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blitzyn · 1 year

Note

Can I ask for Asra from The Arcana with male reader please? maybe an established relationship where they've been together for a long time? Not much of a plot but mostly just smut/fluff where Reader comes back wounded and goes to clean himself off, and when he comes out into the main bedroom, they end up having sex and it's a bit frantic because they missed each other? Bottom reader if that's okay with you. Thank you

missed you

asra alnazar x m!reader

Synopsis: Asra heals you with his magic after you return home littered in injuries — albeit in a different way.

a/n -> i love him so much<333 just got done playing his route again and now i am overcome with the sensation of emptiness once more. but anyways, ty for requesting him! it gets a little tiring only writing for genshin, no matter how much i love the requests and the characters. i hope this is okay!

wc -> 1.8k

cw -> anal sex, anal fingering, brief blowjob, mentions of injury

You winced as a sharp sting permeated through your skin, shifting uncomfortably when the fabric of your shirt rubbed against your wound. You sighed in relief when you realized that the sign at the front of the magic shop read "Open" - Asra was home.

"I'll be out in a moment!" You were met with a comforting voice when you opened the door, a cheerful jingle echoing through the building.

"Oh, [Name], you're back!" Asra smiled warmly, setting his cup of tea on the front counter. You watched as his eyes roamed your body for a moment before they widened at the sight of your blood staining your clothes.

"What happened to you?" he questioned, rushing to your side. He placed a hand on your lower back to guide you to your shared bedroom after he flipped the sign and locked the door.

"Oh, nothing much..." you trailed off. It was a little embarrassing, really.

"You're bleeding. That doesn't look like 'Nothing much.'" He raised a brow and made you sit on the bed.

"...Would you believe me if I said that a... plant attacked me?"

He blinked incredulously, halting in place. It took him a few moments to process what you just said, trying futilely to figure out how in the world that could've occurred.

"What," he managed to utter, leaning back to stare at you.

"I tripped and spilled a lot of the stuff in my bag. It got over a plant and... here I am," you bashfully explained, incapable of maintaining eye contact any longer.

"What did you have in the bag?"

"Herbs, medicinal powders, items of the like. Now I know not to mix them, I guess."

Asra sighed and shook his head in fond exasperation, but an uneasy expression still managed to cross his face. "It's good that you're okay, but you need to be more careful next time. I was already on edge when I found out that Nadia didn't know where you were."

"Right. Sorry." You furrowed your eyebrows at his apprehension, guilt settling in your chest.

"Well, it doesn't help to dwell in the past." He leaned closer to you. Pressing a hand against your torso, he guided you down so that you lay on your back. "I'd better heal you."

You nodded and relaxed against the plush and comforting covers, shivering at his touch. Your eyes widened in surprise when he did not trace your injury with his fingers like he normally would, but instead placed his lips over the top of your cut. He peered up at you through his eyelashes and smiled innocently.

With gentle glints of light, he mended the skin with his soothing kisses, beginning from your chest. He softly caressed your hips as he moved lower and lower. You swallowed hard and found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from him.

You covered your mouth with the back of your hand, your face feeling incredibly hot. You tensed when he lingered dangerously close to the waistband of your pants but had to hold back a noise when he abruptly rose from his position.

"You look awfully flustered." His eyes were alight with mischief, body towering over yours. "I wonder what's gotten you so worked up?"

"Don't tease..." You looked away bashfully, feebly squirming under his gaze. He noticed the slightest opening of your legs and couldn't help the smile that appeared. He shifted himself back between your thighs, running his hand over your bare stomach.

He glanced up at you. "Are you sure? You just returned. Do you want to rest first?"

"No, I'm okay. K-keep going," you replied. He nodded, tucked his fingers under the band of your pants, and gently tugged them down alongside your underwear. You sucked in a sharp breath at the contrast between your heated skin and the cooler air of the bedroom, though Asra's body heat very quickly warmed you up again.

He sighed over your semi-hard cock, mouth slightly ajar, and averted his focus onto your thighs instead. He kissed random spots, some closer to where you wanted him and others farther away.

You lightly pulled on his hair to gain his attention and shot him a tense look, to which he chuckled out an apology.

"Sorry. I just missed you." He hovered over your dick once more before finally taking it in his mouth with the aid of his hand. The other one reached for yours, interlocking your fingers as he pushed himself until you could feel the beginning of his throat. He didn't prefer going all the way — not that you minded.

He used the saliva that escaped through the corners of his lips to help him jerk off what he didn't get. You moaned softly, tightening your grip around his hand, digging your free one into the bedsheets. You weren't sure if it was because you were gone for so long, but how he handled you with such practiced ease had you resisting the impulse to thrust your hips upwards.

He hummed contentedly, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled affectionately, unable to tear his gaze away from your face. He was rendered utterly entranced for a few moments, captivated with your scent, your taste, your voice. With you.

He worked to please, watching every twitch of your body, listening to every sound that passed your lips. He couldn't help but grind against the mattress: impatience and desire steadily rising, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could subdue them.

With a great deal of reluctance, he pulled himself away from you, already missing the weight of your weeping cock on his tongue. You reopened your eyes — when had you closed them? — and observed him with bated breath. He reached towards the cluttered nightstand and retrieved a bottle of lube, pouring some of the contents on his fingers.

His dick strained against the cloth of his pants, aching to be touched. But he ignored his own needs for the moment, directing his focus solely on you. He inserted one finger inside you before adding a second one, deciding on taking his time to prepare you. He could feel you shudder when he began to move them in a scissoring motion, curling them every so often to bring forth moans.

He leaned down to shower your neck in kisses, heat traveling up and down his spine in powerful surges.

"I'm ready," you murmur breathlessly.

"I just started." Asra raised an eyebrow. You weren't typically this urgent, this needy, but he understands. He's barely stopping himself from acting the same.

"I-It's fine," you stammered, widening your legs in want. "Please..."

He swallowed hard. He longed to finally bury himself inside you, but the concern of hurting you fought valiantly within his mind. His hand slowed in contemplation as he stared into your eyes. They were wide, pupils blown and filled with lust.

"Oh, how could I ever say no to you?" He removed his fingers with a gentle smile before it morphed into something akin to worry. "But please tell me if it hurts, okay?"

You nodded and offered him a meek grin of your own. "I will."

He turned to grab the bottle of lube once more and poured an ample amount (a tad more than usual) on his cock that he freed from his pants a few moments prior. He slightly winced before he pressed the tip against your hole and began to push himself inside.

He groaned, stilling when his pelvis met your ass. The burn was a bit more prominent compared to the previous times you'd done this, but it wasn't something you couldn't tolerate. In fact, you would say that it felt good.

You wordlessly signaled him with a bob of your head to get him to move, to which he sighed pleasurably in return. He trailed his hands up from your hips to your waist, caressing the flesh as he began leisurely thrusting, his pace increasing with every passing moment.

Your breaths were shallow as you gazed at him with loving eyes, enamored with the sight before you. You couldn't resist the urge to raise your arms toward him, wanting to feel his body close to yours - despite knowing he's already as close as he can be. But he couldn't disregard how you were so beautifully splayed out in front of him and entertained your wish by curling his arms around your upper body as you wrapped your own over his back.

There was nothing to conceal each other's noises, creating a melody only the two of you could hear. He could feel you tighten when he whispered breathless praises in your ear, nothing but honesty spilling from his lips.

You turned your head to kiss the side of his neck, offering wordless replies. You were caught up in hazy bliss, arching your back as the heat within your abdomen strengthened each second. Your moans grew louder as you urged him to move a bit faster, desperate to reach your climax.

The bed creaked alongside the headboard that softly struck the wall, mixing in with the harmony that was your moans and his labored breaths, but neither of you paid it any heed.

"I love you. I love you..." he chanted, seemingly lost in the mantra as he neared his orgasm.

You tensed when the spark of ecstasy finally washed over you in surges, rolling over your skin pleasantly. Your cock spurted cum over your bare stomach, tended to by one of your hands. You could feel his breath hitch beside your ear, and instinctively pulled him closer with your legs just as he came.

You shuddered, relaxing as he buried his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder. You combed your fingers through his curly white hair, patiently waiting for him to settle, basking in the afterglow.

It wasn't until a minute or so when he finally decided to pull away and place most of his weight on his knees to look at you. The two of you remained silent for a few moments longer until he spoke, "We should take a bath."

You nodded with a chuckle. "Also, where's Faust? I haven't seen her in a while."

"Here..." Faust's faint voice was even quieter than before, and both of your heads swerved towards the windowsill, where the curtains rustled. You were mortified to see a familiar purple snout poke out from underneath.

"How did you not...?!" you exclaimed at Asra. Your face felt so hot it felt like you could cook an egg on it.

"I don't know!" He looked away in shame. "I was caught in the moment?"

He didn't seem sure of himself, and you groaned with your hands over your eyes.

"With you missing from the Palace, coming home injured," he tried to explain, "and with me missing you after just coming home from a recent journey, I completely forgot she was sleeping on the window."

Your expression softened. "I'm sorry."

He smiled. "It's okay. Now, let's hurry and clean up."

cross-posted on ao3

#asra alnazar #asra x you #asra x apprentice #apprentice reader #male apprentice reader #the arcana smut #reader smut #male reader smut #asra x reader #asra x mc #asra x male mc #asra x male reader #asra x reader smut #asra x male reader smut #requested fic

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captain-hawks · 9 months

Text

trace the outlines of your dreams

jean kirstein x f!reader

summary: Jean saves you in the midst of a bloody battle, and in the aftermath, you both figure out some important things—the impending end of the world be damned. [set during episode 85]

word count: 4.9k

content: 18+ ONLY, NSFW, best friends to lovers speed run, unrequited love? jk its requited, blood + injuries, protective jean, but UNprotected sex, rough sex, jean's big dick, fingering, praise kink, dry humping, light dom!jean vibes, creampie

In the years that have passed since you first joined the Scout Regiment, you’ve imagined a thousand different ways you might possibly die while bearing the weight of that damned winged insignia on your chest.

A thousand ways you’d go down fighting tooth and nail, bloody and battered but with the knowledge that, at the very least, you’d tried to help make a difference.

But after all this time, you still hadn’t thought you’d make your last stand here of all places: cornered in the narrow space between two looming buildings by three of your former comrades—now Jaegerists—struggling to stand on your own two feet and virtually defenseless.

They advance on you slowly, snickering as your smashed ODM gear refuses to cooperate, not any sort of state to function after how hard you were tackled against the unforgiving brick building mid-air just moments ago. Your gear absorbed a decent amount of the blow, enough for all of the important bits to be irreparably damaged, but not before your head took a hit as well. Warm blood drips down your face, and you blink hard against the wave of dizziness that threatens to overcome your senses.

The futile step you attempt to take backward has you gritting your teeth, ankle barking in pain, protesting that you’re asking any more of it after the impact your legs took when you landed on the dusty gravel. You consider calling out for the others, but you know they’ll never hear you over the chaos of the battle that’s unfolding, the roar of the Titans reverberating deep in the marrow of your bones.

Maybe you’ve finally run out of your share of borrowed time.

The Jaegerists continue to close in on you, snickering at the way you try to steel yourself even in the face of oncoming death, and your mind goes quiet for a moment as you let it settle on one last thought—you hope that if nothing else, Jean lives to see this through to the very end.

He deserves the quiet life he’s always wanted.

“Oh, it’s you.”

A shudder runs down your spine as a voice full of disdain sends your attention careening back to the present.

Floch.

The Jaegerists hastily sidestep as the red-haired man swiftly pushes his way between them, blood that you’re certain doesn’t belong to him smearing across his brow as he runs a hand through his hair and offers you a grin that’s downright feral. With a dismissive wave of his hand, his comrades take their leave back to the roof and into the fray of battle.

“I was upset when I realized that you left me, you know,” he drawls, reaching out to brush his thumb over your jaw.

Your stomach roils, and Floch clicks his tongue when you turn away from his touch, firmly grasping your chin. You can feel the warm, sticky blood his fingers leave in their wake as he continues, “I had a feeling Jean might betray me. But you? How could you?”

The rough feeling of brick digs into your shoulders as he crowds you against the wall of the building, his breath hot against your face.

Floch was always a little too interested in you, even before things really started to go to hell. At least that’s what Jean always grumbled, anyway. So when you finally, briefly, deigned to give him the time of day, if only to help your fellow comrades pull one over on the Jaegerists before making a run for it, you should have known the volatile man would be anything but forgiving when he realized you’d been batting your eyes and swaying your hips to distract him.

“Get your hands off of me, Floch,” you growl, the anger flaring up inside of you at odds with the rapid, terrified beating of your heart.

Floch blatantly ignores you, choosing instead to run a finger over your bottom lip, and the coppery tang of blood seeps into your mouth. You stifle the urge to gag, knowing how badly he wants you to flinch.

“It’s a bit sad…how you’ve always followed Jean like a loyal little lap dog. Waiting and waiting for him to notice you, too fucking stupid to realize he’s obviously in love with Mikasa.”

His words hit you like a slap to the face.

Your knees threaten to give out beneath you under the weight of a truth you know you can’t look away from. Not now that someone’s finally said it out loud.

You really hadn’t thought it would end like this—with a whimper.

“We could have had something, you and I,” he rasps, leaning in so close that his lips nearly brush over yours. “If only you weren’t so busy drooling over Kirstein’s dick.”

“I would have never picked you, Floch. Not now, not ever,” you whisper, eyes boring into his with one last shred of defiance as the world beneath your feet begins to ripple, your body feeling the effects of the blood loss from your head wound.

Something dark flashes in Floch’s eyes. “Kirstein probably won’t even realize you’re gone when I’m done with you. What a shame.”

You suck in a breath as he reaches a hand down to grasp a blade, willing your body to rally just enough strength to surge forward and tackle him. At the very least, you could go down with a fight.

…but when the quiet, familiar whine of a wire and the deliberate crunch of boots along gravel is followed by the one voice that you know the cadence of by heart, you realize that you won’t have to.

“Get your fucking hands off of her.”

A blade gleams at Floch’s neck as Jean Kirstein steps up behind him, your best friend’s eyes burning with rage. You can’t help the sob that rips from your throat when his expression softens ever so slightly when he steals a glance over at you, though his jaw ticks when he notices the smear of blood the other man left behind on your face.

For all Jean’s hesitation about this leg of the mission, his uncertainty about his ability to take the lives of his brainwashed comrades, you know that he’ll kill Floch right here and right now. You can see it in his posture, the utter stillness of his body. The way this entire moment feels utterly frozen in time as Floch realizes it, too.

And even if part of you wants it, wants to live out whatever’s left of what might be your final days knowing that Floch finally got what was coming to him, you know it’s not worth the risk. Not when shouts have begun to ring out from your friends, urging everyone to get to the ship. Not when you know Jean will hold the other man back with his bare hands so you can escape without him, if that’s what it comes down to.

