by asking this beautiful man inside of your house. The hand on your chin slowly turned your head to the side, and your eyes met with a sparkling crescent emerald green.

Feeling very much like every breath he took against your skin took away yours in turn, you closed your eyes for a moment. Feeling the thrill of him being so close and success being so close you could almost taste it. Building up your courage, you square your shoulders as you try to speak again.

“Is that a yes, Rook?” You ask. Your voice shook slightly more than you would have liked, but it certainly wasn’t from fear.

“Ah, ma belle amie, I think you already know the answer.” He said, a soft kiss descending to the cheek you had tilted nearest to him.

The beats of your heart go into overdrive at the simple and relatively innocent act of affection, and this forceful kickstart to your brain finally enticed you to turn your head to him.

Your eyes meet with one of the smuggest expressions you have ever seen in your life. You wanted to wipe it off of him.

“I suppose you’re right.” You say, taking the opportunity to surprise him for once by planting a passionate kiss onto the lips of the stupid, dumb, frustrating, incredibly hot, hunter.

With a soft hum, he reciprocates your kiss. A single strand falls loose from his ponytail and brushes past your cheek in a ticklish wave. The kisses are slow, soft, and so very tender. The romance that everyone wishes for when they dream of kissing the object of their affection for the first time.

Separating with a sigh, Rook’s cheeks are alight with a scarlet splash. “Oh! Mon amour! You do truly know how to stir the fondest fantasies of my heart.” He said, squeezing you ever closer. The embrace made you wonder if mice were this happy with the cheese they found before the trap clapped shut.

“… Rook.”

“Yes, my darling?”

“Can we go inside?”

Without a hint of embarrassment at being asked to let go, Rook loosens his arms to allow you to open the door you had been holding onto for the past couple of minutes.

Without skipping a beat, Rook places his hand at the small of your waist and ushers you inside, closing the door softly behind you both. You are escorted forward through the living room until you sit on the couch. However, rather than sit beside you, Rook kneels on the ground.

“Ma lune, mes étoiles-!” He begins, holding your hands in between one of his, the other elegantly removing his baseball cap with a flourish and holding it to his chest.

“Do you dare grant my fondest wish?”

You breathed in deeply, preparing yourself for what he may have cooked up in his french-speaking, romance-novel-infested brain.

“And what would that be, Rook?”

“For me to make a mess of you, my dear.”

You inhaled sharply, looking for any hint of a lie or facade in his glimmering emerald eyes.

Maybe you were just naive, but no matter how hard you searched each curve of his elegant face, you could never find anything that ever so much as hinted at deceit.

Well, you were down too bad to stop at this point anyway.

“I’m not convinced you’ve ever made a mess in your life, Rook.”

“Ohoho, well then ma cherie! Allow me the pleasure of surprising you.” throwing his hat into the air with an unnecessarily complex hand motion, Rook rises from his knees and uses his arms to box you in.

As he descends onto you with the promise of more, you can’t feel even a trace of regret at letting this hunter into your den. For better, or for worse.

(Link to the smutty conclusion of Rook's story: for both AFAB! and AMAB! readers)

“…this isn’t fair.”

You spun around sharply to make eye contact with Epel, his arms crossed and his face screwed into a frown.

“Am I really supposed to believe that? That all my dreams would just come true suddenly? Who do you take me for? Did someone put you up to this?” Epel’s lavender hair falls into his eyes and his foot taps incessantly to the same rhythm that his eyes are rapidly darting between your face and the wall. Your heart falls while you look at him.

“Epel..” you say with a sign, pinching your nose in agitation. Was he this stupid?

“What reason could I possibly be lying to you? What do I possibly have to gain?” you cross your arms haughtily, mirroring his body language.

Epel is still frowning, but his eyebrows seemed to soften just a bit.

“I don’t know! I just don’t… This isn’t…” he falters, seemingly deflating in front of you.

You decided that the best bet is just to start your question again, “...Epel, you are gorgeous and I am trying to come on to you. Will you make out with me?”

For once the little country boy was speechless. His huge soft eyes were wide and his hand drifted to his mouth to cover his gaping mouth.

It seems like at least some of Vil’s lessons in being demure had paid off, you supposed.

Finally pulling himself together enough to speak, he starts trying to argue again. “Y-you can’t tease me like..” he began in a sputter, but you immediately cut him off.

“Epel, if you want to say no do it! But just… look, I’m really…” your eyes were burning. How frustrating! What were you supposed to do? He wouldn’t believe you!

“No! I am-! I do!” Epel's face lit a bright ruby as he grabbed you by the shoulders, shining blue eyes boring into yours. After a pause that felt like a lifetime, he finally rushed himself towards you, teeth clattering against your own in his haste.

Your incisor felt like hell, but you quickly were convinced to forget. Epel’s kisses were hungry, aggressive, and wild. You were overwhelmed by the pure emotion of it all, of the desperate push and pull of his body as he did everything in his power to try and convey exactly how he was feeling. After a pregnant pause, Epel separates from you in a huff, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, clearly trying to hide his face from view.

“Ya can’t… ya can’t just…” Epel was panting, his hands trembled, and his face was painted with a beautiful flush.

“…this is so unfair.” He finished, hands grabbing at your clothing to grope at every piece of skin he could get his hands on.

You were immediately pushed up against the door from the surprising strength of his frail-appearing body, but you couldn’t stop your mouth curving into a grin as you watched Epel try and fail to unbutton your collar.

Looking up at you with a glare, Epel finally just pulled your shirt hard enough that the button just popped off.

“Hey! I don’t have that many shirts, you know!” you said, trying to sound offended. He was cute when he was being bratty, but you didn’t want to encourage him.

“Quit complainin’!” he huffed, successfully opening your shirt further without needing to pop more stitches. Looking up to your face with a mischievous grin, Epel chooses to kiss your neck sweetly. Making you almost forget that you were mad… almost.

“Epel…” you whine quietly, you were sure he was leaving marks. He was biting your skin hard, firmly laving his tongue against every blooming purple mark once completed. Looking very satisfied with himself, he started on the other side.

“Don’t worry…” a sigh, a bite, a snicker “I have good concealer, y’know?” he says with another hearty laugh, seeming to get a kick out of the idea that the no-doubt expensive makeup was being wasted on covering up the marks that he was making on you. The marks that proved it was him that you wanted. He almost felt high on the validation.

“...Epel… do you…” God, it was hard to talk when he kept playfully nipping at your windpipe.

“Do you want to actually get on the couch?” you finished, misty eyes staring at him as the moonlight made him look almost like an angel. If it weren’t for the devious look on his face, that is.

“No…” he said softly, pressing you further into the wood planks of your front door, ever more firm, ever more persistent.

“I want you right here.”

-----

Oh man I really enjoyed this chapter. I feel like the more I write for twst the ever harder it becomes to tell which boys are even my favorite anymore, I just love them all so much.

As always, let me know who you want to see next and tell me if there are any ideas you want to share. Survey said yes on the spicy continuations so I may do a new fic post for those that includes these introductions and picks up where they left off. (I'm coming for you Floyd)

Love you, reader! Thank you everyone that told me happy birthday yesterday!

#vil shoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #gender neutral reader #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #rook twst #vil twst #epel x reader #epel felmier #epel twisted wonderland #rook twisted wonderland #twst reader insert #reader insert #couch series

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joelmillershole · 10 months

Text

dark but just a game

raider!joel x reader

warnings: 18+ mdni! raider!joel, rough sex/smut, unprotected piv sex (wrap it before u tap it folks), fingering, choking, hair pulling, probably dubcon but it’s not really?, deep throating/face fucking, spanking, joel is mean, joel is a bad man (but such a hot one), pet names (baby, sweetheart), no use of y/n

word count: 2.4k

a/n: i am depraved. also I wrote this in like 1 sitting and had to post. omg. i’ve never posted smut before and of course when I do it has to be fucking nasty! enjoy

You knew you treaded on a thin tightrope. No net, no balancing pole, nothing but the ground a hundred feet below and a short landing thirty feet away. The only consolation was the lack of a crowd, empty stands around the circus tent, only yourself and the lone figure on the other side. Waiting for you. Faceless, nameless; but you knew in the back of your mind that wasn’t true. Maybe your subconscious wanted you to believe that when you had this dream. You knew better.