So it’s the subtle shake of your head that determines Jean’s next move, one that doesn’t involve his blade and Floch’s throat. Instead, with nothing but the element of surprise on your side, Floch is blindsided by the foot you drive between his legs with all your might, white-hot pain blooming from your ankle at the impact. The moment that he drops down onto one knee, groaning, is all that Jean needs to pull you to him.

“Jean,” you choke out, his name caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob as you collapse into him and fist your hands in his shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, protectively wrapping one arm around you as he engages his ODM gear and carries you both toward the docks. And despite all of the chaos unraveling all around you, you swear that you can feel Jean’s heart pounding in his chest just as hard as your own.

The next few hours after you set off to sea are a blur, your body still shaking with adrenaline as various sets of hands examine your injuries. Everything feels a little fuzzy around the edges, and the most you can really register is the warm press of Jean against you all the while and the tickle of his hair along your cheek each time he growls at someone to be gentle when you groan in pain as they clean and dress your wounds.

It’s dark out when you finally come to, the fog in your mind parting as you wake up to find your limbs tangled in a scratchy wool blanket. You sit up, the thin mattress creaking beneath you, and rub at your eyes as they adjust to the dim lighting in the room. A small lantern sits perched on a table nearby, illuminating a cup that you can only hope contains water. Exhaling a quiet sigh of relief when you tentatively place it to your lips and confirm your suspicions, you drink heavily, only pausing at the sound of footsteps scuffing outside of the doorway.

“There’s another open room next to Conny’s,” you hear Armin say.

“She’s staying with me,” Jean’s voice cuts in, brokering no room for argument.

You put the cup down and settle back onto the bed, watching as the sliver of light from the outline of the door grows when Jean carefully steps into the room, pushing it shut again behind him.

When he realizes you’re sitting up, he swiftly crosses the room, coming to sit beside you on the mattress.

“You’re up,” he exhales, sounding relieved.

You offer him a small smile, hyper aware of the way his knee brushes against yours, heartbeat thundering when he reaches out to tilt your chin toward him. Vaguely, you wonder if you’re dreaming.

“Your head finally stopped bleeding,” he comments, eyeing the bandage on your head.

Right.

Mentally kicking yourself, you meet his gaze, willing your voice to stay steady as you say, “Thanks for saving me, Jean.”

One of his hands finds its way to your leg, fingers softly curling over your knee. “You know I always will,” he murmurs, echoing the promise he’d made to you years ago when you both joined the Scout Regiment.

In another life, maybe that version of you would be selfish enough to grasp Jean by his collar and kiss him right here and now for those words, pretending you misunderstood their meaning. Words that could mean so much more in another context, were it not for the stark line of demarcation between your feelings for him and the reality of your friendship.

Maybe you’d climb into his lap and try to make him forget all about her.

Even just for one night.

“I feel like you shouldn’t be thinking so hard after splitting your head open,” Jean comments with a chuckle when he observes your furrowed brows, gently pressing his fingertips to your temple as his attention shakes you from your thoughts.

“Sorry, it’s just been a long day,” you lie, feigning a stretch for good measure.

Jean drops his hand back down to his side as you shift, looking sheepish. “Long week, long year. You’re telling me. I think we both need a vacation.”

You snort, finally willing yourself to ask, “How’s Mikasa?”

Jean tilts his head to the side at the question, eyes narrowing a bit. “She’s fine. Armin’s a little worse for wear, but he’ll heal up soon.”

You nod, turning your gaze to the corner of the room. “You don’t need to stay in here with me tonight if you want to go and keep her company. I’ll be okay.”

Your best friend looks nothing short of perplexed at the clear insinuation in your words. “...why would I do that?”

“Because you…” you trail off, not sure why it’s so hard to verbalize Jean’s crush to his face.

Jean’s fingers brush along your cheek, urging you to look at him. “I what?”

You huff in annoyance, not sure why he’s making you say it outloud. “You and Mikasa…”

“There’s no ‘me and Mikasa’,” he says plainly.

Heart thundering in your chest, you glare at him before looking up at the ceiling in embarrassment and exasperation. “And there’s not ever going to be if you don’t get it together and tell her how you feel before we all die here.”

Jean clicks his tongue against his teeth, and your entire body goes still at the sudden feeling of his hot breath caressing the shell of your ear, “But she’s not the person I’ve been too much of a coward to tell how I feel.”

What?

“What?” you breathe out, whipping around to face him, the air swiftly leaving your lungs when you realize just how close he is, the tip of your nose brushing against his own.

Jean’s thumb traces your lower lip. “It’s always been you.”

At a loss for words, all you can manage to get out is, “Why now?”

“I used to hope you’d find someone that’d convince you to leave the Scouts and live a safe life behind the walls, something I couldn’t give you.”

Your heart aches at that, knowing that’s the life Jean always wanted, too. The one he left behind knowing how selfish it would be to waste the talent he could offer to the Scouts..

And perhaps it makes sense now—the way he’d subtly tried to find ways to hint that maybe you shouldn’t join the Regiment after all, all those years ago. The conflicted look of pain in his eyes the first time you’d proudly worn the Wings of Freedom.

“I didn’t think I could ever be enough to deserve you,” he continues. “Not even now.”

Hearing the uncertainty in Jean’s voice throws you off-kilter; it’s a far cry from the confident man you know him to be. You can’t help but offer him an incredulous look in return, baffled by the irony of it all—he’s the only person you care to spend the rest of your life with, after all.

Even if this is all you have left—these last few days, hours, moments.

A choked out sound leaves Jean’s mouth; apparently you said that out loud. “So you’re telling me…”

He cups the back of your head, eyes searching your face.

“...I should have done this…”

His other hand finds yours, fingers lacing together.

“...a long time ago.”

A shudder crawls down your spine at the feeling of Jean’s lips brushing atop your own. It’s a tentative touch, one that you press back into between one breath and the next. And as you sigh against his mouth, your own fingers reaching up to tangle in his hair, Jean stops holding back.

Legs hanging over the edge of the bed, Jean swiftly pulls you into his lap, his arms wrapped tightly around you as his lips chase yours with fervor. You straddle him, basking in the warmth of his body heat pressing into your own, savoring the rough press of the calluses on his fingers—built up from years of using the ODM gear—as he explores the expanse of bare skin on your back where your shirt has bunched up.

You can hardly be bothered to break for air as Jean’s lips slot against yours, toes curling against the mattress when he licks his way inside of your mouth. He groans as the kiss grows messier, your body arching into his at the feeling of his tongue tangling with your own.

Once upon a time, you’d exclaimed that nothing could compare to the feeling of finally mastering the ODM gear, the exhilarating rush of clearing rooftops and treelines with such seamless precision. The swelling elation in your chest to finally understand what it feels like to fly.

It’s a feeling that you’ve chased for years, the feeling that’s carried you through each and every battle to this day.

Kissing Jean feels like that—like flying.

But there’s no anchor here. No wires. No blades at your hips nor enemies at your back.

With Jean’s lips on yours, you float untethered, the weight on your shoulders and heaviness of your heart long forgotten passengers left far below as you soar.

And you let go, freefalling. Knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’ll catch you.

He’ll always catch you.

Jean’s lips part from yours to blaze a hot trail along the curve of your jaw, pressing kisses along your neck. Dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin where your earlobe meets the hinge of your jaw, his voice is rough as he murmurs, “I love you.”

There’s a hitch in his breath when you say it back without hesitation—it’s a truth you’ve always known yourself to feel, even if you could never tell him as much. He pulls you impossibly closer, fingers digging into your hips, mouth seeking yours out once more.

And as you feel his growing hardness beneath you, you can’t help but pointedly rock into the cradle of his lap, a breathy moan leaving you at the pressure of his cock rubbing against you. The sensation and Jean’s own answering moan draw up memories of all the nights you spent imagining this, face buried against your pillow to muffle the sounds as you fingered yourself to thoughts of your best friend right there in your bed in the barracks.

If your lives still held any semblance of normalcy, maybe you’d prolong this endeavor, taking your time to savor the taste of Jean’s mouth on your own first before anything else, exploring him in bits and pieces.

But with what may very well be the end of the world looming far too close for comfort, there’s no time for patience.

“Can I…do you want to…?” Jean trails off, breathing heavily as his fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, the rest of the question dancing in his eyes as he’s clearly having the same thoughts as you are.

“Jean Kirstein, if I die without fucking you—”

He doesn’t give you the chance to finish your sentence, cutting you off with a kiss as his hands find their way to your breasts. He’s barely begun to squeeze them before you break apart from him for a moment, slipping off your top and tossing it halfway across the room before grabbing for his shirt as well.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Jean breathes out once you pull his shirt over his head, pausing to take in the sight of your supple breasts before him, running a thumb across one of your peaked nipples.

His mouth quirks upward at the way you shiver in response to his touch, eyes blazing with hunger when your lips part, silently begging for more. Jean leans in, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, and you thread your fingers into his hair, urging him to continue as he shamelessly begins to suckle at the sensitive bud.

You’re helpless to deny your body’s need to grind down onto Jean’s bulge, your folds pressing into your slick, damp underwear with each thrust of your hips. His lips slide away from your breasts so he can sink his teeth into your shoulder, muffling the feral groan that rumbles in his chest in response to the way you’ve desperately begun to dry hump his cock.

Fingers trail along the waistband of your pants, flicking them open with ease to gain access to the soft, white cotton panties beneath. Jean nips his way up your neck, pausing to suck at your pulse point as he asks, “Are you wet for me?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer as he slips a hand into your underwear, a strangled “oh” the only sound he’s able to offer for a moment once he realizes you’re fucking soaked. He swipes three dexterous fingers along your sensitive slit, pulling them out of your pants to marvel at the sticky mess dripping off of his digits before licking each one clean.

The sight of that alone nearly sends you over the edge, your tight hole fluttering in anticipation. You rock your hips once more, and his eyes glint with a hint of amusement as his hand makes its way back into your underwear.

Jean wastes no time in sinking a finger into your waiting hole, slowly sliding it in and out of you as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to the underside of your jaw. Meanwhile, you grasp his throbbing cock through his pants, fingers teasing at the wet spot of precum that’s soaked through the material, and he bucks upward into your touch.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, stretching you open with another finger while his free hand gropes your breasts. You move your hips quicker than the diligent thrusts of his fingers, asking for more, and his chuckle drips through you like warm honey as he obliges your request with a third digit and murmurs, “How’s this?”

The sound of him fucking you with his fingers is downright obscene, the digits squelching wetly with each movement. The pleasure mounting within you has your thighs trembling with anticipation. But as you continue to fondle the outline of his cock, all you can think about is how goddamn big it feels.

“Jean,” you whine, incapable of stringing together words to appropriately express the sentiment that you’d really, really like him to fuck you stupid with his dick right now.

He cups your face, the tender gesture at odds with the fingers curling and stroking your spongy inner walls. Jean leans in to capture your mouth in a messy, heated kiss, leaving a string of saliva trailing from your lips to his when he pulls back slightly to murmur, “If you want more, you have to come on my fingers first.”

You’ve spent more time than you’ll ever admit fantasizing the dirty, filthy things Jean might say to you while taking you apart, thoughts that have clung to your mind and sometimes forced you to avoid your best friend out of embarrassment for days at a time.

But nothing can compare to this—the way his rough voice scrapes alive each and every nerve ending in the deepest recesses of your body. The undeniably dominant tone each word is laced with, and the instinctual reaction it viscerally awakens inside of you.

Jean’s thumb presses into your swollen clit at the same time he takes your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down, and the swelling wave of pleasure in your abdomen finally crests. Your entire body tenses as you moan, riding out your climax on his fingers until the overstimulation has your legs quivering for momentary reprieve.

“Good girl,” he praises, slowly pulling his sticky fingers out of your pants.

You don’t hesitate to reach for his waiting cock, eager to feel its thick warmth cradled in your fingers, but he gently nudges your hand away, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You huff in annoyance, and he shakes his head, “You’ve got me so wound up, I won’t last like this.”

“You wanna fuck me, Jean?” you coyly ask.

Idly teasing at one of your nipples, Jean’s answering grin is nothing short of wolfish. “You’re so tight, we’ll have to see if you can take me.”

You raise an eyebrow at the hint of challenge in his tone, though if what you’ve felt through his pants is anything to go by, you can’t deny it’s likely warranted.

The bedsheets rustle and the mattress squeaks as you both make quick work of the remainder of your clothes, underwear and pants left forgotten on the floor while Jean kisses and nips his way up the planes and curves of your naked body, his hands exploring each and every dip and crevice with reverence. When his lips finally meet yours once more, his hair tickling your face as he leans over top of you, anticipation curls in your gut at the feeling of what now presses against your naked body.

Your eyes trail down Jean’s chest, fingernails gently scraping over his nipples, and he sucks in a breath as you slide closer to your destination. His thick cock is a sight to behold, hanging heavily between his legs, and there’s not a trace of shame in the way your mouth waters at the thought of him stretching your slick cunt open with it.

As if reading your thoughts, Jean pushes your thighs apart, slapping his fat length against the puffy, sensitive folds of your pussy. Your back arches up off of the mattress of its own accord, and he hums, one hand firmly grasping your hip as the other wipes the flushed head of his shaft up and down your sticky slit.

His name spills from your kiss-swollen lips, your neck muscles straining from how hard you’re pressing your head back down into the pillow underneath you. And when your drenched cunt greedily accepts the tip of his cock as he notches it at your entrance, pumping a spit-soaked palm along the length of it, it’s all you can do not to spear yourself on him entirely.

“So eager,” Jean muses, watching the telltale signs of your thinly veiled restraint as he makes no effort to move any further.

“Jean, please,” you beg, fully aware that this reaction is exactly what he wanted.

He leans down, mouth latching onto one of your breasts, and you gasp as he slides into you just a little bit further while he traces wet, messy circles around your hard nipple. You grasp a fistful of his hair, finding another reason to be thankful for the way he’s let it grow out as of late as you tug his face up to yours.

“Yes?” he asks, a sparkle of mirth dancing in his lustful gaze as he smiles down at you.

“Fuck me,” you pant out, tightening your grip on his hair.

You hardly have time to appreciate the moan that drags out of him before he kisses you hard, plunging the full length of his cock into your cunt, directly to the hilt. The stretch is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, your walls spasming in protest as all of the air punches out of your lungs. But despite the impossibly tight fit, your pussy greedily takes every inch of Jean’s cock, tears of pleasure pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Holy shit,” Jean moans as your pussy clamps down on him, so hot and wet he nearly blows his load right then and there. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Fresh arousal dribbles wetly from your entrance and onto the base of his shaft, each and every nerve ending in your body buzzing like a livewire. You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you, swallowed up within the warmth of your cunt, his balls hanging heavily against your ass. Jean’s careful as he begins to ease out of you, well aware of the way your walls are so desperately choking his thick length.

It’s why he’s surprised when you grasp at the soft strands of his hair once more and breathe out impatiently, “I’m not going to break, you know.”

Jean leans in and murmurs against your lips, “What are you trying to say? You like it rough?”

You nod, running your teeth along his bottom lip, “Yeah, Jean. I do.”