You knew better than to trust yourself not to fall.

You weren’t even around too long before the outbreak happened; never even been to a circus. Only read about it in books. But the metaphor seemed apt, and as you climbed and gripped every rung of the ladder to the starting spot, you cursed and cursed yourself for the inevitable fall. Like clockwork, though -- like a machine with no off button -- you made the climb again and again.

And again. Creeping around the decimated town, you closed your eyes. Imagined taking the first step onto the taut wire. Felt it lag under your weight. Inhaled slowly, bracing yourself for the second step. And just as you swung your other foot out, just as you tightened your core and prayed to any God that would listen, your arms pinwheeled wildly and you lost your balance.

He’d snuck up on you, pinned you face-first to the wall with his large, heavy hands. The sharp inhale, the gasp, that you sucked in, overshadowed by a dark, languid chuckle from behind and somewhere above your ears.

“Can’t get enough of me, huh, baby?” You almost forgot about the drawl. The hint of some origin from long ago. Shivering, you felt his words fan against the shell of your ear, breath hot and sending goosebumps down your arms. “‘Li’l pathetic, don’t’ya think?”

You barely heard yourself respond, some breathy denial, maybe a squeak. Something truly pathetic, just as he said.

Joel used one hand to grip your hair at the root, yanking your head backward. His nails dug into your scalp. It was painful -- your eyes filled, against your will, with tears -- but then again, you knew it would be. You expected it to be.

He peered down at you, scowling. He looked strange from this point, upside-down and blurry. His other hand wrapped around your body, no longer used to shove you against the sharp bricks of some building wall. It found its spot at your throat. You swallowed against it, eyes fluttering shut as he applied pressure.

“Haven’t seen you in a minute,” he whispered. He pressed his lips against your temple. “Been hidin’ from me, baby?”

You shook your head. It was difficult to do with his hand wrapped around your throat and his vice-like grip on your hair. Miniscule, almost, but he got the message. “No?” He nosed down your cheek until his lips found the junction between your chin and your neck, just above where his thumb squeezed. Joel sucked the skin in between his lips, rolled it in between his teeth.

You gasped. You squeezed your legs together against the sharp ache between them. You grit your teeth. You didn’t think to do each one of these actions, the only thought in your head the feeling of Joel sucking on your neck. And plummeting a hundred feet down.

“Joel-” you tried but only choked as he tightened his grip with both hands. “P-please-”

“Please, what?” He mumbled into your neck. He let go of it to slide his hand down the length of your body, grabbing roughly at your breasts first, before trailing it down your belly and between the waistband of your pants. “Use your words, baby. Been so long since I’ve gotten to hear your pretty voice.”

Against your better judgment, your stomach flipped at his words, his praise. God, you craved this. It was the only reason you’d snuck out of your QZ to go searching around the abandoned city around it, far enough away from the FEDRA soldiers that you didn’t worry about getting caught. Unless there were some other raiders around; not an impossibility, but unlikely enough that you weren’t worried. Joel kept to himself. Even if someone did manage to find you two, you knew Joel would take care of it. You’d watched him kill before. He was violent and scary. There must be something wrong with you if it turned you on so much.

Joel, in a rough motion, let go of you to spin you around to face him. You barely got a glimpse of his face before he had his hands on your shoulders, pushing you down. Your knees hit the pavement with a painful jolt. You watched him undo his belt, deft hands quickly unbuttoning and pushing down his jeans and boxers. And then there he was, his thick cock hard and weeping with precum.

“You gonna suck me, baby girl?” Joel said. He fisted his hand in your hair again, pulling you closer. “Or am I gonna make you?”

You swallowed, looking up at him through your lashes. “I will, Joel,” you murmured. You leaned forward to take the tip of him into your mouth. He tasted salty, the precum rubbing against your tongue. Joel stared down at you, eyes dark and bottom lip pulled between his teeth. He pressed his hips in further and you obeyed, opening wider to swallow him deep. As his cock hit the back of your throat, you gagged around it, eyes watering, but not missing the way his closed, nor the exhalation of pleasure that left his lips.

“Fuck,” he swore lowly. “Mouth feels so fucking good. Love the way those pretty lips look wrapped around my cock.”

Your stomach flipped again, even as you gagged once more. Still, Joel pressed in further, his long cock inching down your throat. Your breathing quickened, chest rising and falling rapidly. You didn’t know how you were going to keep taking him, not when you kept gagging.

“Relax, baby,” he cooed, free hand brushing against your cheek. You looked up at him, breathing heavily through your nose. “Relax your throat. Don’t panic, you can take it.”

You tried your best to listen to him. You relaxed your throat, eyes squeezing shut as he pulled your head down his length until you had taken everything. Every inch of him stuffed down your throat, nose pressed into the small mass of curls above the base of his cock. You knew you must be dripping, clenching agonizingly around nothing.

“Look at you, fuck,” Joel said. He let go of your hair to run his fingers through it. “Keep breathin’ through your nose, baby. Gonna keep my cock in that mouth.”

You moaned around his length. When you closed your eyes, tears fell down your cheeks; but you listened, nails digging into your palms painfully. You knew he would be angry if you raised them and grabbed his legs. You’d played this game before.

Joel slid out of your mouth almost all the way, enough that you could finally breathe around it. You swallowed in large gulps of air before he pressed in again, slowly, all the way down to the hilt. You only gagged once before you relaxed and let him fuck your mouth.

After that, his pace increased. It was almost too much, the in and out, your throat spasming around his thick cock. Your lips and throat and knees ached, strings of saliva hanging down your chin, but you sat there dutifully, tears streaming out of eyes that you kept trained on him. You watched his expression, dark and flushed, as he used your mouth for himself. Your core ached. You kept falling, down and down, not having yet hit the ground.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Joel panted, sliding all the way out of your mouth. Your throat felt empty at the loss. “So fuckin’ good. Little slut for me. You a slut for anybody else?”

You shook your head, turning to wipe your mouth on the shoulder of your shirt. “No, Joel,” you croaked out. Your voice was fucked. “Only a slut for your cock.”

Joel swore. Staring down at you, he thought for a moment, then dragged you standing by your hair. You winced at the crack of your knees, the strain of them straightening after being bent for so long. Joel pushed your cheek against the wall again, his hand slipping in between your waistband once more.

You gasped as he ran a thick finger across your folds; Joel swore again at the wetness, sinking two fingers in to the knuckle.

“Joel,” you begged, eyes fluttering. You groaned out something incoherent, your body twitching at the feel of his fingers curling inside of you. They were so much longer than yours and could reach so much deeper. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Joel…”

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered into your neck. His thumb flicked your swollen clit roughly and you almost screamed at the feeling. Your knees could have buckled and he would’ve kept you upright just from the force of his body pressing you into the wall. “You like that? So wet from just sucking my cock. You really are a slut, huh?”

“Yes,” you sobbed. “Came looking for you. For this.”

Joel groaned, nipping at your neck. “I know, baby. So desperate for this cock.” When you nodded, he chuckled, extracting his fingers from your pussy. “So fuckin’ desperate… guess I’ll give you what you came for.”

Joel yanked your pants down to the knees. He grabbed your thighs and pulled you back against him, then pushed your torso forward so you were bent over. He pinned both of your hands behind your back with one hand and used the other to rub the tip of his cock against your soaked pussy.

Without another word, Joel thrust his full length into you in one swell move. You screamed, tears pricking your eyes at the burn, the fullness. He sighed from behind you, the hand not gripping your wrists moving to slap your naked ass. You yelped at the sting of it.

“Missed this pretty pussy,” Joel mumbled. “Who does this pussy belong to, baby?”