Cock now resting at your fluttering entrance once more, Jean groans as he snaps his hips into yours, burying himself deep in your soaking wet pussy.

“So perfect,” he murmurs as you writhe and keen in pleasure beneath him, your tits bouncing with each thrust as he begins to ravage your hole. “Taking me so, so good.”

“Feels so good,” you nearly sob, head spinning with the pleasure threatening to spill over inside of you.

Jean’s kisses are all tongues and teeth, filthy and messy as his thrusts begin to grow sloppy. “Come all over my cock, baby. Please,” he groans. “Please, please.”

He’s begging for it, begging to feel your cunt clamp down and gush all over his dick.

He’s so fucking close, balls seizing up, his entire body straining from the effort to bring you to your climax first.

“Come. For. Me.”

And it’s the desperation in his voice that sends you hurtling over the edge, a bright, searing lightning strike of pleasure like you’ve never known before bursting open inside of you as you succumb to an orgasm that leaves you positively boneless.

“Inside,” you gasp just as Jean goes to pull out.

His answering groan is the most sinful sound you’ve ever heard as he plunges back into you, his forehead falling against yours while you both revel in the feeling of your walls spasming and contracting against his cock while he fills your cunt with spurt after spurt of hot, sticky cum.

Jean flops down onto the bed beside you after you’ve milked every last drop of his seed from his softening cock, breathing hard, both of you too spent to fumble for something to clean up the mess of cum that lingers between you. Instead, he tugs you against the warmth of his chest, pressing a gentle assault of kisses everywhere on your face but your lips.

You pout as he pointedly avoids your mouth, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling his mouth toward yours. Jean smiles, the expression filled with unabashed adoration and fondness so stark that you swear your heart stutters in your chest.

“I’m gonna marry you when this is all over,” he whispers into the scant space between your mouths, each syllable brushing across your lips.

“You promise?”

You can feel Jean smile into his answering kiss.

— likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!

#jean kirstein x reader #jean kirchstein x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan #aot #jean kirstein #jean kirchstein #shingeki no kyojin #snk #jean kirstein smut #dee writes

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bg-brainrot · 2 months

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Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 17: After Your Victory

Chapter 17: After Your Victory

Each chapter can be read as a standalone hug.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Rogue!Tav)

Genre: Fluffy, Filling in Canon

Rating: Teen

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Act 3, Canon-typical violence, post-cazador, tw: burning Astarion, fix-it, the only non-canon compliant hug bc screw the canon in this case

WC: 3.4k words, 17/18 chapters

Summary: Less canon-compliant than the rest, timeline shifting was needed here, but set after defeating the brain. Astarion realizes that he's not alone, not when Rogue!Tav and his companions are there for him.

Ao3 | [Hug16][Hug18] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

This time you can say it definitively: it's over.

All it took to get here was months of travel, combat, and conflict resolution– plus an ungodly amount of luck. Being honest with yourself, the gods were only ever another hurdle to overcome.

As if you needed a reminder of how far you've come in the past few months, you'd been joined in your fight against the Netherbrain by an incredibly motley crew of people. Aside from your own, close companions, your allies spanned races, factions, talents– realms. When even some of your former enemies showed up to aid you, you knew that this oversized brain didn't stand a chance.

And it didn't.

In a show of strength the likes of which Baldur’s Gate hasn’t seen in years, you and your allies brought down the Netherese abomination. Your chest swelled with pride at those gathered, your brain burned as your tadpole melted away.

Right now though, you don’t have time to admire your handiwork. It’s now a mad dash to not plummet to the ground on a floating death trap of brain matter. The brain is wracked with wave after wave of psionic energy and with each pulse the fleshy beast seems to lose control.

You had been acutely aware of the potential downfalls to fighting the Netherbrain and ensured that each of your allies was equipped with a Scroll of Featherfall for this very purpose. Seeing them each unfurl their scrolls, brings a sly smile to your face– finally, hoarding dozens of scrolls came in handy. That’s not to say that the resulting escape will be any less daring.

As the brain floats through Baldur’s Gate in a final, futile attempt to flee, magic is hurriedly cast, summons are quickly dismissed, and your allies rush toward you. Ever leading the charge, you sprint to the edge of the aberration and leap off into the city below. Your companions are right behind you, Karlach’s elated yell carrying in the breeze. “Did that really just work?!” You turn toward them as you fall, and despite the wind buffeting your face, you can clearly see them all, diving safely. Among them, a silver-haired head snags your attention. You catch a wink from his red eyes which you promptly return with a blown kiss before turning back around, ready to focus on landing.

You and your companions land near the water, on one of the remaining intact piers on the Baldur’s Gate docks. As the rest finish landing, a moment of enraptured silence falls over the group and you all watch the Netherbrain land in an explosive splash in the water. The lifeforce finally ebbs out of it, and you take a deep breath, one you hadn’t realized you needed.

The lingering presence in the back of your mind, always subtly trying to influence you, is gone. Your mind feels light, blissfully empty. You almost forgot what it felt like to have your thoughts be solely yours, and the relief you feel is incalculable.

You turn toward the group, to see how they’ve all fared and if they feel the same euphoric calm you do. They certainly seem to be experiencing the full spectrum of emotions after your ordeal– Gale’s eyes seem wistful as he looks over the Chionthar, Lae’zel seems torn between pride at your accomplishment and concern over the fate of Orpheus, Wyll is looking down at his hands in open contemplation. Then there is Astarion.

His smile is blinding to you even on a bad day, but today? Today it is utterly radiant, his pure glee is infectious. He sees you staring and, somehow, his grin grows wider.

“I’m still standing in the sun, this is incredible!” His words are as happy as he looks, the awestruck tone reminds you of a child receiving an unexpected treat. “Maybe whatever it changed in me was permanent?”

The idea that he could remain in the sun, free of the tadpole and without sacrificing countless souls almost feels too good to be true. But there he is, standing in the sun. Joy fills your heart at the thought that he’ll still be able to bask in the sun’s rays, that perhaps that picnic idea wasn’t as far-fetched as you’d feared. “Maybe,” you agree, smiling back at him. “It’s the least that little bugger could do for free passage!”

He giggles, a joyous little thing that sounds like the sweetest melody to your ears. “Right you are, love. So what’s next for us? The world is our oyster, and she has many pearls we can choose from!”

You walk a bit along the pier, as you consider the question. So much of the city is now in shatters, waiting to be rebuilt. Your companions have so many loose ends that require attention. But right now, all you want to do is appreciate what you’ve all accomplished here today. Turning back to him and the rest of the waiting group, you say, “I think a celebration is in order.”

“Yes, we should see if the Elfsong is still standing,” Astarion says, a pensive finger tapping on his chin. He laughs again and continues, “I won’t imbibe, but I'll be happy to be away from here and in your company.” His delight is so very palpable, you want it to consume you for the foreseeable future. You step toward him, as if entranced by promises of a bright, sunny future together.

But reality has a way of rearing its ugly head at the worst possible moments.

“Soldier…” You hear Karlach’s pained call from the end of the pier. The tone in her voice immediately brings you pause, wrenching you out of a lovestruck stupor. You turn toward her to see her standing alone, looking up at the beautiful Baldurian sky.

“Karlach?” Taking several long strides toward her, there’s a rising panic in your throat that you don’t quite know the cause of– you just know you need to be with her.

“We did it, soldier.” She gives a shaky sigh– a sigh of relief or grief, it’s hard to tell. “The city’s going to be alright. And so are you.”

What happens next is a few of the most difficult minutes you’ve had the ill-fortune of experiencing in your life. The whole while you feel taut as a bowstring, ready to snap, ready to dive into the hells themselves to save one of the best friends you’ve ever had, may ever have. However when Wyll steps forward, ready and willing to jump into the abyss with Karlach, you remember yourself– that there are others here who need you.

You love her– so very, very much and your heart feels like it’s breaking, but, at the same time, your heart is here, with the companions who still look to you as their leader, with the vampire who claimed it so many moons ago. To turn to look back at him, only to find his expression slack with worry– are you leaving me so soon? it says – and you know what you must do.

So you let this part of your heart break off. You watch through tear-filled eyes as she and Wyll disappear into a fiery blaze. The last thing you see is a weak salute from a wincing Karlach.

A somber silence takes over your party, now two members smaller. It feels like an arm is missing, but you dare not say it. Instead, as their leader, you furiously wipe your tears and return back to the important matters at hand. “Well, we’ll have to visit Avernus soon, but for now, we need to focus. Are we all in for the Elfsong?”

Astarion, worry wiped from his face, is eager to answer, “I honestly don’t mind what we do, once we get– ow!” His sudden yelp has your head spinning toward him, and you see him looking down at his hand, as if it’s betrayed him.

“Love?”

“What the– oh no, oh gods.” Sheer panic shows on his face, his voice reaching an uncomfortable pitch. Before you even see it, you hear his hands start to sizzle, dissipating to dust in the sun just like Petras’s did at Fraygo's only a few weeks ago. His face begins to crack and hiss before your very eyes, and it’s almost like your brain refuses to process exactly what’s happening to the man in front of you. He should be fine, it tells you. He’s been standing in the sun for minutes.

However blank your expression is, Astarion’s is the opposite. It’s full of sorrow, full of loss, full of dread– even in the midst of being torn asunder by the rays of the sun you can see the emotion on his face clearly. “Well… it was… it was nice while it lasted.” His tone is joking, despite the visible pain in his face. He follows it with a scream, “Argh, I’m sorry, I – I have to go!”

His desperate scream is like a slap in your face. “Oh gods,” you breathe out, assuming a battle ready stance. You’re not sure who you hope to fight, the sun? But you know that your love is in danger and, unlike the past two centuries, where his cries came unanswered, you’re here to answer the call.

Before you can so much as get to him, he’s running, movements wild and clumsy in his panic. You’re not sure how fast the sun can slay a vampire, but you know that this pier is far too long, that the shade of the far-off buildings feels out of reach. What if he can’t make it?

No, you think. No. I just lost Karlach and Wyll. I can’t lose you too.

Just before this you had asked him if you could win this. He’d said, “I can't say for sure. But we’ve come through a lot already, it would hardly do to fail now.” His words ring through your ears, and it just won’t do for him to die now.

You take off after him, feet carrying you forward on instinct. He’s always been faster than you and right now fear has made him even faster. But you are also not alone. Calling back to your team, you yell orders like an experienced general, “Jaheira, Longstrider now! Gale, toss me a Scroll of Darkness! Shadowheart, we need healing!”

Continuing your sprint, you feel the effects of Longstrider take over. You turn back for the scroll only to find that Lae’zel has catapulted herself behind you. “The wizard could never have thrown this far. Tchk, you should know better.” She hands you the scroll and you take it with a grateful nod. Shadowheart is not far behind, and you turn to keep running.

“Astarion!” you cry, as you see him stumble ahead of you, falling to the ground. You’re on him in one long leap, and bracing your legs around him, you try to block as much of the sun as you can with your own body as you unfurl the scroll. Despite your shaking hands, you’re able to read the spell off the piece of paper with a strength you weren’t aware you possessed, “Tenebrum!”

A deep darkness bursts forth, overtakes you, and envelopes the entire pier in an inky black cloud. Dropping the used parchment, your hands reach forward blindly to grasp for your vampire, desperate to feel him breathing.

They find purchase on a piece of armor, and you shake him. “Astarion?” Your voice is soft, throat ragged from yelling. A groan answers you, and your body drops in relief. You kneel by his prone form, hands outlining it as you try to find his shoulders, his neck, his soft head of hair. You nudge him, willing him to get up, as you say, “Don’t you dare die now. Don’t you dare leave me.”

Rustling follows in the darkness, and you can feel Astarion’s body shift as he turns to sit up. His hands clasp your searching ones, their grip firm, and you sigh in beautiful relief. “You’re here,” he says. While you can’t see his face, you can hear the shock in his voice. “You’re really here?”

You mean to respond, to say something along the lines of, ‘Of course, you idiot. I would never abandon you when you need me.’ But nothing comes out as your breath hitches in your throat. It’s only after trying and failing to take another breath that you realize that you’re sobbing. Your chest heaves as an overwhelming sense of relief and loss overtake you.

So instead you just wrap your arms around him, bury your head into his neck and nod. His arms return your embrace without hesitation, gripping you to him in a crushing hold. You don’t mind– not how hard he’s squeezing, not the scent of ash and singed skin, not the trembling that runs through both of your bodies.

Beyond your shrouded embrace, you can hear Shadowheart calling your names in the Darkness, trying to get close enough to heal Astarion. Your broken sobs still make speaking hard, but you try. “H-here– hic– we’re… we’re here!”

Shadowheart’s healing magic illuminates Astarion momentarily in the pitch black, and, while you can’t see her, you hear a sorrow in her voice which matches your own. As much as Astarion claimed them to be nothing more than allies, each and every one of them cared for him deeply. They were all here to see him through this.

Sniffling, tears trailing down your face and onto his neck, you know your voice is barely there. But you need him to know. You whisper to him, “We’re all here for you. You’re safe with us.”

And like a stubborn lock that finally gives, he collapses into you. His full body weight bears down on you, and it’s all you can do to keep from toppling over. Yet you remain solid, fully ready to support him as long as he needs.

He curls into you, his soft head of curls tickling your neck as he burrows. To your surprise, you don’t feel tears drip onto you, you don’t notice any sobs except your own lingering shakes. Instead you only feel a soft kiss press against your jaw before he starts saying your name.

Something about the way he whispers your name like a litany, how he clings to you like a lifeline– it reminds you of the first real hug you shared, that one dark Shadowlands night. It felt like everything, the cruelty of the world, the problems you were facing, had all but melted in the face of the love between you. You know that that’s impossible. That, like today, problems would continue to appear before you. But you find that that doesn’t matter.

For at least this singular, fleeting moment, nothing will come between you.

It is but a moment though. As a rogue, you know the spell Darkness well. You only have ten minutes of shelter total, likely only a few minutes left. You hesitate to break apart, but Astarion’s safety is your number one concern. “Love,” you begin, pulling away with urgency in your voice. “We need to go.”

You don’t need to see him to sense his reluctance to part, but he agrees anyway, “You’re right. There are still several hours before nightfall.”

Not releasing his hands, you stand up. “Everyone is right outside of the Darkness. We should be able to take a scroll from Gale to get you out of here, alright?”

“Alright,” he confirms, squeezing your hands as he stands as well.

“And please don’t take off again, dear. My soul just about left my body,” you chide, but the tremor in your voice is very real.

He laughs, a weak, breathy thing. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m… just used to looking out for my own survival.”

You grab his arm in the darkness, as if to impress upon him your next words. “Well, I’m not going anywhere. And here I’d thought you’d gotten used to having me around.”

“Oh my dear, as if I could ever get used to having you,” he says, slipping into his low, rumbling voice. You know he’s shouldering so much grief right now, mourning the man who’d spent months in the sun after two-hundred years without– but you also know that, despite it all, he’s still Astarion. And his relief seems to be winning out for now.

So you laugh, swat at him, and get to business.

Halsin and Jaheira wild shape into Owlbears to help block out the sun and Gale is ready with a Scroll of Dimension Door for you both. He hands it to you and says, “We’ll deal with the rest of these loose ends once you’ve both made it to safety. And you.” He turns to Astarion with a reluctant little smile. “You’re not allowed to burn to a crisp unless I have some hand in it, so don’t muck this up.”

Astarion gives him a toothy grin before replying, “Jealous of a little bit of light in the sky? How unbecoming.”

You ignore their pretend spat as you open up the scroll in your hands. Grabbing Astarion’s arm before he can add another verbal jab, you speak the incantation.

A bright light flashes momentarily as a glowing blue door appears. “Shall we?” you ask Astarion, taking a step forward.

“Well, if you insist!” he says, readily following you through the door.

–

It turns out the Elfsong made it, though it has certainly seen better days. What matters is that the beer is flowing, the music is lively, and the company is as spirited as ever. While you’d had to say goodbye to Lae’zel, the rest of your friends and allies had all made it to the tavern for a bit of post-calamity revelry.

You’re certain it will be a night to remember, but before you can get on with the party, you pull your pale, silver-haired vampire aside. “Astarion?” you venture, gesturing toward the group’s empty room with your head.

He raises an eyebrow at you suggestively, and you only roll your eyes in response before walking into the room.

“What’s the matter, dear?” he asks, settling his hands on your hips once you’ve closed the door behind you.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay?” you ask, eyes searching his face. He’d been surprisingly… himself since the pier. Despite all that has transpired, despite losing the sun he’s treasured the entire time you’ve known him.

Astarion smiles at you, tilting his head at you in an endearing little sway. “I don’t think I’ve ever been better.”

“Okay,” you start cautiously, as if you are afraid to be the one to break the bad news to him. “Even after, you know?” You gesture up into the air warily, your point clear.

“Ah, yes. That.” His tone is flat, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. He continues in a much cheerier voice, “That is certainly not ideal. However, I’m choosing to focus on my newfound freedom. I’m free of the parasite, free of Cazador, free to forge my own path.” His red eyes bore into you intensely as he finishes, “With you.”

Despite the countless hours you’ve spent with this man, despite thinking that you may finally understand how his brain ticks, he surprises you. He shows you growth and wisdom. Makes you fall in love, again and again.

You blush under his affectionate gaze, and reply with an embarrassed, “Oh. I’m glad then.”

He laughs and raises a hand to your cheek. His fingers barely make contact, leaving feather light traces along your skin. “I don’t think you’ve realized that what you’ve given me is greater than any amount of sunlight.”

Thinking back to the various things you’ve granted him– blood, equipment, various stolen goods– none of them stand out to you much. So you can’t resist asking, “What have I given you?”

“Everything,” he answers, simply. Before you can so much as reason what he’s said, his fingers lace in your hair, pulling you in for a kiss. Your lips touch and all reason is left to the wayside.

The kiss is soft, sweet, and you feel it reverberate throughout your body. It whispers words of ardent love, it vows promises of what’s to come, and it speaks of deep, fervent gratitude.

If you had the capacity, you might try to argue with him, to tell him that he doesn’t need to be grateful for something as simple as your affection. But you suppose that’s something you’ll have to show him, prove to him time and again. Perhaps he will realize through a lifetime of love and plenty more hugs.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #rogue + rogue #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion fluff #astarion masterlist #hugs for a vampire #hfav #gn reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion

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aphrodieties · 5 months

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The Death of Narcissus—self is the center of creation

After an approximately 3-month-long hiatus, I have decided to return—I recently collaborated with @gorgeouslypink for a Christmas-themed Law Of Assumption challenge that I think you all should check out! Anyways, here is another Law Of Assumption guide inspired by Greek Mythology. I hope you all enjoy it!

Self is the center of creation and the most integral part of being. There is nothing without self as man is unable to perceive anything outside of his consciousness. Despite this fact—many individuals continue to prioritize the physical elements of manifestation and completely disregard anything to do with imagination and the self. That is setting yourself up for failure as manifestation is not about the physical.

The Death of Narcissus

The Law Of Assumption

Nothing and no one to change but self

The Death of Narcissus

When Narcissus came to a pool in Thespiae to drink from its water, the youth saw his own reflection in the pool and fell in love with it. Narcissus was unable to obtain the object that he had fallen in love with, just as so many suitors of Narcissus had been rejected.

Narcissus would die of sorrow by the pool, despite the pleadings of the Naiads and Dryads who had observed Narcissus wasting away.

A funeral pyre was built for Narcissus by the nymphs, but when they came to place the body of the handsome youth upon it, they could not find it, as all that was left was a flower, the Narcissus flower.

The Law Of Assumption

The Law of Assumption is based on the notion that the world around us is a reflection of our assumptions—what we are aware to be true about ourselves and the world around us. Neville Goddard States that, "Man is incapable of seeing outside the contents of his own consciousness. If I now become detached in consciousness from this room by turning my attention from it, then, I am no longer conscious of it. It can only live within my objective reality If I keep it alive within my consciousness." — inspired by @sexyandhedonistic

The reflection in the clear spring would represent the world around us, and Narcissus would represent consciousness or self. Narcissus (self) was being reflected in the clear spring. Narcissus (self) was overcome with desire when he saw the reflection of himself—he desired himself and spent his life trying to capture his reflection. He failed, why did he fail? Narcissus failed because he never realized that it was himself being reflected in the clear waters of the spring. He wasn't aware of the fact that he was already that which he desired and so he stared aimlessly into the spring—desiring something that seemed so close yet so far, never realizing that all he needed to do was recognize the reflection of himself in the spring.

Narcissus (self) should've turned his attention away from the reflection in the water and looked inward to realize that it was merely a reflection of self.

No one and nothing to change but self

Narcissus was overcome with desire when he caught a glimpse of himself in the clear spring waters of Thespiae. Narcissus attempted to obtain the object of his desire, he reached into the natural mirror and attempted to grasp the reflection of himself—only to fail, as the reflection would escape him every time he attempted to obtain it. Narcissus would stop trying to capture his reflection eventually and live on in despair and desire as an onlooker—Narcissus died without ever having obtained his desire and became a beautiful Narcissus flower.

It's a beautiful but tragic myth—I see the story of Narcissus repeating itself many times in the manifestation community. Narcissus lived in desire and died in desire; he chased after his reflection and spent his life making futile attempts to catch it, never realizing that he was that which he desired. He was trying to obtain himself—as the water merely reflected his being and had he realized that he would've still been alive. Narcissus need only become aware of the fact that the reflection in the water was himself. He need only turn his gaze inward and he would've experienced fulfillment of his desire to have himself.

The same could be said about many of you in the manifestation community. Do not become another Narcissus—do not focus on the reflection of self in the 3D; instead, become aware of the fact that you are that which you desire. Turn your gaze inward and experience fulfillment, only then will you not continue to live in desire.

#aphrodieties #law of assumption #neville goddard #manifesation #law of manifestation #william blake #edward art #manifesting #law of abundance #self concept

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k-s-morgan · 2 months

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I hate Will for what he did in season 2, he should have chosen Hannibal sooner... Do you think Mizomono could be avoided?

I think Mizumono could have had another outcome, yes, though I also think that it was necessary for both Will and Hannibal. They still needed to grow: Will needed to understand what Hannibal was ready to give him (a family, a gathered tea cup and a happy ending), the depth of his feelings, and the extent of his own attachment. He had to see how terribly he’s broken Hannibal’s heart and how Hannibal continued to love him despite everything in order to realize the power and the perpetuity of his feelings. Hannibal had to make sure that Will is The One to the point where the life he used to live lost all its appeal, just like his freedom. Without Will, they turned out to be meaningless. He had to understand he’s not infallible, that he also makes mistakes, and that Will changed him much more than he had believed initially.

I understand the frustration with Will, but I can't blame him for not choosing Hannibal sooner. When watching the second half of S2, I’m on Hannibal’s side, but I can relate to Will as well. He thinks Hannibal killed Abigail just like that, despite claiming he cared for her; he’s still hurt and bitter from being betrayed and set up; he’s not sure if Hannibal is really capable of love, and he’s simply not ready in terms of his Becoming. He’s close, yes, but not quite there yet. I think he needed to try living a normal life one more time to fully understand how futile and unfulfilling it is.

Would have they still made it? Possibly. But maybe not. Ultimately, Mizumono solidified their bond and demonstrated how literally nothing can tear them apart. It’s a heartbreaking episode, but it’s a stage Will and Hannibal had to overcome. It was a test of their feelings in a way, and they both passed it and became stronger, finally being ready not to just choose each other, but also to stay together.

#hannibal #hannigram #will graham #hannibal lecter #meta #sort of #mizumono

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icabrth · 9 months

Text

emergency management

pairings: misty quigley x fem!reader

summary: after the planecrash ___ gets seriously injured and misty is ready to take care of her.

warnings: planecrash, duh!🤣 blindness, mentions of gore.

a/n: misty is lowkey my fav..

masterlist link

There was a sensation at your fingertips, a ringing in your ears and a darkness before your eyes. You blinked twice, attempting to regain your sight before even realizing what you was doing. The darkness had completely overcome you, and upon realizing that, you freaked the fuck out. You knew that you only had four senses left to work with; taste, touch, smell and sound. “___! Where are you!” You heard someone say. You could not talk, you couldn’t even move. Your efforts to make yourself known were futile as your body stayed still, paralyzed. Oh god, you thought. Is this how I’m gonna die? Just as you began to drown in your own thoughts, you heard the voice again.

“Where the fuck are you!” She screamed, desperate to find you. You recognized that voice, it was Misty.

“Mis-“ you managed to let out, leaving you immediately breathless. She didn’t hear me, you realized. And the thought of dying alone, paralyzed creeped up on you again. Now you were desperate. Adrenaline flowing through your veins, giving you strength. You gathered your remaining courage and managed to move your arm slightly, hoping for something, anything that would result in some kind of noise. Fortunately, luck was in your favor; your fingers ran through the autumn leaves on the ground, causing a rustling sound. It was quiet, so quiet that you had to stop your breathing for a second to hear it. But it was enough.

You heard the footsteps getting closer and you realized – you were saved. Misty was your savior.

Suddenly, you felt her hands on your shoulder, holding your head under her hands. Despite her hands being cold, your irrotational mind made her sound like a living heater, and you couldn’t help but lean into her touch. You unconsciously nuzzled your head into her forearms. Misty was unsure of what to do for a second, blood rushing to her cheeks as she blushed heavily. She didn’t know if you’d noticed or not. She scanned your frantic eyes that were looking anywhere but in her direction. She figured something was wrong with your eyesight, but that was a problem for another time.

She observed your situation; you half your body was stuck under a fallen tree and the rest must’ve been falling damage. “Holy macaroni, I gotta get help! Stay here!–“ she said, running over to the others.

“Guys, I found ___! She’s seriously hurt! Lottie, Nat, Taissa! Come with me!” She picked the strongest ones so they’d be able to carry you. They shared a few worried glances before heading over.

“Mist– please..” you muttered, the words coming out slurred. “Don’t worry, ___! I’m here and I brought help!” Misty assured you. In this instance, you had never been more thankful for her overly helpful or clingy personality. You felt cold and all you wanted was for someone to tell you that it was gonna be okay, to reassure you. And Misty never failed at that. She had brought a few tools in her backpack, including the axe she’d used to cut off coach ben’s foot. She was worried that she would have to amputate your leg as well. Nevertheless your entire downer body it was stuck under the tree.

The four of them eventually managed to lift the tree and get it off you, letting out sighs of relief as they saw no squished body parts. You did have some bruises and probably a few broken limps, but that was seemingly it. Misty couldn’t distinguish the relief she felt when she discovered she didn’t have to cut of any body parts. But there it was again..

“I can’t see! I can’t fucking see!” You yelled.

You had been laid closest to the campfire, positioned randomly between Jackie and Nat. After realizing something might’ve been wrong with your eyes, Misty got her flashlight to check your visual acuity. As expected, your eye sight was entirely gone. She figured there was something wrong with the optic nerve. She gathered the others and told them about her discovery, and they decided against telling you for now. They looked at your unconscious figure, taking in your unsteady breathing, knotted eyebrows, and dried tear stains. Shauna had this theory that too much tragic news in such a short time period could kill you and (although it was probably bullshit) neither of them wanted to tell you.

“We’ll just tell her it’s temporary or something.. just let her get used to it before we break it to her.” Jackie said, staring down at you. The two of you had been pretty close before the accident, and it pained her heart to see you like this. She needed you hear, mentally. Although she did have Shauna, she began to think she wouldn’t be her biggest ally going forward. “Yeah, if we even survive more than two days out here.” Natalie scoffed. Jackie turned to face her with a frown but she was already looking at the campfire, unbothered by her reaction.

Suddenly, a loud gasp shot everyone awake, followed by your heavy breathing and pained whimpers. Hour hands reached out desperately for something, or someone to hold. The sound of your teammates talking quoted and all you could hear was the fire sizzling. Before you knew it, Misty was crouched down beside you. “It’s okay, you’re okay!” She assured, brushing a strand of hair out of your sweaty face. The others looked at her for a second; they hadn’t seen her act like this around the coach, or any of the others. She seemed so incredibly desperate to assure you, give you some kind of comfort.

“Where- where am I?” You exhaled. No answer.

She rested her palm upon your forehead to feel your temperature, a worried expression replacing the excitement she had felt at your awakening. “She’s burning up! Quick, get me some blankets or something!” She instructed and the others hurried to find something to keep you warm. They didn’t question her commands, she knew what she was doing. You huffed. It unsettled you slightly how she kept talking about you as if you weren’t there, especially not that you couldn’t see; it made you feel like some sick dog.

“Misty, I’m right here.. what happened?” You asked her. You attempted to sit up straight, but she pushed u back gently. “You should stay still for a bit – you broke a few bones here and there, but you’re gonna be okay.” She said. The others came with a few blankets and placed them over your cold, shivering body. Misty gave them a nasty glare, saying how this didn’t place it properly. She wrapped the layered blankets more securely around your body.

It eventually got dark, and everyone started preparing mattresses to sleep on. Misty stared at the night sky, the starts shining through the thick threes. She wished so badly that you could see it and share this moment with her. The fire was still burning, but she figured it was only a few minutes until it burned out. You couldn’t sleep, laying awake with your eyes open, hoping that suddenly your sight would come back. You had realized on your own that there was something wrong with your eyes, and judging by the silence whenever you’d ask about it, it was bad.

But now, you were starting to feel scared. All you could see was pitch black and now all you heard was animal sounds in the background. Without thinking it over, you called out for the girl.

“Misty?” She immediately looked at you again, “Yeah? What’s wrong?” She whispered. “Could you..” you muttered. You suddenly realized how pathetic you sounded. Fuck it, you thought. “Could you hold me?” You finally said. You were glad you couldn’t see, scared of what her face would be like at your sudden request. But she understood. “Of course.” Was all she said before carefully placing herself beside you.