You shuddered throughout your entire body as you got used to the stretch. It’d been months since you had him inside of you, and it was something your body forgot. Too caught up in the feeling of his cock inside of you, you didn’t answer. He slapped your ass again, harder.

“I said, who does this pussy belong to?”

“You,” you cried out, clenching around him.

“Say it.” Joel dragged his cock out inch by inch, slowly, then sheathed himself back to the hilt with a grunt. “Who makes you this fuckin’ wet?”

“You, Joel.” You barely even registered speaking. “This pussy belongs to you… I’m this wet for you…” Heat bit at your cheeks, embarrassment, but you kept blubbering as he began to slide in and out of you slowly. You felt the drag of every inch, every centimeter. “Please, please, please fuck me-- harder, please--”

Joel laughed mockingly behind you. “Harder? If you say so.”

Your vision blurred as Joel fucked you, hard and deep and almost painfully. That familiar heat built up in your core. You wondered if it was even possible for you to come without him touching you, just from his cock alone. You never had before. But it’d been this long, and if you shut your eyes, you envisioned the ground steadily raising to meet your plummeting body. An acrobat you most definitely were not.

As if on cue, Joel shifted ever so slightly. His cock hit some spot inside of you, soft and spongy, and you unraveled with a start. Eyes rolling back into your head, you slumped, cheek scraping against the sharp edges of the brick wall. You barely noticed the pain and only distantly did you feel Joel pull you backward by your hair, your back arched, and heard him groan at the feeling of your pussy spasming around his cock.

“Shit, baby!” He bit down on your neck and used two fingers to rub your clit. “Didn’t even touch you. You gonna come for me again?”

Just as you started coming down, the quick circles he drew around your bundle of nerves sent painful overstimulation shuddering through your body.

“No,” you cried out, body jerking. “‘S too much, Joel-”

“Shut up,” he said, voice bland. “Take it, baby.” His hips jerked harder. You shrieked with each thrust into your sensitive core. His fingers didn’t let up, and in less than a minute, you felt your peak rising quickly again, this time muddled and almost feverish.

You came again. Harder. It felt like it lasted forever, like you were never going to come out of it, like you were stuck eternally in this high. Joel’s thrusts became erratic and off-kilter and then he was coming, too, with a grunt, filling you up. You didn’t even have the mind or energy to protest, just shook around his cock as he filled you with his come.

It took a minute, but you finally came down, bones sagging like jelly in your post-orgasmic state. Joel slid out of you. When he let you go to pull his pants up, you crumpled to the ground.

He squatted down to your level, rough hands lifting you at the hips and yanking your pants up. He set you back down and stood up, peering down at you with a blank expression.

“Keep telling you not to come back,” he said.

You stared back up at him, mind blank.

“Keep telling you ‘m not a good man, baby,” said Joel. “I ain’t gonna cuddle you after, just gonna take what I want. But you don’t listen.”

He bent down to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Then he gripped your chin in between his fingers.

“I know you ain’t gonna listen if I say it again,” he said. “So I’ll see you next time.”

You watched him walk away, turning the corner and leaving you alone in the alleyway he’d found you in what seemed like forever ago.

After a few minutes, you managed to pick yourself up, wincing at the ache between your legs. You started on the way back to the QZ, wondering when the next time was you’d decide to make the climb again.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal as joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #tlou show #raider!joel #joel miller smut #smut #tlou smut #joelmillershole

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azullumi · 10 days

Text

“under the burning hill” ; aventurine

premise — you say you know him, what will he choose?

tags — angst, with comfort if you squint, mentions of death, a lot of metaphors, spoilers to his backstory, i seriously don’t know how to tag this one, not proofread, 0.9k words; ficlet

tagging — @toorurs

note — i once cried to those tiktok slideshows that are like “if you really know your mother/self/father/sister/brother, what will they choose?” and then this fic happened. this is NOT my celebration fic for getting him, i have different one in my drafts

you say you know aventurine, what is he choosing?