She moved her arm around you and suddenly you felt so safe, comforted. The gesture was so small, yet you had been so touch starved. Your body stiffened at her touch at first, but warmed up to it quickly. You felt her curls against the side of your face, along with her forehead resting on your shoulder. You slowly fell asleep, forgetting all about what happened…

The girl lay awake for awhile, watching you. Just hours before this she was a complete loser. But now she felt like she had everything. She had always had a bit of a crush on you but always brushed it off as she figured you were too good for her. Everybody was not just happy, but grateful for her presence. It felt amazing, euphoric almost. She didn’t ever want to go back to reality, she needed to make sure nobody came to save you guys.

In her mind, the team could develop some kind of society here; a judge-free, high-school-free place. A whole new world where the two of you could be together, surrounded by your friends. Little did she know how things would turn out.

#yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets #misty quigley #quigley #jackie tyler #x reader #imagine #request

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yujo-nishimura · 3 months

Text

Whispers of the Desert Kingdom - Part 4

Warning: Sir Crocodile x fem reader, English is not my native language, not proof-read, age gap

words: 880

As you cautiously open the door, allowing only a narrow gap for observation, a scene of bustling activity unfolds before your eyes. The hall is filled with maids, servants, and there is also Chaka, all immersed in their respective tasks. The room is adorned with exquisitely arranged dishes, placed upon elegant plates atop a grand central table. Waiters scurry about, diligently refilling glasses and offering delectable desserts. Your father, the king, sits alongside Crocodile, their expressions conveying a profound seriousness. Wrinkles crease your father's forehead, while Crocodile nods slowly in response.

It is yet another occasion where you find yourself in close proximity to Crocodile. He has taken off his distinctive coat, yet remains engrossed in his cigar, seemingly untouched by the feast before him. Overwhelmed, you take a step back from the door, attempting to steady your breathing. With a gentle touch, you carefully close the door, pressing your hand against your racing heart.

What would you give for the chance to spend a single day in his company?

Startled by the sound of approaching footsteps, you hurriedly step back, frantically searching for a place to hide. It could be one of the servants, retrieving more food or wine, and you were acutely aware of your forbidden presence in the hall. As you desperately scanned the empty corridor, the door swung open, revealing the imposing figure of Crocodile. His purple eyes lock onto yours, devoid of any smile, emitting his customary indifference.

"Would you like to join us, Princess?" His voice resonates, deep and clear, addressing you directly. Your knees tremble, growing weaker, and you instinctively lower your gaze, concealing the intensity of your blushing cheeks.

"Didn't I instruct you to remain in your room until the guest had departed?" your father's angry voice pierces the air, likely standing alongside Crocodile. Fear of punishment replaces the earlier desires that had swelled within you.

"I am sorry, Father. I was overcome by curiosity..." You realize that honesty is your best chance at seeking forgiveness, as your father values truthfulness above all else.

"Do not be too harsh on her, Cobra. Our business here is concluded, and we have reached an agreement. I shall take my leave..." Crocodile interjects, addressing your father by his name rather than his royal title. Disbelief washes over you as you witness this unfamiliar familiarity between them. A servant approaches, offering Crocodile his fur coat, struggling in a futile attempt to assist him. Towering over them, he effortlessly takes the clothing, draping it over his broad shoulders. You suppress a sigh at the gracefulness of his movements, momentarily forgetting your father's anger as your gaze fixates on the muscular expanse of Crocodile's chest, envisioning what lies beneath his exquisite attire. The intensity of your desires, even in the midst of your father's presence in the hallway, threatened to consume you. You yearned for Crocodile's touch, for his presence to envelop you completely. The longing within you grew stronger with each passing moment, threatening to drive you to the brink of madness. The internal struggle between your forbidden desires and the constraints of your position as a princess tormented your mind, leaving you teetering on the edge of control.

As Crocodile makes his way down the hallway, guided by diligent servants towards the exit, your father lets out a sigh of relief. His voice carries a sense of newfound ease as he speaks.

"Y/n, I wanted you to stay in your room so that I could talk to you after Crocodile had departed, to ensure we had a moment of privacy together."

You can't help but let the question escape your lips, your voice slightly higher than usual, "Why was I not invited?"

Your father makes a beckoning gesture, inviting you to join him in the now empty banquet hall. He nods at Chaka, who understands immediately and dismisses the servants and maids, leaving the room as it is. The lingering scent of sandalwood still fills the air.

"Y/n, you have reached an age where you must bear more responsibility. We must ensure that this kingdom remains safe and stable even after my passing," your father explains, his tone grave. You gasp, overwhelmed by the weightiness of his words, but he raises a hand, signaling for you to allow him to finish.

"You will ascend to the throne after me. However, it is tradition for Alabasta and the Arubana palace to have a male successor. As you are now of age and the fate of the kingdom rests upon your shoulders, I have made the decision that you cannot bear this responsibility alone. You will need a king by your side, a partner who understands the noble lineage and the responsibilities it entails."

Slowly, the realization of your father's intentions dawns upon you, and you take a cautious step towards him, gripping onto a nearby chair for support without sitting down, your emotions swirling within you.

"There is no man more fitting or prosperous in Alabasta than Crocodile. He comprehends the significance of nobility and the duties it carries. Therefore, he has agreed to marry you today."

The words hang in the air, their weight sinking into your consciousness. The magnitude of the decision, the merging of your destiny with Crocodile's, leaves you momentarily speechless.

#one piece #sir crocodile x y/n #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile one piece #x reader #yujowriting #sir crocodile #alabasta

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chiikasevennn · 9 months

Text

Warnings ⚠️: smut, fRIENDS W BENEFITSSSS HEHEHEHE, i genuinely do not know what im doing but its 18+ so yk, u don't wanna get hurt so u kinda gaslight urself

You bit back a moan, humming deeply instead. Miguel's hand cupped your cheek in a behavior you had no idea.

While you were currently in a state of sanity, your exhaustion prevented you from realizing the fact that he was all over for you.

You came to the realization that he had been proceeding with a consistent rhythm until he forcefully thrust into you with intensity.

The force of his actions caused you to cry out, while his eyes brimmed with a combination of emotions upon seeing your unclothed and exhausted form.

Your body spasmed continuously; your eyes to roll upwards as you struggled to suppress every sound you yearned to release.

Unfortunately, your efforts proved futile as you couldn't resist the involuntary reactions. It had always been a source of embarrassment for you to unleash those erotic reactions, but you couldn't suppress them entirely and you knew that.

You found your embarrassment dying at the thought that you were unlikely to retain vivid recollections of the extent to which you expressed your vulnerability through whimpers, tears, and sobs every time he chose to engage with you, whether it be during the day or in the darkest hours of the night.

You were consumed by an extraordinary euphoria, akin to the feeling of being ensnared in a pleasurable suffocation, as he knowingly and intentionally kept himself intertwined and trapped within your walls.

You were teetering on the edge of reaching your breaking point, and he understood this, yet he persistently thrust forward with abrupt motions.

As minutes passed, you became a disheveled and emotionally overwhelmed individual, shedding tears uncontrollably.

In a sudden and instinctive moment, your hand involuntarily reached for the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as your lips urgently pressed against his. O'Hara was taken aback by the abruptness of your actions, but swiftly responded with equal fervor.

Compared to his harsh thrust, the kiss he comforted you with was warm, welcoming, and homey.

I shouldn't be feeling… This… Despite your weary state, you managed to muster some cognitive effort, only to be utterly taken aback as he released himself inside of you, painting your insides white.

The overwhelming intensity of the moment was too much to bear. The forcefulness of the sensation caused you to scream into the kiss, your eyes instinctively closing as a wave of dizziness washed over you.

As your spine arched steeply, a delicate trail of drool gracefully bridged the gap between your mouths, a tangible symbol of the vehement connection shared during the passionate kiss.

The moment Miguel withdrew from the profound embrace, he took in your widened eyes in a mixture of satisfaction and sheer exhilaration, the intensity of the experience leaving you utterly overwhelmed.

Overcome by the magnitude of sensations coursing through your body, your legs quivered uncontrollably, struggling to support you in the aftermath.

In the realm shared between you and Miguel, as desire consumed both of you, he appeared to be the sole bastion of sanity, possessing the fortitude to continue unabated.

With a gentle touch, his hands tenderly traversed your thighs, tracing their contours with a soothing caress.

Gradually, as the haze of passion lifted, you found yourself slowly returning to a heightened state of awareness.

However, in a captivating display of longing, Miguel drew you closer, his gravitational pull irresistibly magnetic.

Bending down, he bestowed tender, gentle kisses upon the expanse of your inner thighs, their softness igniting a whimper to escape your lips—you were still rocking sensitive.

Contemplating the appropriateness of engaging in such intimate acts within the context of a friends with benefits arrangement, you found yourself uncertain, yet embracing every single facet of the experience with an undeniable ardor.

Deep down, you acknowledged that the duration of this connection would not surpass your initial hopes, as you were acutely aware that all things possess a finite end.

Allowing yourself to become emotionally attached would only lead to disappointment.

With a blink and nonchalant shrug, you tried to dismiss those burgeoning feelings, despite him being the sole individual capable of evoking these unprecedented sensations within you.

It's just sex, you attempted. —he probably doesn't feel the same.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spider-man #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara smut #smut #spider man 2099 #spider man

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nihongoseito · 6 months

Text

vocab from ロングピリオド by 古矢渚

nouns:

腐れ縁（くされえん） = (undesirable but) inseparable relationship

隠れ家（かくれが） = hiding place, refuge

物思い（ものおもい） = reverie, pensiveness, anxiety

眠気覚まし（ねむけざまし） = keeping oneself awake

居眠り（いねむり） = dozing off

熟年夫婦（じゅくねんふうふ） = middle-aged couple

不仲（ふなか） = discord

温度差（おんどさ） = difference in temperature; difference in enthusiasm, commitment, etc.

調査票（ちょうさひょう） = questionnaire

拉致（らち） = kidnapping, abduction, taking captive

立ち（たち）くらみ = dizziness from standing up too fast

心構え（こころがまえ） = readiness, preparedness

平常心（へいじょうしん） = self-possession, presence of mind

癖毛（くせげ） = frizzy, unruly hair

謳歌（おうか） = rejoicing, exultation

助っ人（すけっと） = helper, supporter, backer (colloquial)

人攫い（ひとさらい） = kidnapper; kidnapping

意表（いひょう） = surprise, something unexpected

交換条件（こうかんじょうけん） = bargaining point

不可抗力（ふかこうりょく） = inevitability, irresistible force

verbs:

思い知らせる（おもいしらせる） = to get even with; to make someone realize

ずば抜ける（ぬける） = to tower above the rest, be the best by far

バラける = to unravel

耽る（ふける） = to indulge in

抗う（あらがう） = to resist, oppose, fight against

押し切る（おしきる） = to overcome resistance; to have one's own way

襲う（おそう） = to attack, assail

呆れる（あきれる） = to be amazed, shocked, disgusted

慰める（なぐさめる） = to comfort, console

adjectives:

寒がり（さむがり）の = sensitive to cold

得意げ（とくいげ）な = triumphant, exalted

かわいげな = lovable nature, charming (e.g., innocent child)

自由気（じゆうき）ままな = doing as one likes, according to one's own whims

気兼ね（きがね）な = hesitant, constrained

存分（ぞんぶん）な = to one's heart's content

不気味（ぶきみ）な = ominous, eerie, uncanny

好き勝手（すきかって）な = doing whatever one pleases

柄（がら）にもない = out of character, unlike one

卑怯（ひきょう）な = cowardly, craven; unfair, sneaky

adverbs/onomatopoeiae:

大概（たいがい） = in general; mainly, most likely

せっせと = diligently, beavering away

もたもた = inefficient, slow

ソッコー = suddenly, abruptly

まだしも = rather, better

むっつり（と） = taciturn(ly)

expressions:

尻（しり）にしく = to dominate (one's husband)

ニコイチ = combing two (broken) things to make one (working) thing

間（ま）を置く（おく） = to pause

案（あん）の定（じょう） = just as one thought, as usual

どうにもならない = helpless, futile, nothing to be done about it

#vocab #japanese #日本語 #sasha.txt

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cariantha · 11 months

Text

The Starting Line

Book: Open Heart, Book 2 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks) Rating: General Warning: None Category: Angst Word count: 1.1K Summary: Not able to watch her walk away, Ethan chases after Sawyer following their “reset” conversation in the beer garden. A/N: There’s not much plot here, it’s just my head canon for how that night really ended. I labeled this angst, but it’s Sawyer and Ethan, so you know it’s not really that bad.😉For @choiceschallenge-may2023, I used the prompts: last goodbye and crying.

The realization crashed down on her. They were right back where they were after Miami. Sawyer wondered if she did something wrong. Ethan on the cusp of admitting his feelings but still hesitant to give them a voice. And professional development, once more, a convenient excuse.

“Okay. I get it.”

Feeling the sting of frustrated tears, she quickly said goodnight before they threatened to spill out. Briskly walking away, Sawyer waited until she was out of sight before allowing the floodgates to open.

As Ethan watched her flee, he was immediately overcome with shame and regret. Albeit cowardly, it was easier to let her down when he was thousands of miles away. Because to look into her innocent eyes and blatantly dismiss their feelings for each other, again, felt downright cruel. He didn't think it possible to feel more guilt-ridden than he did when he was away. That was a miscalculation, for this was a new low.

The voice in his head reminded him it was for the best. “This was the plan. Just let her go. Give her some time and space.”

But her grip around his heart was too tight. The further she walked away, the more Ethan felt as though it might be ripped from his chest. Desperate to relieve the pressure, he got to his feet and urgently went after her.

When he didn’t find her waiting on the curb for a ride, Ethan assumed she headed for the nearest T station. He set a quick pace to the end of the block and rounded the corner, pausing momentarily when he didn’t see anyone walking ahead on the sidewalk.

Then he spotted her, sitting on the steps of a building.

With her head hung low, Sawyer wrung her hands and silently sobbed. When she heard footsteps approaching from down the street, she lifted and turned her head in that direction.

“Sawyer!”

Angry and embarrassed, she jumped up and walked in the opposite direction, wiping her face clean with the cuff of her henley.

Ethan jogged to catch up and blocked her path.

“Please, just let me go,” her voice cracked as she attempted to sidestep around him.

He swung his arm out to catch her before she got past. “I’ve tried…but I can’t,” he quietly admitted while tucking her in tightly, with no chance for escape.

The only fight in her was the back of her fist knocking at his heart, before she surrendered to his embrace.

“Why, Ethan?” she cried softly as he cradled her head against his chest.

He didn’t need her to explain what she meant. He knew. He heard her ask that same pleading question a few weeks ago. It was the day Sawyer realized Ethan hadn’t just been out of reach but was in fact avoiding her. Their call disconnected before he was forced to offer some futile explanation.

“I’m sorry. I know I hurt you and that kills me. I didn’t know what else to do. I thought if we put some distance between us, it would provide some perspective. We spent a lot of time together working on Naveen’s case and–”

“Don’t!” she pushed away. “Don’t say this was just some neurochemical bullshit–”

“It’s not! I know that now… but I still don’t know what else to do,” he sighed, combing his hands through his hair.

“We have other options, Ethan. We can go to H.R. Someone else on the team can supervise me… or I can just give up my spot on the team. You can find someone with more experience. You didn’t think any of us were ready anyway! I can wait.”

“No,” he shook his head adamantly. “You’ve spent nearly half of your life working toward this. I’m not going to let you give all that up, not for me... I’m not worth it. And you are ready. The truth is, Sawyer, you would fill an important niche on the team. You may not have the years of experience yet, but you have the credentials. Your specialized medical scientist training will be incredibly valuable. I had been scouting the UCLA program for a while. It was one of the main reasons I recommended you for residency at Edenbrook.”

“So your priority here is the status of the team? Got it.”

Ethan stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You know that’s not what I mean. My priority is you. You have earned this opportunity. And I get a second chance to be the mentor you deserve. After failing at that last year, I owe this to you, Sawyer. But to do that, it would be best if we go into this year with a fresh start. I can’t be objective if we are anything more than co-workers.”

The late hour and emotions were starting to take a toll. Tired and knowing that he was resolved to see this through, Sawyer offered one last consideration. “Ethan, this reset, it won’t change anything. It only puts us back at the starting line. It doesn't change the course.”

“Be that as it may, these are the current circumstances.” Letting his hands slide down her arms, he released his hold on her. “We just need to maintain professional boundaries.”

“And how’d that work out for us last time?”

“Sawyer,” he tipped his head to the side with a disappointed sigh.

“I should go. It’s really late.”

“Walk back with me and I’ll give you a ride home,” he offered.

“Thanks, but I’d rather call for a car.”

“Can I at least wait with you? I don’t like the idea of you waiting here alone at this hour.”

There was no point in refusing, she already knew he wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. Pulling up the rideshare app on her phone, Sawyer moved to sit on the steps again, Ethan taking a seat beside her.

After several minutes, a whisper finally broke the awkward silence. “I missed you.”

Ethan scooted closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I missed you, too.”

With her head resting in the crook of his shoulder, they sat quietly waiting for her ride. Each savoring the final moment of intimacy. When the car pulled up all too soon, they stood and faced each other. With a tilt of her head Sawyer asked for permission, which he granted with a small nod. Lunging forward, she hugged him goodbye. But not goodbye for the evening. A last goodbye. The one she deserved before he left for the Amazon. In return, Ethan placed a kiss on the top of her head, selfishly breathing in the scent that two months away nearly wiped from his memory.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Rookie,” he said, opening the car door for her.

“You know... I’m not a rookie anymore.”

“You're the rookie on the DT now. It’s still applicable,” he argued as she dramatically rolled her eyes. With the door between them, Ethan reached over the frame and cupped her cheek. “Even if you disagree, you’ll always be ‘Rookie’ to me,” he winked.

With a touched but sad smile, she took her seat in the car. “See you at work…Dr. Ramsey.”

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @potionsprefect @jamespotterthefirst @annfg8 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @jerzwriter @quixoticdreamer16 @mysticalgalaxysstuff @inlocusmads @txemrn @trappedinfanfiction @mvalentine @takemyopenheart @ofmischiefandmedicine @openheartforeverinmyheart @doriopenheart @coffeeheartaddict2 @genevievemd @starrystarrytrouble @hopelessromantic1352 @kyra75 @lsvdw-blog @rookiemartin

#open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfic #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #ethan x sawyer #choices stories you play #choices open heart #playchoices #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choices monthly challenge #choices challenge may 2023

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kirasgirl · 6 months

Text

GOD COMPLEX| jujutsu Kaisen x reader

FLASH

His eyes trembled, the strong light going against his pupils who strongly dilated by the impact of that white light that threatened his vision slightly.

"Get closer, how do you want people to feel like you have a chemistry?"

The young photographer, Maki, said sarcastically and almost irritatedly. Waving your hand as a sign to join even more.

You cursed yourself mentally, a sudden shock when you felt your hands so cold and big tighten your waist. Her incredulous gaze rising to the figure who, to her contempt, was so close that it irritated her in a certain way.

That ridiculous smile on the slightly pink lips of the man in front of you.

Her white strands and her bluish irises not even looking at her, almost as a way to annoy you even more.

Idiot.

You thought, trying to ignore as much as that boy did to annoy you.

You hated Gojo Satoru.

"Sit on his lap, (name)" Maki again said, almost as an order, her hair stuck in a stylish ponytail while she watched the two figures in front of her, waiting for what she asked for.

For a moment, you felt ridiculed.

"Don't even think about it."

"Now." She hit you right away.

At that moment you wanted to be dead. The simple fact of being so close to that boy aroused a fury unknown by itself. You really didn't understand why you felt that way.

Maybe the boy's annoying personality?

Maybe the way he always wanted to get attention?

Or maybe it was your sarcastic smile that was so... sexy?

He pulled it quickly to himself, putting you on his lap. His big icy hands at his waist while his small soft hands and nails held on toned chest.

Just the fact that he was shirtless was irritating him.

He was so hot that you cursed yourself just for thinking about it.

He laughed briefly, realizing how his breathing became slightly faster when he lowered his hand to one of his thighs, giving a small and slight squeeze.

Oh, how he was a cynic.

"What's up, baby? Am I so irresistible that you're sweating?" He just said, not even caring about the environment.

His eyebrows arched, even more incredulous but not so surprised by the boy's expected attitude.

"In case you don't remember, it's summer." You hit it, a fake smile on your face. "I'm not just any cheap bitch to feel so attracted to you."

He pouted, evident irony on his attractive face, seeking to make his life even more hell.

"Don't be so cruel, baby..." he said sarcastically. "It seems like you didn't like the night we had."

You held a laugh, not getting it when a sweet sound came out of your pink and soft lips, your lovely eyes closing slightly with the laughter. Gojo felt confused, his expression was changing severely.

You took your soft hands to the boy's white threads, combing back and giving a slight pull, the smile still on your lips.

"Oh, I thought you were man enough to overcome a single futile night we had, Satoru..." you whispered lightly.

Maki's voice loudly warning that the rehearsal had ended up catching Gojo off guard. While you were, I thanked the existing gods for this moment.

Without any warning almost immediately coming out of the boy.

One of the helpers approaching with a silk robe that contained his name behind, causing you to hide his exposed skin because of the langerie in which he used for the photo shoot that was summoned together with Gojo for a new release.

You've known the boy for some time, not remembering exactly at what time.

Maybe it was at one of the private parties of one of your important contacts, you barely remembered and didn't want to remember, knowing that the boy was not a good way, let alone with good intention.

Maybe your face already said a lot about it, showing how he was just another stupid man for whom you would get disgust or something.

And of course, you sleeping with him only one night meant nothing. You were also human in need, and at the time you were only in need of a small toy to satisfy your desire for lust.

You went to the dressing room.

The place being organized by the team that was there, almost a mess. But you ignored it. Getting close enough to the huge mirror, giving a new reinvigorated appearance.

You fixed your hair soft, licking your lips briefly before noticing a small thing on your face.

"Fuck..." you gently poked the small reddish spot that was on your chin, it was hardly possible to see, but you with your eyes were able enough to detect every little and small detail you didn't like, even because, you had to be perfect.

Your head was full, as always, realizing how your work, no matter how perfect, was being exhausting, where you didn't even have time to take time for yourself to relieve yourself. Of course, at times you couldn't hold on to your work environment.

Like now.

You looked around, seeing some team members finishing organizing your dressing room, your sharp eyes being thrown at one of the interns who had recently been summoned.

Nohara... Nobara...

You don't remember, and it certainly wasn't your job to remember.

She seemed to have realized the way you looked at her, also realizing how she appreciates restless, perhaps nervous about having been perceived by the celebrity. And then, you called her.

A minimum nod with her soft fingers, waving her to approach briefly, to which she clumsily made the spreadsheet in her arms to which she squeezed in her chest, showing a sign of insecurity.

foolish.

You thought about it.

"Uh.." you looked at her badge, looking for your name, as if you cared. "Nobara..." you uttered her name so sweetly that you made your pale cheeks look in a crimson color, embarrassed she tried to answer, bad words coming out of her mouth.

You laughed, finding it funny how insecure she appeared, you should teach her about something maybe.

"Get them all out of my dressing room, okay?" You said it without fear. "And let Maki know that I'll be on a break before I go back to the photos." It concludes.

In the moment, Nobara nodded awkwardly, waving.

"Yes, ma'am!" She said it quickly.

Like a quick change of tone of voice, his voice was lower, expelling any living soul from the dressing room, giving the space that was requested, and by magic the whole room was empty.

You sighed tired, sitting in front of the huge dressing table.

"I could have chosen a better one." You said it to yourself.

Watching a huge poster with one of the photos you took for Victoria Secrets last summer. And even if you were beautiful, as they always told you, you felt that there were better photos to deify you out there.

Anyway, you didn't call.

Hands going to the pocket in your silk robe, gently groping the small package before picking it up.

His expression had never changed as quickly as now, an ear-to-ear smile on his face when observing the small package with a white matter inside.

Oh, how much you loved it.

You opened it, piling up the powder in small rows on the table. Approaching your nostril quickly, as if you were already used to the substance.

Only the almost agonizing feeling of the powder coming into contact with her nostrils and mixing with her cells made her feel energetic, knowing exactly that it had not worked, but that just knowing that she would feel better in a few moments you already felt great.

Breathing, you raised your head.

The scare suddenly caused her interior to be deeply irritated, hating when she asked her to be alone and often not being respected in this aspect.

The white hair reflecting its reflection against the mirror, showing the masculine and attractive silhouette of the boy behind him. A malicious smile on his lips while he let out a little laugh.

"What an ugly craze, (name)..." he approached. "You can't even hold on to your own work. Until I taught you right."

He was behind him, much closer, his chest still naked, showing that he had also not changed clothes for the next rehearsal.

"It doesn't start." You uttered without patience, totally ignoring the existence of the boy before going back to what you did before. "What do you want? Do you still have the idea of not overcoming the one-night thing we had?"

You said ironically, knowing that this made a small stabbing in Gojo's ego.

"You really are a shitty little whore, aren't you?" He said with a slight spiteful tone, pinning you against the table you were on.

You remained sitting, watching as his arms roughly closed you, the silhouette above you wanting to appear dominant. You mentally laughed.

"How sweet of you" a smile as mischievous as his appeared on his plump and soft lips, knowing how exciting this was in a way. "Bitch isn't a bad nickname.."

He huffed, knowing you would just try to get under his skin just like he's trying to do.

Gojo walked away, throwing the envelope he was holding in his hands at you. Just like that, just sighing irritably.

"It looks like the little princess will be featured next night." He hissed, crossing his arms as he watched you carefully analyze the invitation.

The envelope in his hands was made perfectly in a simple way that attracted a lot of attention.

Reading how the complexly shaped letters spelled out your name, showing that the invitation had been made especially for you.

You opened.

Carefully reading every handwritten word of the host, politely inviting to the launch opening of his new summer collection from the renowned brand, Kaisen Modeling.

Oh...

Receiving a handwritten invitation from his old friend was unexpected.

Nanami Kento was not one to throw unexpected parties, always planned for an innovative purpose.

You sighed, almost anxious to see some of your old friends who would definitely be there.

"..."

His expression suddenly changed, and Gojo noticed.

It wasn't a bad thing to see your friends from the past, I mean, it was a great thing. They were important for a large part of your career and you wouldn't deny yourself from seeing them.

But...

Seeing them meant also having to see him.

And perhaps the most difficult thing would be having to deal with the hidden feeling of not pretending that everything that happened in the past would have affected you deeply.

Because even you yourself refused to accept it.

And as much as you had to face a growing fear in your chest, you were strong enough.

Even because it was you.

(Name).

And nothing and no one would affect you.

Not even him.

#gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader #yandere gojo #gojo saturo #toji smut #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji #jujutsu satoru #jjk geto #jujutsu geto #jujutsu itadori #sukuna #megumi x reader

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thiccthighs19 · 7 months

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Parallel Lines

Pairing: introvert!jungkook x extrover!reader

Genre: angst, friends to lovers

Word Count: 1k

Warning: mentions of de@th. Please note, all characters depicted in this story are fictional and are derived from my own imagination. The story is written for entertainment purposes. It does not intend to mock, ridicule, or impersonate any real-life people, groups, or organizations. The characters and story are original and do not portray any bts member.

"Parallel lines, a forbidden romance. Destinated to pass by each other without ever being together."

She loved roses; her beauty overshadowed the grace of roses, her sun-tanned skin captivated his heart. Her heart-shaped lips and fluffy cheeks made his love grow. Oh, how bad he wished to squeeze them forever. He found himself trapped in her soft caramel eyes; a beauty that reminded him of stepping into a paradise of pure bliss. Her hair smelled like cherries, it was something to delight the senses, for nothing could ever compare to the sweet fragrance she possessed. He never liked them, but after she sat beside him for the first time in class, they became his favourite. He never realized how much he would adore that delicious scent, only because it reminded him of her. Also, how can he hate something that smells like her?

He remembers the first time he heard her voice; and it became a part of him that he desperately craved to hear again and again. He wasn't the one for reading , but the moment he learned about her endless love for books, was like a light bulb moment. From that moment on, he made it a habit to visit the library every weekend, all in an effort to get closer to the bookish beauty who had stolen his heart. She was akin to a goddess, so ethereal and divine, a being who was beyond his understanding. He felt unworthy of her, knowing he could never match up to her allure. In his eyes, he was insignificant compared to her beauty and brilliance. 'Who could ever love a person like me?' He would always ponder, never daring to hope. But despite his insecurities, he couldn't resist loving her from afar, unable to tear his eyes away from her radiant beauty.

It was their graduation day when his beloved confessed her feelings to him. His heart fluttered like butterflies, and the world around him came to a standstill. But the bittersweet revelation made him realize just how worried she had been that he would reject her. How could he have ever thought he had a right to break this girl's heart? He was on cloud nine but the pain of knowing she was leaving the country soon stung all the worse. She was leaving for a bright future ahead, but the moment she confessed, a deep sense of sorrow washed over him. He wasn't sure why this bittersweet moment was making him feel so melancholy, but maybe the heartbreak was inevitable all along. If only they knew fate had different plans for them...