a chance to be with his family again

he dreamt of flowers and gardens, of empty fields and large floating clouds, of tears and warmth, and he knelt into the dream where he felt the warmth of his sister’s hug and the soothing melody of his mother’s song. he buries his corpse who knew his father’s voice and how he would hold his child. in his dreams, he is good and he is loved.

he had nightmares of blood and fire, of wounds and tainted, dirty clothes, of screams and cries, and he’ll run away from the blades that will chase him, his body will become a corpse along with many others as he hides in the bloody waters. he has known death even before he saw his reflection.

and when he awakes from this, he’ll find himself in an empty bedroom despite the corners and the walls adorned with furniture, decoration, and dust. he’ll find himself alone—waking up yet he’s still in a nightmare. his family isn’t there.

for his shackles to never exist

the chain suffocates him—there’s the harsh smell of rusting metal and the cold tug of the chain when he moves his hand. his clothes are tattered, the collar and the hems burned off, and he stands before the eyes that scrutinizes and looks down on his existence. their gaze leaves letters that burn on his skin and it forms into a scar that will never heal, a reminder of what he is meant to be and will always be.

but he walks in the streets in flamboyance, the chain never seen on his wrist and neck as if it never once touched him. he treads the line of freedom and restriction recklessly and like a bird who has never known how to spread its wings, he could never reach far into the sky.

the form of his shackles have changed; it doesn’t mean he also has.

to stop the tremble of his hands

he fiddles with his fingers, adjusts the way his watch rests on his wrist—he keeps his hand busy and hidden. he wears a smile on his lips and utters such words filled with confidence as he places his bet, as he gambles his life, yet he desperately tries to conceal the way his hands tremble as he clutches on to his chips.

he wagers his life as if his existence was only a mere chip on the table, but it’s the only control he’ll ever have over himself.

an apology

he has dealt with scornful gazes and harsh remarks, has dwelled on the hidden meaning behind people’s words. he’s all too familiar with the cruel and unkind thread that weaves into their tongue as they speak—some may sing praises to him yet their eyes would harbor only hatred and disgust.

he wishes someone would ask for his forgiveness, but why would he even deserve one? what did he even do to deserve one? what did he do? does his existence outweigh the heaviness of a single syllable the word carries? was he worthy of one? does he even have any worth?

he can only let their gaze taint his skin, rearrange the letters of the words they utter into the one he will never hear.

(he has never forgiven himself either.)

to finally let go

how bruised are his knees and how long will he repent for the sins he has never committed?

he holds on to his burden as if it was a part of him, as if he’ll be nothing but an empty vessel if he loses his hold on it. he knows it's holding him down, knows it's making his hands bleed but it’s everything and the only thing he has known for—the thorns has been engraved into his palm and became part of his skin. he’ll stuff his mouth full of rotten food and leave his stomach empty, and he’ll believe this is what he’s made for.

perhaps when he'll finally find a place to put everything down, he’ll learn how it feels to live for himself and not for the things he carries.

you say you know kakavasha, what is he choosing?

to never have to say goodbye

farewell is a form of poetry and he is a poem.

in most days, he’ll hear his sister’s voice in the empty corridors of his home, he’ll hear the echoes and follow him into places she could never reach (his wishes will never be enough to save her). he’s haunted by the unspoken farewells and the goodbyes he is forced to make, watching their backs as they leave or his own.

(he wishes he never knew the word.)

(his child self) having a conversation with future him

children are bound with endless dreams and light to see into the dark as they walk into their future—he was (once) one of them. he’ll stay up at night wondering what’s ahead of him, grasping on to what little left of his hope that things will become better, and when he sleeps, he’ll dream of talking to his future self.

“are you happy?”

if he’ll have a conversation with his future self, he’ll tell him everything and anything, make him recall the memories lost when growing up, trace the stars with him as he asks him the questions he’s curious to know the answer to (his future self will know him inside out but he, the child he once was, will never know him). and maybe he’ll put their palms together once he notices his agitation—and he’ll see the differences of their hands and notice the dying light in their eyes—as they ask for their god’s blessings.

he’ll tell him: everything will be okay, even when he’ll only be met with silence.

(get onstage

fear not

never look back.)

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