Four years. It has been four years since she had departed for her studies. Jungkook has had no contact with her ever since—his efforts to keep track of her seemed pointless. He's a successful man now, got everything he once desired except that one person he adored. The day before was their school reunion, he anxiously surveyed the room in futile search for those enchanting caramel eyes he adored so much. He hoped against hope to catch a glimpse of her, but reality proved more harsh than he imagined, for she had found someone else to replace him in her life. The passage of time was no excuse, he feared. Maybe she hadn't even thought of him anymore? Rage filled his entire body. Maybe she doesn't even remember him now. The atmosphere grew gloomier the moment one of his classmates started speaking about her untimely demise. Time came to a halt for Jungkook. He was overcome with a sickening feeling in his stomach, a sickening feeling that he knew all too well. The terrible news of her death was like a wave of reality crashing into his mind, drowning out any hopes that he still had of her existence. It was a crushing blow that his heart struggled to process. His throat grew dry, his breath shallow, as the nausea of grief washed over him, as the one thing he could never imagine was being without her. She had passed away in a fatal car crash, which was devastating enough, but she never even left their country...a country she had been so excited to go study in. It seemed an impossible curse fell upon her; why hadn't anyone thought to inform him of this tragedy? He never fit in before. His introverted nature and isolation had kept him out of the social circles, so he expected nobody would have thought to reach out to him. People only approached him when it was convenient or necessary, and they never even tried to initiate small talk. So, it was no surprise when no word about her passing reached him. He was truly alone, and this news only served to emphasize his lonliness. His mind wandered to how no one wanted to interact with him until she did.

He scrambled to the graveyard in search of a name he desperately did not want to find. But there, her name, and her final resting place, was engraved in stone. The carvings of the tombstone felt like a knife in his heart. As he studied the words, the enormity of her passing weighed heavy on his mind.

sacred to the memory

of Y/l/n Y/n

1997-2022

Her name, carved so beautifully on the tombstone, made his heart skip a beat. The roses that caught his eyes were just like the two of them—always close, yet unable to be together. Tears flooded down his face as he laid the sweet flowers on her grave. She would have loved these roses. Maybe she was one now. He missed his love so terribly, and this sight felt like a surreal dream—a dream he dreaded was real. It had been a long time since their last meeting, and so much had changed. But in all this time, he never stopped loving her. The flowers on her grave were an act of love, and of pure loneliness, as he realized it was all too late, and he had lost her forever.

-Okay so, this is actually like my debut and I'm so nervous to be very honest! I have edited the text so many times but I think this feels right. So, I'm sticking with it.

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watermelonsloth · 8 months

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Hinata Jumping into the Pain Pit is Weirdly Executed

The Pain Arc is among my favorites, but something’s been bothering me about it; Hinata jumping in to save Naruto before she gets folded by the Deva path. Not the fact that she did it(I think it’s a really nice way for her to overcome her anxiety) or even the scene itself, but the fact that it was her.

To me, Hinata’s role in the arc feels very disconnected. She has no presence at the start of the arc. She doesn’t comfort Naruto after Jiraiya’s death, she certainly has no connections to Pain/Nagato or Konan, she has no relevancy in the question about world peace, and I don’t even remember her making a passing appearance. When Pain attacked, she didn’t take out one of the paths or anything(again I don’t remember her even appearing). Then she suddenly has all of the attention on her as she jumps in, proclaims her love, and gets “killed,” which causes Naruto to flip his shit. Then, she’s back to being near irrelevant. Kakashi carries Naruto back, Sakura hugs him, Hinata makes a brief appearance to show she’s alive, and the arc ends. She doesn’t say anything to him, Naruto isn't especially relieved to see she’s alive, and the confession is never addressed.

Do you see why I think this is a weird decision?

She has one moment of relevancy and then she fucks off until the war arc where she will once again have a brief moment to matter before the epilogue. This decision gets even weirder when you take in the bigger picture. For the scene, Kishimoto needed a liked character with an established relationship with Naruto to futilely jump into save him before getting “killed” by Pain. That character’s “death” would cause Naruto to lose control of the nine-tails, resulting in Naruto meeting Minato and yada yada yada you get the point. (Bonus points if that character jumping in progresses that character’s arc.) Now, I’m not saying Hinata doesn’t meet the criteria, but there were certainly better options. To list a few:

Sakura Haruno was literally right there. She is the primary heroine and love interest of the Naruto franchise. She wasn’t a focus character in the Pain arc, but she was at least present. In early shippuden, it was established that she was insecure about being unable to help Naruto in bigger ways. It was also established that she wanted to help Naruto fight back against the Akatsuki. Moments before the Pain Pit scene, Sakura was shown screaming for Naruto’s help so her having a moment of desperately realizing that someone has to help before turning the tables would’ve been a nice scene. Sakura “dying” would mean that Naruto wasn’t just pushed over the edge by seeing another friend die, but by pretty much losing the last member of the original team 7. I could go on about it being in character for her to do and her saying her choice to step in is selfish would be nice foreshadowing to her later actions in the Five Kage Summit arc and her hugging Naruto at the end of the arc would not only be more impactful but make more sense, but this post is long enough already.

Shikamaru Nara would’ve been a nice segway to becoming Naruto’s right hand man later. He was already one of the most present characters in the arc(helping decode Jiraiya’s code and Naruto moving forward) and it would justify the amount of screen time he’s given in both the arc and the manga. I like Shikamaru as much as the next guy, but it is odd how he’s given disproportionately more character depth and growth than the other tertiary characters despite contributing little to the greater themes of the series and stories of the main characters. Him participating in such a major moment would not only make the prior screen time make more sense but him protecting Naruto specifically could be an alternative start of him choosing to become Naruto’s advisor/assistant. Granted, him jumping in wouldn’t be very “protect the king” or “200 iq” of him, so his decision would have to be justified somehow or lead to some sort of character change.

Iruka Umino would’ve been a gut punch. I’m biased and I love Iruka, but sometimes a story needs to twist the knife and this is literally the arc’s darkest hour. He got a little screen time prior to the attack when he comforted Naruto, Iruka’s death was already teased when the Deva path nearly killed him while he was trying to protect someone, and he appears again at the arc’s finale. Iruka “dying” would, at least temporarily, make Shikamaru telling Naruto about the old generation protecting the new all the more grim. The scene could also be a nice call back to chapter one of the series. I’d also like to add that, while any of Naruto’s friends dying would’ve set him off considering the amount of buildup, him reacting so extremely to Iruka “dying” would’ve been undeniably an in character response and it would’ve added at least a little more weight to him choosing to forgive Nagato.

I think I’ve made my case why, without changing anything outside of who jumps in, at least three other characters would’ve made more sense narratively. So, why Hinata? I have two theories as to why Kishimoto thought he should choose Hinata.

1. Kishimoto originally planned to do something more with her character, but ultimately didn’t. Maybe the editors stepped in, maybe he changed his mind, who knows? Not me. I wasn’t there and even if I was, I’m not fluent in Japanese. This would explain both her stepping in specifically and her actually confessing her feelings, but neither being mentioned or relevant again(save for the one movie). It’s also possible that her encouraging Naruto after Neji’s death was that “something more” but it was just awkwardly executed.

2. Hinata is meant to be thematically relevant in the grand scheme of things.

Remember when I said Hinata didn’t have any relevancy in regards to the larger question about world peace? That wasn’t wholly accurate. To explain why, I have to explain the thematic conflict of the Naruto series very quickly.

The series is packed with commentary on humanity, but the thematic question most relevant to what I’m talking about(and arguably the franchise) is “Is it possible for people to understand each other?” (This is specifically in relation to conflict resolution.) This is why talk no jutsu exists, this is why Naruto and Sasuke’s rivalry is so relevant, and this is why the resolution of Naruto is international alliances rather than systematic change or whatever alternative plot resolution people where expecting. This question is lingering in the background since Part 1, but it’s first vocalized in the Pain arc when Nagato asks Naruto if he thinks world peace is possible(which is a stand in for the thematic question of if he thinks two people understanding each other is possible). Naruto answers that he doesn’t know but he’ll find out then spends the rest of the story doing just that. The Five Kage Summit arc is him finding an answer(only if the anger/hatred which would normally cause conflict is directed at a single target), the War arc is him reevaluating that answer once he sees it fail when put into practice(the infinite tsukuyomi/Obito/Madara), and the Valley of the End/Ending is the presentation of the final conclusion(yes). There’s more to it than that and the discussion of how well the theme was executed and if the conclusion was accurate is still open, but all of that is irrelevant in this discussion.

What does Hinata have to do with this? Simple, Hinata is integral in both Naruto reevaluating his answer in the first place and the conclusion he comes to. Naruto treats a large chunk of the war arc like a personal conflict. To him, it’s less of a world war and more of a “Naruto vs Obito/Tobi/Madara.” Because of that, he’s done whatever he can to shoulder all of the weight of the war. However, Neji dying for his sake was like a personal failure. Naruto, unsurprisingly, began to crumble at that failure(with the help of Obito’s taunts). Hinata snaps him out of it(slaps him out of it?) and reminds him of his ninja way. Specifically, she tells him that his conviction to protect his friends is shared by all of the shinobi there. She tells him that it’s not shared hatred or pain that connects all shinobi, it’s the love they have for their comrades(as cheesy as that might sound). That’s all to say that Kishimoto may have chosen Hinata to enter the Pain Pit to connect her to the theme that she’ll later be an impactful player in forwarding. By having her face off against the antagonist that brings the theme to the forefront, it makes her transition into her later role smoother.

However, I still think the execution was weird and the product we ultimately got leaves something to be desired. This isn’t to say that the Pain arc is ruined by this scene by any means—I wouldn’t blame you for thinking this is a nitpick—but I’m still bothered by it. Hindsight is 20/20, but even without hindsight I think the scene could’ve been better. Kishimoto should’ve either chosen a character other than Hinata to jump in and connect Hinata to the theme in some other way(or use the character she’s replaced by if you want to completely scrap her) or he should’ve given her more time to be present in the Pain arc.

#Hinata Hyuga #Naruto Uzumaki #Naruto #naruto shippuden #Pain Arc #Sakura Haruno #Shikamaru Nara #Iruka Umino #They’re only briefly mentioned but whatever #Rambling #Rant #Sort of kind of #It’s not really a rant #Naruto dissection #Analysis #Naruto analysis #my stooff

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foster-the-moths · 10 months

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emergence (septendecim au)

warnings: body horror, unreality(?), dehumanization, mentions of insects, mentions of suicide, and gore.

adam is trapped in a web of his own making. the way out he finds is not the one he was meant to take.

prequel to verify. 3,289 words

adam had been walking for hours.

well, maybe that was a bit of an overstatement. it had been over an hour, maybe two by this point. but it felt like he had been walking for an entire night. and he wanted to get the fuck out of this godawful nightmare already.

after his fight with jonah, he had descended the stairs into the basement, and he regretted it more than anything in his life. from the main room, it had split into branching corridors and sprawling chambers of bleak concrete, until it could no longer really be called a 'basement'. he had doubled back once he had realized his mistake, but the original room had vanished, taking the stairs along with it. he was trapped in an incomprehensible maze, with only his wits and the equipment in his backpack.

none of the architecture of it made any sense. the walls of corridors were carved into alcoves and niches that served no purpose, with seemingly no thought behind where they were placed.

in some rooms, the ceiling was so impossibly high he couldn't even see it. some of them were so vast he felt like an ant, miniscule and insignificant. he would gaze up, entranced by flying buttresses that would feel at home on some sort of grim cathedral, all of them interlocked into a mesh, each connecting to the opposite wall. some had enormous stained glass windows, arching above his head towards heaven. but they were dark and dull, as there was no sunlight streaming through them, only more concrete behind their beautiful visages. they were too high up for him to consider escaping out of, anyways, so he never stayed long.

some rooms were brutally industrial, odd angles and rectangular ledges extending out of sight. cubbyholes and recesses overlapping over each other like holes dug by maggots, no intelligence behind their placement. he passed a room with cubicles, an ever-expanding grid of harsh stone. he didn't go into that room, the door had been too narrow, if it even was a door.

out of all of it, though, it was worse when the concrete faded into clear glass. at first he had been elated, thinking he could break through it and be rid of the nightmarish illusion he was trapped in. until he saw what was behind it. he couldn't really make out exactly what it was, a murky darkness obscuring most of it, but what he could make out made him wish he couldn't see any of it at all. hands, pressed flat against the glass, and eyes that pierced through the nebulous crimson of its body and drilled into his own. it followed him, sometimes for just a few minutes, sometimes for miles. 'followed' was the wrong word. it never moved, whatever it was its body stretched past any distance he walked, as inifinite as the concrete that enclosed him.

and through it all, he was overcome with an unbearable shroud of dread, guilt, and terror. the magnitude of it was palpable, crushing him from the outside in, making it difficult to breathe. his jittery movements exacerbating his fear as it cast odd shadows against the walls in his peripherals, dark shapes that cut through the haze of red lighting that permeated the air.

he should have listened to jonah. he was losing his mind, and he never even got the answers he was looking for. he was going to die in this wretched 'basement' alone. and nobody would ever know. except, maybe, for jonah.

jonah. at first adam had been furious, baring his teeth in a snarl at his radio as jonah pushed, and pushed, and kept pushing until he dared to bring his mother into their argument. the sheer audacity they had to admit that they believed adam's mother mother was dead, that his search was futile sent adam over the edge. adam had screamed at him to just fucking leave, and he did. the one person adam thought he could maybe rely on, who had promised to stick by his side on his quest for knowledge had bailed out on him, leaving him behind because of a 'bad feeling'. good riddance, adam had thought to himself as he descended the stairs into his doom. if jonah really cared so little about him, then he wasn't going to let himself be bothered by it. hell, did he even care about jonah? the part of him that said yes had been drowned out by his feverish rage, caustic and burning him from the inside out.

but all fires die out, and after adam's anger sputtered out and left him feeling hollow and fatigued, something else had begun to take its place. the emptiness became a gnawing trepidation, until slowly, yet all at once, it surged into a chest-heaving panic. regret, confusion, and anxiety reigned supreme in his mind, replaying his words and actions in his head like a video on loop. his transgressions haunted him; the ways he had treated the only people that ever cared about him weighed heavy on his conscience.

adam murray was no stranger to guilt, even if would never admit it, but the intensity with which it burned under his skin in this maze was unlike anything he had ever experienced. usually he could shrug it off with ease, they should have known better than to push him to react, should know by now how he lashes out, but now he found himself questioning himself. sure, he was working on his volatile emotions, his friends were helping him recognize when he was about to do or say something he would eventually regret, but... it was almost as if he couldn't stop himself from hurting other people. it was almost as if he was made for it, something whispered in his mind.

his own head was as inescapable as the labyrinth he was doomed to traverse, and he think he knows why. he has some terrible feeling that this place wanted something from him, and it wouldn't let him out until he gave it what it wanted.

just as his dread roils, about to reach a fever pitch, he stumbles his way through another doorway, and into a room unlike all of the others. one that he had passed through many times before. a simple, plain box of a room made of bare concrete. it is what the basement should looked like when he first stepped into it, minus the stairs. no improbable architeture or dizzying layout, just a normal room. and in the middle of the room sits a tv, playing the same nonsensical infomercials on loop. mocking him with distorted images of the outside world, the faces behind the screen askew in ways he could not place.

he sighs, his breath catching in his throat. he's not sure whether he's relieved to be free of the endless silence, or annoyed by the mindless cacophony of sound effects, gratingly catchy jingles, and indecipherable gibberish pouring from the speakers of the tv.

he walks to one of the corners of the room, and shrugs off his backpack, slinging it off his arm and onto the floor. he leans back until he feels his back hit the wall behind him, and lets his body slide to the floor. he's exhausted. his feet hurt. his head hurts. he doesn't want to keep going. he twists, and eases himself onto the floor until he's lying on his back, staring at the dull ceiling blankly. he closes his eyes. maybe if he falls asleep, he'll wake up in the van, jonah behind the wheel, radio playing some stupid pop song. maybe.

there is a room. he is in the room, he realizes.

sunlight bleeds through a window, casting golden light on the wooden floorboards.

in the middle of the room, an apple sits on the floor.

he holds it in his hand, he cannot remember walking up to it, or picking it up, but he is holding it regardless.

it is red. there is not much more to say about it.

when he bites into it, it does not feel like biting into an apple.

he does not like it. he spits it out.

he sets the apple back down on the ground, it stares at him.

he tears out one of his own ribs.

and another.

and-

he wakes up.

he has moved in his sleep, lying down on his stomach in front of the tv, as if he had crawled towards it whilst unconscious. its screen displays an image of an apple with a bite taken out of it, and he squints his eyes against the bright light searing into them. it fades to black, but it does not turn off, bathing the room in nothing more than a dim glow. as his brain starts to catch up with his surroundings, he pushes himself up onto his elbows, and sits up. the unnatural red luminescence in the air is gone, only the faint light from the tv remains. his head is clear, no longer plagued by spiraling self-loathing and despair. everything seems… normal. was it really just a dream, a nightmare? there is a discomfort in his chest, but he pushes himself to his feet anyways. he sways for a moment, but when the stars clear from his vision, he sees stairs. a way out. he bolts towards them, tripping over himself in his haste to escape, legs tangling as he falls to the ground and pushes himself back up again. he's shambled halfway across the room when the glow of the television illuminates the room once more.

and like the fool he is, he looks behind him. and he sees a face that is very, very familiar.

what have you done?

pain lances up and down his limbs, catching him off guard. he tumbles to the floor with a shout, colliding with the ground harshly. he curls in on himself, shaking as his body starts to burn. he hisses through clenched teeth, trying in vain to reach out a hand towards the staircase.

you rejected the gift of knowledge.

his hand splinters, cracking bones (a snapped neck) and shifting tendons (a taught rope), and he screams (a child's wails).

you cannot escape what you are.

his arms branch out like trees, then violently snap back into place as he sees a room he had buried in his memories. a crib. a television. a woman hanging by her neck. he cannot speak, cannot scream as his ribcage opens, blooming outwards and collapsing in on itself, a flower in reverse, dead and born again each time he takes a breath. he tries to open his mouth, to cry, to beg, but his jaw feels as though it is fused to his skull, refusing to so much as budge. the screech bubbles up from his chest instead, resounding against his ribs. there is something other than tears running down his cheeks, and it burns the seams that have opened there, beckoning forth a swarm of unknown little things that vie to pierce through the meat of his face.

He is the rotting corpse of a fallen tree, his bones like fungus sprouting from the empty husk of his flesh. He is smoke, no longer tethered to a solid form, unraveling and curling as it fills the room without restraint. He is a bloated corpse, on the verge of bursting with a million maggots chewing tunnels through empty veins.

He is a cicada, bursting free from his own skin after 17 long years of slumber, shrieking as he becomes something else, something hollow.

and then it stops. the agony courses through his veins still, aftershocks of the torture his body just endured, but everything stays still. his limbs tremble, but nothing shifts under his skin. it is over. it is done.

his ears ring as footsteps sound from behind him, inevitable in their approach. they come to a halt at his right side, accompanied by a deep sigh.

this was not supposed to happen. you were not supposed to choose this.

a foot wedges itself under his chest and lifts upwards, flipping him onto his back. he lets out a whine that sounds more like a computer's whirring than a human being, and curls his broken limbs inwards like a dying insect.

what am i supposed to do with this? you've ruined everything.

a hand, and another, and another, and another. on his chest, gripping his shoulders, tugging on his ribs.

get up.

he does not want to get up. he does not want to move. he arcs his back to escape the grasp trying to haul him up, straining against the pressure. there is a snap, and he crashes back to the ground. he opens his eyes to see his father holding one of his ribs in its hand. it sighs again.

disappointing.

it looks at him in contempt, and begins to fade into the air. its eyes glimmer one last time with a boiling animosity before it disappears fully, leaving nothing but static in the air.

he closes his eyes, and lets his body fade away.

---

adam wakes up with his back to a concrete floor, staring at a ceiling as he tries to piece together where he is. his eyes feel crusty, his eyelashes sticking together as he tries to blink away his fatigue. he isn't quite sure where he is, this doesn't look like hq, and it certainly isn't the van. his body is sore, his limbs feel like they are glued to the ground, and he honestly doesn't really want to try and piece anything together at the moment, not with his head buzzing the way it is. maybe he should just go back to sleep? that sounds good to him. his back hurts from laying flat on the hard ground, so he shifts, rolling onto his side.

...

there is something wrong.

he is snapped out of his fog, instantly aware of the ways his limbs are bending the wrong way, bending in ways that shouldn't be possible. he tries to push himself up with his arms, but they don't move right, and it's almost as if they've changed. his breath quickens and he begins to panic, thrashing more and more frantically with each attempt to move going oh so horribly wrong. he kicks and writhes in place, unable to make sense of what has happened to him, until abruptly, he stops.

this isn't getting him anywhere. he needs to calm down, take things one step at a time. if he lets himself get overwhelmed, he will make it worse for himself, and anyone else that might be around. he takes a shuddering breath in through his nose, only to find he cannot let it out through his mouth. he shoves down the spike of panic he feels at the realization, one thing at a time, and tries to focus. he is now lying on his stomach, and he starts his assessment of himself with his left arm.

it is broken. it is draped in front of him, his elbow pointed skyward and his hand settled down on the floor. the sharp points of shattered bone tear through the sleeve of his hoodie from where his arm is split midway between his elbow and wrist. smaller shards poke out of his hand and fingers, some of them twisted out of place. his shoulder must be broken somehow as well, because his upper arm juts out from his body at an odd angle, the rest of his arm hanging limply from it. he tries to move it, and finds he can fold his fingers into a loose fist, and hinge his elbow slightly. other than that, it seems stuck in place, and not very usable. he's honestly surprised he can move it at all, and even more surprised that it doesn't hurt.

he moves on, trying to find where his right arm is, but it seems to be pinned under him, and he cannot move it. he cannot see the rest of his body like this, he needs to turn himself over. hesitantly, he tries to push his knees under him, trying not to fixate on the way they feel wrong, and pries himself off the floor to set himself back down on his side.

everything goes wrong from there.

the first thing he sees is his right leg, grotesquely elongated beyond anything close to human proportions, trailing out from his hip in a zig-zag line. he tries to move it and is repulsed by how much input he receives from the action, what would be his 'calf' folding together like an accordion. he untenses the leg, sickened from the feeling of too many joints and muscles moving at once.

he closes his eyes. this isn't right. that isn't human. the thought brings back memories.

a crib. a television. a snapped neck. a taught rope. a child's wails.

a man who isn't a man, but who is his father.

it isn't human because he isn't human. he never was. he is an imitation of life, a machine and nothing more.

an alternate.

no. he has to be human. there has to be something about him that is still human. he can still breathe, that's human, that's real. he looks down at his chest, frantically, and sees a hollow cavern of twisted, distorted ribs. it shifts, the curved bones folding in on themselves as more push themselves out. undulating like a pile of snakes, surreal and disgusting. he is not human, and his body is wrong. the words hiss and drone inside his head, and settle into his bones. can he really even call himself a 'he' anymore? no, it decides, it cannot.

it trails its gaze, despondently, to its left leg, taking in the way it is broken halfway down its calf with a sense of detached revulsion. it looks like the leg of some sort of fucked up animal, but that's really all it is, isn't it? if it could even call itself something 'alive'. it also catches sight of its right arm, and it's no wonder it couldn't find it before. it is fused to the lower half of its body, almost as if the entire thing had melted from its torso and attached itself above his hip. aside from that, it is surprisingly normal, not broken or extended into something monstrous. just its normal hand, attached to its normal arm.

it can also move it like a normal arm. which means it can use it to feel its face, and find out why it can't open its mouth.

it hunches its back forward, hand shaking as it pulls it towards its face, closer and closer until... its fingers make contact with smooth skin, right where its mouth should be. it lays its palm flat against it, shell-shocked, and one of its fingers runs over a groove in its left cheek, the end of it pressing against something hard. it moves its fingers over it, and... are those teeth? it rakes its hand over it, and, yes, there are two rows of teeth running vertically down its cheek, jutting out from exposed gums. a quick check confirms another set on its right.

for some reason, this is the thing that breaks it. it screams, and realizes with even more horror that the sound does not come from its mouths, but from its chest, the vibrations reverberating against its ribs. it stops instantly, its voice dying out. it can't even scream without being reminded of what it's become. it heaves out a crackling sob, and curls up on the floor.

---

"….adam? are you there?"

#tmc septendecim au #adam murray #the mandela catalogue #tmc intruder #ask to tag. i put warnings but if i should tag it as well then let me know 👍#foster's writing tag #soooooo excited to have this out. SOOOO excited to talk abt this #oh yeah PLEASE send asks about this one i want to talk abt symbolism and themes and whatever #tw: gore #tw: body horror

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sunny-mercya · 1 year

Text

Hey, Brother do you still believe in one another?

02. Exhausted

Heiji Hattori x Male Reader | Platonic! Shinichi Kudo x Brother Reader

Fandom -> Detective Conan/Case Closed

Masterlist | Previous / Next |

Lately I’ve been,

I’ve been losing sleep

Dreaming about the things that we could be

You didn’t want to get up and leaving the comfort of your bed nor the warmth it held. A warmth which was futile, since it couldn't stop the coldness you felt—a coldness which makes the body tremble and teeth clatter. Sometimes during the day it would hit you like a wave and bring you into an uncontrollable tremor.

Puffing out a sigh you turned to your side, snuggling deeper into the heavy blankets. Taking a glance at your frog-shaped clock, you closed your eyes for a few minutes.

You knew sleeping would be impossible, still you tried for a nap every day after school. If it were up to you, you would lay in bed the whole day. You hadn’t felt this tired, no, exhausted since elementary school and all the way till middle school.

Even when you so desperately wanted to sleep, you couldn’t and besides the 15 minutes of dozing, you didn’t know how much you could take of these sleepless nights anymore.

Stretching your body and throwing the blankets off, you got up. Time to get ready, you had promised Ran to come today and take the school worksheets and assessments, she had saved for Shinichi, with you.

Oh, this reminded you to check your phone, again.

Messages unable to send,

Number does not exist.

Resend?

Yes.

No.

About three months has passed since Shinichi has disappeared and still no sign of him. Neither call or message, not even a Mail. Absolut nothing. At first you thought, believed and hoped, after the first 3 Weeks of him gone—that he was simply solving a case somewhere out of Tokyo.

But even when he would have a case, doesn’t matter where, he would have given you a call, Shinichi knew how worried and anxious you could get. You had sent messages without getting any sort of reply.

When you started to call him, one day, and got the Automatic voice of; This number does not exist, the realization had finally sunk in.

A realization that Shinichi wouldn’t come back anytime soon. And a tiny voice, far in the back, was telling nonstop, that Shinichi has died. Was dead and being buried nameless six feet under ground or just decaying away all lonesome by himself—because he hasn’t been found.

And yet you still daily checked your phone for a message from him or resending that one SMS over and over again. Even though you knew very well how useless and pointless it was.

Shinichi's disappearance was the restart point of your exhaust.

»Ah, Conan,«

When Conan turned around to give you a short greeting, the words died on his tongue. Sachiko hasn’t exaggerated with her worry of you.

It was last week, when Ran was meeting up with Sonoko and Sachiko for some Coffee and Cake. Sachiko had told them how much ~his~ Shinichi's disappearance has taken a toll on you. How you lack sleep and the focus for any- and everything.

Sachiko feared that your state of mental health has been affected greatly by it. Sending you back into an endless spiral of harmful ways, bringing the depression—you had so desperately fought to overcome in middle school—back and shattering your, still in process, recovery completely and perhaps for finale.

Besides your worn-out look, you had managed to give Conan one of your genuine smiles with that certain gleam in your eyes. Taking Conan's school bag and shouldering it, you picked him up. Hugging him and smoothering Conans cheeks with kisses.

»Ne, [Name] don’t, I have a cold.« Conan tried to stop the affection you were giving him, as your older Brother it feels a tiny bit embarrassed. Huh? Wait, right. He wasn’t your older brother anymore, nor was he as of current Shinichi Kudo. Because Shinichi was now Conan Edogawa. You hummed with glee, tapping his mask-covered nose.

»And? Doesn’t gonna stop me, now let's get inside. I’m sure Ran has cooked some delicious food for you.«

You knocked shortly on the door of the Detective Agency, before opening it and stepping inside. Still carrying Conan in your arms.

»Hey Ran, I think the kiddo needs some cold medicine and some good food.« You said, not really taking notice of the other person in the room, as you sat Conan down on the couch and putting his bag on the floor.

»Here, the kid shoulda drink this and his cold will be gone,« absentmindedly you’ve taken the cup, which had been pushed into your view. Mumbling a thanks to whoever it was, you gave it Conan. Now that you think about it, the voice sounded familiar. You turned around in confusion and came face to face with Heiji.

»Heiji? What are you doing here in Tokyo? You could have called me,«

»Sorry, I wanted to but I totally forget about it once I came here.« Heiji rubbed his neck sheeplish,

Ran cleared her throat, feeling a just a tiny bit awkward. Standing here and listen to your friendly chatter you were having with Hattori. A question for you formed itself on her tongue,

»You know each other?«

»Yeah we’re boyfriends,« you both answer at the same time. In such a causal tone, sounding as if it was already known.

And while Ran hummed, nodding her head, not really listening to what you both just said, Conan coughed violently at this and almost fall off the couch.

So he is your Boyfriend? The mysterious person for your happiness.

Conan might be a bit, prejudicial, critical about this, but in his opinion Heiji wasn't the right person for you. You deserve only the best and surely there was someone out there, who was a far better match for you.

»What do you mean, Shinichi has called Ran?« you asked, wanting to be sure you heard right.

Before Heiji could answer you, Ran was quick to change the topic. She didn't want to upset you, not any further. You already looked worse and when you knew that Shinichi was only calling her and not once you, she didn't know how you take it and if your mental health would reach its final breaking point with it.

The upcoming disaster were already to start though. Your crestfallen expression has said it all. Ruffling Conans hair one last time, you stood up and taking the Folder from Ran.

»Does Curry for tonight sounds good? Call me when your done with whatever Case,« you asked Heiji and without waiting for any answer you walked out of the office, giving a short wave of goodbye.

I won't sleep,

I can't breath,

Until you're resting here with me

#male reader #anime #manga #x male reader #fanfiction #hattori heiji #heiji x male reader #shinichi kudo #detective conan #case closed #DCMK #detective conan/case closed #heiji hattori

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